Chapter Seven
788 Words
Chapter Seven: The Price of Vulnerability
The dinner with the tech mogul was awkward from the start.
Lily tried to smile as she sat across from him, but the man’s incessant chatter about his latest business venture only made her feel more out of place. The dinner was exquisite—roast duck, champagne, and truffle-laden dishes—but all Lily could think about was the man she wasn’t supposed to care about.
Damian.
She caught his eye across the room as he mingled with a few investors. His expression was distant, unreadable. But there was something in the way he stood, detached, as if the entire room didn’t matter—except for her.
The thought unsettled her.
But when Damian caught her gaze, he didn’t look away. His eyes darkened, and for a split second, she thought she saw something other than the cold CEO. Something… possessive.
She looked down at her glass of wine.
Get a grip, Lily.
“Is everything to your liking, Mrs. Blackwood?”
Lily blinked up at the tech mogul, who was still smiling far too wide for her comfort.
“Yes, it’s delicious,” she said politely, taking another sip of her drink. “Thank you.”
“Good, good.” His voice was thick with self-satisfaction. “I’ve been in the industry for years, you know. But I’m still looking for someone to really challenge me. Someone like you, maybe.”
Lily froze. The tone in his voice was far too familiar. It was the kind of tone men used when they thought they had power over you.
Before she could respond, Damian appeared at her side, his tall frame blocking the tech mogul from her view.
“Excuse us, Mr. Evans,” Damian said coolly. “My wife has had a long evening.”
The mogul looked taken aback for a second but quickly recovered, standing up with a forced smile. “Of course, Damian. Mrs. Blackwood, it was a pleasure.”
Lily didn’t even look at him as she stood up and walked with Damian to the far corner of the room, her heart racing.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly. “I can handle myself.”
“You weren’t handling anything,” Damian replied, his tone sharp. “He was making you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not some fragile doll you have to protect.”
His gaze softened just a fraction, and he lowered his voice. “No, you’re not. But you are my wife.”
The words felt different this time. Not cold. Not transactional. But something else.
She met his gaze. “Is that what I am to you? Just your wife?”
He opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself, looking away, a muscle in his jaw ticking. For a moment, he seemed human. Vulnerable.
But then the mask went back on.
“I didn’t marry you for love, Lily,” he said flatly. “And neither did you.”
Lily swallowed the bitterness in her throat. “You’re right. We made a deal. Nothing more.”
---
The night dragged on, the laughter, the conversations, the endless flash of cameras all blending together into a blur. But as the event drew to a close, Damian guided her toward the exit, his hand warm against the small of her back.
They stepped into the sleek black car, the doors closing behind them with a soft hiss.
The silence between them stretched the entire ride home.
As they reached the penthouse, Damian finally spoke.
“You did well tonight,” he said, his voice low.
“Is that your way of saying you’re proud of me?” she asked, her tone teasing.
He didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was unexpected.
“I don’t want to admit this, but…” He paused. “You’re good at this. At playing the role.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Was he complimenting her? Or was it just another assessment? She couldn’t tell.
“Thanks, I guess,” she said, her voice tight.
But when the car stopped in front of the building, the air between them shifted again.
Before she could open the door, Damian reached out, his hand brushing against hers in a fleeting touch. It was quick. Almost unintentional.
But for a moment, it felt like something more.
Lily froze, staring at their hands.
“Good night, Lily,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
She nodded, but she didn’t leave immediately.
For the first time since this whole ordeal started, she felt a spark of something other than frustration.
But she couldn’t afford to entertain it.
Not now.
Not with everything hanging by a thread.
- Writer
