Chapter 75 MY WIFE
\~~~SERENA.
“A ball?” I asked, my voice pitching up in surprise as I stared at Damien from across the room. The word had slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. I stared at Damien like he had just suggested we rob a bank.
He nodded, leaning against the dresser with that calm, confident smile of his. “Yes, a gala event. It is the annual Hale Foundation charity ball that raises money for legal aid programs and youth scholarships. It's once a year, and I'd like you to attend with me.” His eyes locked on mine, steady and inviting, like he already knew I'd say yes eventually.
I shook my head, dropping my backpack on the bed and sinking down onto the edge of the mattress.
“I am not interested. I have things to do.” My tone came out firmer than I felt, but the weight of my schedule pressed on me like a heavy book.
“Like what?” He crossed his arms, tilting his head, not backing down an inch.
“I have tests coming up in less than two weeks, and final year exams in less than two months. I don’t have time to party,” I grumbled, rubbing my temples.
“I will help you study,” he said simply, stepping closer. His voice was low, reassuring, but I could see the determination in his eyes.
I shook my head again, pulling my knees up to my chest. “You don't get it. Final year is everything. I need to stay at the top, with grades, internships, the bar, and an exam after. One slip, and it is all gone.” My words tumbled out, laced with the stress I'd been carrying.
Damien's world was glitz and power, but mine was deadlines and details. Mixing them felt risky, like inviting chaos into my carefully built routine.
He sat beside me, not touching, but close enough that I felt his warmth. “Serena, you have been buried in books nonstop. One night won't ruin you. The gala honors people like you, future lawyers. And I will be right there. We can leave early if you want.” He paused, his gaze softening. “And you are my wife, it is right you’re there with me.”
I sighed, glancing at him. Those dark eyes, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered and it chipped away at my resolve. He had been overly patient lately, “Fine,” I muttered finally, nodding. “When is it?”
He glanced at his wristwatch, the gold band glinting under the light. “In four hours.”
My eyes widened as I snatched my phone from the bed. It was a little past four. Four hours?
“And you’re just telling me now? I'm not going. I don’t have anything to wear, in fact.”
“Oh, the stylist will be here soon to deliver your outfit and fix you up,” he said casually, like it was no big deal.
I breathed out sharply, shaking my head in disbelief. “I hate you.” But there was no real heat in it.
I should have known something was up, not especially with the way he had picked me up from the institute yesterday and personally dropped me off this morning.
The stylist arrived twenty minutes later, a whirlwind of a woman named Clara, with bags of clothes and a makeup kit that could stock a store. She shooed Damien out, turning the bedroom into a makeshift salon.
“Mr. Hale said blue, and something elegant,” she chirped, unzipping a garment bag.
I let her work her magic, too stunned to argue. Hours blurred with my hair pinned in loose waves, subtle makeup that made my eyes pop, and then the dress. It was a deep sapphire blue ball gown, floor-length silk that hugged my curves before flaring out in soft layers. The bodice was fitted with delicate lace straps, off-the-shoulder, showing just enough skin to feel daring. It cinched at my waist, making me look taller, and more poised. Paired with silver heels and a simple diamond necklace from Damien's collection, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. Polished, and almost like I belonged in his world.
By the time I finished dressing, the clock read seven-thirty. My heart raced as I smoothed the gown one last time and headed downstairs. The house was quiet, the lights dimmed, and there he was, Damien, waiting at the foot of the stairs in the foyer. He wore a tailored black tuxedo, crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a hint of tanned skin. His hair was styled back, jaw clean-shaven, exuding that effortless power that always made my stomach flip.
I paused on the last step, and his eyes met mine. Fascination lit his face, and his gaze traveled from my face down the gown, lingering on the way the fabric draped over my hips. His lips parted slightly, a slow smile breaking through, like he was seeing me for the first time.
Heat crept up my neck, but I couldn't look away.
God, he looked hot. The suit molded to his broad shoulders, the pants accentuating his long legs. He was every inch the billionaire tycoon, dangerous and magnetic. I felt myself drool a little inside, imagining running my hands over that chest, unbuttoning that shirt later.
He reached out his hand, palm up. “Ready?”
I took it, his fingers warm and firm around mine, sending a spark up my arm. We walked out of the house together, the cool evening air brushing my skin as the door clicked shut behind us. The limo waited at the curb, the driver holding the door.
“You look so ravishing,” Damien whispered as we got to the car, his breath hot against my ear. “I wish we could spend the night in bed instead.”
I flushed, cheeks burning under the streetlights. His words painted vivid pictures of his hands on me, and the gown pooling on the floor. “Oh, please,” I said, rolling my eyes and sliding into the seat. But acting tough didn't hide how his eyes on me made me unravel with my pulse quickening, and my body aware of every inch between us.
The drive to the venue was short, the city lights blurring past. Damien kept his hand on my knee, a light touch that promised more. “It is at the Grand Ballroom downtown,” he explained. “There are lots of donors, lawyers, barristers and it can be very networking for you.”
I nodded, nerves twisting. Networking? In this dress?
We arrived at the hotel, a towering glass building glowing against the night sky. Valets swarmed as the limo pulled up, and Damien helped me out, his arm slipping around my waist.
The entrance was grand with marble steps lined with red carpet, photographers flashing from the sides. I clung to him a bit, the heels making me wobble.
Inside, the ballroom was breathtaking from my view. Crystal chandeliers hung like stars, casting golden light over tables draped in white linen, centerpieces of white roses and flickering candles. A string quartet played softly in the corner, mingling with the hum of voices and elegant women in gowns, men in tuxes, all sipping champagne. The air smelled of perfume and expensive wine, walls adorned with Hale Foundation banners highlighting legal aid stories. It felt like stepping into a movie, overwhelming and glittering.
We entered the hall, and heads turned. Whispers rippled and then eyes fell on Damien, and then me.
I straightened, chin up, but my grip on his arm tightened.
Damien guided me through the crowd, nodding greetings, his hand firm on my lower back. “Relax,” he murmured. “You are stunning. They can't take their eyes off you.”
We grabbed flutes of champagne from a passing tray, the bubbles tickling my nose. Conversations swirled about donations, cases won, and future plans.
Damien introduced me smoothly, “My wife, Serena Evans-Hale, top of her class at law school.” Pride warmed his voice, and I smiled, playing the part.
A few people approached, some partners from his firm, and a man congratulating him on the foundation's impact. I chatted lightly, mentioning my criminal law seminar, feeling more at ease. Damien's thumb traced circles on my back, grounding me.
Then, someone stopped in front of us with a smile on her face.
The smile on my face dropped immediately, and I swallowed hard.
“How beautiful, Serena! I didn’t think I’d meet you here,” Professor Forbes said, her voice smooth as silk.
“Hi, Prof…” I forced a smile back, my stomach twisting. What was she doing here? In that red gown, she looked even more formidable, her hair swept up, and diamonds at her throat.
But when she tore her eyes off me and landed them on Damien with a more charming smile, my eyes raised.
“Hi, Damien.”
“Gwen,” Damien said, and I could feel his grip on my hand tighten.