My Ruthless Boss Wants To Marry Me

I Kissed Her!!!

Damien's POV

The gala was everything I hated about my world-a spectacle, a circus for the press, the investors, the hangers-on who clung to my every word, my every move. It was all a performance, and tonight, Sienna would be the star of the show. The perfect wife, the jewel by my side, the symbol of my success and my power.

But as we entered the venue, something in the air shifted. The tension I had felt building between us over the last few days was palpable, like static in the room, making everything feel even more charged than usual. Sienna had always been beautiful, poised, and graceful, but tonight, there was something about her that caught my attention more than usual. She was tense, too. I could see it in the way her hands were clenched at her sides, in the way her jaw tightened every time someone brushed too close.

She didn't belong here-not really. Not in the way they all expected her to. But that was the price she paid for being married to me. The world was watching her, judging her. And in their eyes, she was nothing but an accessory, an object to be scrutinized.

I hadn't wanted to bring her here tonight. I had hoped we could avoid the press, the flashing cameras, the probing questions. But I knew that would never happen. Sienna had been a pawn in this game from the beginning, just as much as I had.

We were both trapped, playing roles we didn't choose. But tonight, I wasn't prepared for the way the reporters would tear her apart.

As we made our way through the crowded ballroom, the whispers started. I could hear them before I even saw the faces. Words like *gold digger*, *homewrecker*, *kept woman* floated through the air, sharp and venomous. Sienna's smile never wavered, but I saw the way her eyes flickered, the way her shoulders stiffened with each insult.

And then it came.

A reporter, a woman with too much confidence and too little tact, stepped in front of us, her camera crew snapping pictures as she thrust a microphone into Sienna's face. "So, Mrs. Blackwell," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Tell us-how does it feel to be the latest trophy wife on the arm of the ruthless CEO? What do you think about all the rumors about your... involvement in his rise to the top?"

I could see the blood drain from Sienna's face, her gaze flickering between me and the reporter. She stood frozen, caught in the headlights of the public eye, her facade of calm crumbling under the weight of their scrutiny.

The press was relentless.

"I-" Sienna started, but the reporter cut her off with a sharp laugh.

"Oh, don't be coy," the reporter sneered. "We all know how this works. You're just here for the paycheck, aren't you? You couldn't possibly have earned your place in his world on your own. What's your price, Mrs. Blackwell? How much is your loyalty worth?"

That was the moment I snapped.

I had seen Sienna endure more than her fair share of this kind of treatment since our marriage began, but tonight, in front of everyone-my enemies, my investors, my so-called "friends"-they had pushed her too far.

I felt my rage surge like a tidal wave, drowning out everything else. The press, the crowd, the whispers-it all became background noise. All I could focus on was the anger building in my chest, the need to protect her, to shield her from their cruelty.

Before I even realized what I was doing, I moved. My hand shot out, grabbing the reporter's wrist with enough force to make her drop the microphone. She looked up at me, surprised, but I didn't care.

"Get the hell out of my way," I growled, my voice low and deadly, the anger pulsing through every word.

The reporter stammered, clearly not expecting this reaction. Her eyes widened, and she quickly backed off, her camera crew retreating with her as I stood between her and Sienna, my body tense with rage.

But I didn't look at the reporter. I couldn't. My eyes were locked on Sienna, who stood there, her face pale, her breathing shallow. She had been humiliated, publicly torn apart in a way that made my blood boil.

Before I knew it, I was stepping toward her, my hand reaching out to gently, but urgently, pull her closer.

She flinched slightly, but I wasn't going to let go. Not now. Not after everything she had just endured. I could feel the anger pulsing in my veins, but more than that, I could feel the overwhelming need to claim her, to show the world that she wasn't some object for them to tear apart. She was mine.

I lifted my hand to her chin, tilting her face up toward mine. She looked at me, her eyes wide, searching-maybe for reassurance, maybe for something else-but I didn't give her time to think.

I kissed her.

It wasn't a gentle, practiced kiss like the ones we had shared before. It wasn't the soft peck on the lips that I had come to expect in public. This kiss was everything-passionate, desperate, raw. I pressed my lips against hers with a force that stunned both of us, my hands gripping her waist as I pulled her closer, unable to keep the intensity of my feelings contained any longer.

The crowd around us fell silent, the flash of cameras blinding, the reporters' voices cutting through the stillness. But all I could hear, all I could feel, was Sienna. Her lips beneath mine, her body stiff at first, but then softening as she slowly, hesitantly, responded.

She was mine.

The thought echoed in my mind as I kissed her with every ounce of anger, frustration, and desire that had been building between us for so long. I kissed her as if I could erase every insult, every lie, every judgment the world had thrown at her. I kissed her to claim her, to show everyone in that room that she was not to be touched, not to be mocked.

I kissed her to prove that I was in control.

When I finally pulled away, I could see the stunned expression on her face-her lips red, her breath ragged-but there was something else in her eyes now. Something I hadn't seen before.

She wasn't afraid.

For a moment, we stood there, the entire ballroom frozen in the aftermath of the kiss. The silence stretched out between us, and then slowly, as if waking from a dream, the reporters started shouting questions, the cameras clicking frantically, and the murmur of the crowd began to rise again.

But none of that mattered anymore.

I turned my back on the press, my arm still around Sienna's waist, holding her close. The world could say what it wanted, but I had made my statement. And Sienna... she was mine.

"You're not their punching bag," I whispered, my voice low, for her ears only. "You're not anyone's property but mine. Never forget that."

She didn't respond, but I could feel the shift in her. A change in her posture, in the way she stood. As if she had finally realized, like I had, that we were both in this together.