High Society
1195 Words
“Why do I feel like I’m walking into a trap?”
Valentina muttered, adjusting the strap of her dress as Damien held the car door open for her.
“Because you’re dramatic,” Damien said, smirking. “It’s just a gala.”
“A gala filled with people who probably think I belong in the kitchen, not on the guest list,” she shot back, stepping out of the sleek black car.
Damien’s gaze lingered on her, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “You look stunning, Valentina. Trust me, they’ll love you.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the flutter in her chest. Damien had insisted on sending a stylist to her studio earlier, and now she was wearing a crimson gown that fit her like a glove, her dark curls swept to one side.
“Love me or hate me, they’ll definitely be staring,” she muttered as she took his arm.
“Let them stare,” Damien said, leading her up the grand marble steps of the hotel. “They’re just jealous.”
The ballroom was even more extravagant than Valentina had imagined—glittering chandeliers, towering floral arrangements, and a string quartet playing softly in the corner. The air smelled of money and expensive perfume.
She suddenly felt very out of place.
“Relax,” Damien whispered, leaning down so only she could hear. “You’ve got this.”
“Easy for you to say,” she murmured back. “You’re not the one people are going to judge.”
Damien straightened, his gray eyes flashing. “Anyone who judges you answers to me.”
Valentina snorted. “You really think you can protect me from their opinions?”
“Watch me,” he said, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
As they moved through the crowd, Damien introduced her to various people—business associates, charity organizers, and a few celebrities whose names Valentina barely recognized. Most of them were polite, but a few let their disdain show.
“Damien,” purred a tall woman with icy blonde hair and a diamond necklace that probably cost more than Valentina’s entire life. “You didn’t mention you’d be bringing... company.”
“Margot,” Damien said coolly, his arm tightening slightly around Valentina’s waist. “This is Valentina Hayes, an incredibly talented artist. Valentina, this is Margot DeLancey.”
Margot’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Charmed, I’m sure. And what kind of art do you... create?”
“Abstract,” Valentina said, forcing a smile. “It’s all about emotion and movement.”
“How interesting,” Margot said, her tone dripping with condescension. “I’ve always thought abstract art was a bit... chaotic. Don’t you agree, Damien?”
Valentina opened her mouth to respond, but Damien beat her to it.
“I don’t,” he said smoothly. “Chaos can be beautiful. It takes a certain kind of genius to find order in it.”
Margot’s lips tightened, but she recovered quickly. “Of course. Well, enjoy your evening.”
As she walked away, Valentina exhaled, shaking her head. “I should have told her I finger-paint for a living.”
Damien chuckled. “Don’t let her get to you. Margot’s just bitter because I dumped her years ago.”
“Of course she is,” Valentina muttered. “She’s like a Disney villain, but with better jewelry.”
Later in the evening, Valentina found herself standing by the buffet table, nibbling on a canapé while Damien spoke to someone across the room. She was grateful for the moment alone—until another guest approached her.
“You’re the artist, right?”
Valentina turned to see a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yes,” she said cautiously.
“I’m curious,” he said, picking up a champagne flute. “What’s it like, being... involved with someone like Damien?”
“Someone like Damien?” Valentina repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, you know,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “All that power, all that wealth... it must be overwhelming. Or do you find it... inspiring?”
Valentina smiled sweetly. “It’s inspiring. Especially when I paint dollar signs in gold glitter. It really captures the essence of our relationship.”
The man blinked, clearly unsure if she was joking.
Before he could respond, Damien appeared at her side, his expression cool and unreadable.
“Everything all right here?” he asked, his voice calm but with an unmistakable edge.
“Of course,” Valentina said, slipping her arm through his. “We were just discussing my art.”
The man chuckled nervously. “Well, I’ll let you two enjoy your evening.”
As he walked away, Damien turned to Valentina, his lips twitching with amusement. “Dollar signs in glitter?”
She grinned. “I thought it was fitting.”
“You’re impossible,” Damien said, shaking his head.
“And yet, here you are,” she teased.
The rest of the night passed more smoothly, but Valentina couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong. She kept waiting for someone to point it out, to tell her she was just a guest in their world and didn’t deserve to be there.
As they stepped out onto the terrace for some fresh air, Damien seemed to sense her unease.
“You’re quiet,” he said, leaning against the railing beside her.
“Just thinking,” she said, staring out at the city lights.
“About what?”
“About how I’m the only person here who isn’t wearing something from a Paris runway,” she said lightly.
Damien frowned. “You think that matters?”
“Doesn’t it?” she asked, meeting his gaze. “This is your world, Damien. Not mine.”
“Maybe it’s time you made it yours,” he said simply.
Valentina laughed. “Easy for you to say. You were born into it.”
“And I hated every second of it,” Damien admitted, surprising her. “You think I like these people? Half of them only care about what they can get from me. The other half want to see me fail.”
Valentina stared at him, seeing a glimpse of the man beneath the polished exterior.
“So why do you do it?” she asked softly.
“Because it’s part of the game,” Damien said. “And I’m good at winning.”
Valentina shook her head. “You’re impossible.”
He smiled. “You’ve mentioned that before.”
For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, the cool night air wrapping around them. Then Damien turned to her, his expression serious.
“Don’t let them make you feel small, Valentina,” he said. “You’re bigger than all of this.”
Her chest tightened, and she looked away, unsure how to respond.
“Let’s go,” Damien said suddenly, offering his hand.
“Where?”
“Anywhere but here,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.
Valentina hesitated for half a second before taking his hand.
“Lead the way, Mr. Renaud.”
- Writer
