Chapter 4 : The night Gala
1105 Words
Chapter 4 : The night Gala
My heart raced, “ What is that Simone?”
My transmission got choppy and I couldn't hear him clearly again. I cursed under my breath and moved around trying to get a better network.
And then the phone went off.
I gritted my teeth, trying to stop myself from hauling the phone on the tiled wall.
It's you alone against Volkov Corp, Aurora. You have to keep to your vow.
...
I couldn't sleep.
The mansion was too quiet, the kind of silence that made your own heartbeat sound like a scream.
I lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about my father's face when he realized everything was gone.
Trying not to think about revenge.
Around two in the morning, I heard it.
A sound. Muffled. Coming from somewhere. My body went rigid. I sat up, listening intently. I heard it again, a low, rhythmic noise that I couldn't quite identify. It wasn't music, neither machinery. Something in between.
My curiosity clawed at my head, trying to get the better of me.
I told myself to stay in bed. To respect the boundaries Damian had established. To be smart.
Instead, I found myself pulling on a robe and moving into the hallway.
The mansion felt different at night. Alive. Like it was watching my every movement. No servant was in sight. My feet were silent on the floor as I made my way towards the second floor.
Every instinct was screaming at me to turn back, but I kept moving forward like I was being pulled by invisible strings.
The hallway leading to the second floor was as bare as the floor I stayed in and it had this eerie atmosphere. I could still hear the sound louder now. Definitely intentional.
I reached a door where the sound had been coming from and pressed my ear against the wood.
The sound stopped abruptly.
My pulse beat erratically. Did they hear me approaching? It was unlikely.
The silence that followed was worse than the noise... it was full of threat.
"That wasn't very smart."
I spun around so fast I nearly fell.
Damian stood at the end of the hallway, silhouetted against the darkness. He was wearing black pajama pants and nothing else, his chest bare, muscles defined in the shadows. He looked like something predatory caught between human and animal form.
"I—" I started, but he raised a hand.
"Don't lie to me," he said quietly. "I hate lies."
"I heard a noise," I admitted. "I was curious."
He moved toward me with deliberate slowness, and I forced myself not to run. "Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Elara. It makes people ask questions they shouldn't ask. See things they shouldn't see. It ruins people."
He was standing in front of me now, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His eyes were dark, unreadable, and there was something sensual about his presence.
I wanted to reach out and slide my hands on his bare sculpted chest and pull him in for a crazy passionate kiss and feel his hands fondle me.
I felt blood rush to my legs and I blinked
"I understand," I whispered.
"Do you?" He reached out, and for a moment I thought he might touch me.
Instead, he took a step back. "Go to bed, Elara. And don't come back to this floor. Not unless I bring you."
I walked back to my room on shaking legs, my mind spinning with questions. What was behind that door? What had I heard? What would happen if I pushed too hard?
By the time I reached my bedroom, I was burning with need to know.
...
I stared around, feeling quite out of place even in my designer dress and tastefully done makeup.
Damian had made me go with him to a night gala Volkov Corp was hosting as his plus one and an awakening to my duties as his personal assistant. I stuck to him like his shadow, committing the face of every single person he shook hands with and smiled at.
My dress was midnight black with a high slit and falling chiffon sleeves. I had opened my wardrobe in my room to see it filled with dresses.
That was of course Mr. Volkov's highly detailed planning but what I had found unsettling was that they all fit perfectly, like he knew my size, memorized every inch and curve of me.
The gala was swimming with money and sharks. Billionaires and their trophy wives, politicians trading secrets, investors calculating net worth with their eyes. I recognized faces from articles about my father men who'd circled him like vultures before he was killed.
Damian introduced me as his personal assistant, and I watched the dismissal happen in real time. Women looked at me, their envious eyes following me around. Men looked at me only to determine I was beneath their notice.
Then a man, tall with a mustache approached. He held a glass of wine with a condescending smile on his face. Damian had spoken to him earlier and I had caught his name.
"So this is Volkov's new plaything," he said, circling me like a predator. "Tell me, dear, how much is he paying you? Or are you one of those girls who works purely for prestige?"
My face felt hot. My hands wanted to shake. Every humiliation I'd endured over the years threatened to claw its way up my throat, but I kept my expression neutral.
"I'm his assistant, Mr. Ashford," I said in a controlled voice.
He laughed. "Assistant. Is that what we're calling it now? Because from what I hear, Damian goes through women like most people go through…"
"That's enough."
Damian's voice cut through the ballroom, sharp and menacing. Everyone froze.
He moved toward us with the casual grace of someone who was fully aware of the power and attention he commanded, and when he reached me, he pulled me close not possessively, but protectively.
"Richard," he said, his tone making it clear that it was not a greeting.
"You're being crude. Again.
Apologize to Miss Quinn, or leave my event."
I could see the look of disbelief on their faces. I stared at Richard whose face had turned crimson red and I knew this was going to be a huge slap to his face. I held my breath, waiting for what would happen next.
My heart raced as Damian took a definite step forward glaring at Richard who glared back at me.
“ I said apologize”
- Writer
