Chapter4
1030 Words
The Gala
The driver arrived at 6 p.m. sharp.
A sleek black Bentley waited at the curb of Ava’s tiny apartment building, looking wildly out of place beside rusted mailboxes and cracked pavement. The man in the suit handed her a garment bag with the Blackwood International logo stitched subtly near the zipper.
Inside it was a gown.
Not just any gown.
Midnight blue silk, form-fitting, floor-length, with a thigh-high slit and a plunging neckline that left Ava breathless.
The tag read Valentina H., a brand she’d only ever seen on runways and red carpets.
She stared at it for a solid minute, unsure if it was a gift or a setup.
Still, she slipped into the dress with trembling fingers. Her hair, she left down—soft waves brushing her collarbones—just like Damian had mentioned. Just like he’d noticed.
When she stepped into the Bentley, she couldn’t recognize the woman in the window’s reflection. She looked… like someone important.
Like someone who belonged.
But she didn’t. Not really. Not yet.
The car rolled through the glowing Manhattan streets, slicing through the city’s Friday night heartbeat like a blade. Outside, the museum loomed—modern, glittering, and swarming with photographers and guests in designer gowns and tuxedos.
Ava stepped out, heels clicking on the marble steps, heart hammering in her chest. For a second, she scanned the crowd, unsure where to go.
Then she saw him.
Damian Blackwood.
He stood near the museum’s arched entrance, a tall, commanding figure in a black tailored tuxedo. His tie was sharp, his hair immaculately styled, and his presence so magnetic it turned heads even among celebrities and CEOs.
But his eyes were already on her.
He didn’t move.
Just watched.
And when she reached him, his gaze lingered over the gown—then returned to her face with something unreadable in his expression.
“You clean up dangerously well,” he said quietly.
She flushed. “You said to blend in.”
“I said to observe. I didn’t expect you to steal the damn spotlight.”
Before she could respond, a camera flashed nearby. Damian took her hand—not gently, but deliberately—and pulled her toward the entrance.
They were ushered into the main gallery, now transformed into a luxury reception space. Artworks framed in gold glinted under crystal chandeliers. Waiters drifted by with champagne flutes on silver trays.
Ava’s eyes widened at the extravagance, the polished floors, the music played by a live string quartet. She felt like she’d stepped into a different world. One she didn’t belong in… and yet couldn’t stop watching.
Damian leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. “Two targets. Board member Elijah Crane, and investor Rosalind Tay. They’re hiding something.”
“Hiding what?”
He handed her a tiny earpiece. “That’s what you’re going to find out.”
Her throat went dry. “I thought I was just observing.”
“You are. For now.”
He slipped away before she could ask what for now meant.
The evening passed in a blur of clinking glasses, careful smiles, and hushed conversations. Ava mingled, listened, smiled at the right people, and took mental notes. She watched Rosalind Tay clutch her handbag a little too tightly when someone mentioned a failed merger. She caught Elijah Crane slipping a USB drive into a waiter’s tray when he thought no one was watching.
She told herself she was just gathering intel.
But a small part of her thrilled at the secrecy—the danger—the idea that she could do something valuable. That someone like Damian Blackwood trusted her to.
At one point, she excused herself to the balcony. The noise inside was overwhelming, and the night air cooled the heat flushing her skin.
She wasn’t alone for long.
Damian appeared beside her, silent as a shadow.
“Well?” he asked, sipping a dark drink that matched his mood.
“Rosalind is nervous. Elijah’s hiding something. USB, small, red. He slipped it into a waiter’s tray.”
Damian turned to her fully. “You saw that?”
She nodded. “I was watching.”
His eyes searched hers, like he was reevaluating her right then and there. And for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then—softly, almost like a confession—he said, “I never bring anyone here.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I hate these events. But they’re necessary. Politics in disguise. I usually go alone.”
“Why did you bring me?”
Damian took a step closer.
“You’re quiet. Observant. You don’t simper or play games. I don’t have time for people who lie to my face and beg behind my back.”
Ava swallowed. “But I don’t belong here.”
He looked at her then—really looked.
“You don’t,” he said. “Not yet.”
The words stung more than she expected.
“But you could,” he added. “You could, if you’re willing to learn.”
“And what does that mean?”
He tilted his head slightly. “It means I see potential in you, Ava Hart. Even if you don’t see it yet.”
Her chest tightened. “You make it sound like a deal.”
Damian’s gaze dropped to her lips. “Everything in my world is a deal.”
The air between them grew heavy.
Too close.
Too charged.
And just when she thought he might lean in—
His phone buzzed.
He glanced down and swore under his breath.
“Emergency call,” he muttered. “Board fallout. I have to leave.”
Ava’s heart thudded. The moment broke.
“You’re staying. Keep your eyes open. And don’t trust anyone who smiles too much.”
She nodded, forcing composure she didn’t feel.
He looked at her one last time before disappearing into the night like a storm in a tailored suit.
Ava turned back toward the museum, breathless and shaken.
She wasn’t just part of his world now.
She was playing a part in his game.
And she wasn’t sure whether she was the queen…
Or the pawn.
- Writer
