Chapter 13 DAMAGE CONTROL
(Eli’s POV)
By the time the Crescent Gala rolled around, I’d already rehearsed every possible version of tonight in my head… every fake smile, every camera flash, every polite laugh that would scrape against my nerves like glass.
But reality always had a way of being worse.
The ballroom was a sea of gold and glass. Glittering chandeliers spilled light onto polished marble floors, and people with money thicker than their morals sipped champagne while pretending to be interested in art. Cameras lined the red carpet outside, their flashes going off like miniature lightning storms.
Julian’s hand rested lightly at the small of my back as we stepped out of the car. To everyone else, it looked natural — practiced, even. To me, it felt like choreography.
“Smile,” he murmured through his teeth.
I did.
For the first ten minutes, everything went according to script. We waved, posed, smiled again. Julian answered a few questions with the same charm he could probably weaponize in a war.
And then came the whispers.
“Is that the fake husband?”
“They don’t even touch.”
“Maybe he’s being paid.”
It started as murmurs. Then came the pointed questions — too loud, too eager.
“Mr. Thorne, care to comment on the rumors that your marriage isn’t real?”
“Eli, is it true you’re just a placeholder until he finds someone more… fitting?”
“Don’t you think this was all too sudden, too convenient?”
My jaw tightened. Julian’s smile didn’t waver.
“Gentlemen, tonight is about charity,” he said smoothly. “Let’s keep the focus there.”
But they didn’t stop. The questions kept coming; sharper, uglier… I could feel the tension in my chest, the pressure building under my skin. Julian’s hand brushed mine in silent warning, but it was too late.
I snapped.
“Our marriage,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise, “is not fake!”
The reporters froze. Cameras turned like vultures scenting blood.
I didn’t stop.
“And whether me and my husband choose to show affection in public shouldn’t really be any of your concern.” I took a step forward, heart pounding, voice rising with every word. “But if you’re all so desperate to know what happens behind closed doors—”
I let the smirk twist across my face. “—try spending a night under our bed.”
There was a beat of silence, one collective inhale, and then…
Julian grabbed my jaw and kissed me.
Hard.
The world disappeared in a burst of white light. Cameras flashed so violently I could barely see, but I felt everything. The firm pressure of his mouth, the controlled dominance in the way his fingers dug into my skin. The taste of his breath felt dark, clean, commanding.
It wasn’t a kiss for the cameras. It was a claim.
My knees went weak.
Flashes went off like a thousand explosions. I could hear gasps, cheers, even laughter. Somewhere in the blur, applause broke out, and that’s when Julian pulled away, just barely, his lips still hovering close enough that his words brushed against my mouth.
“Good boy,” he murmured.
The heat that flared in my stomach was immediate and unwanted.
He turned back toward the cameras, his hand still on my waist, the perfect image of devotion. The crowd erupted. Someone shouted, “Now that’s a real marriage!” and laughter rippled through the room.
Julian smiled for them. I couldn’t even fake it anymore.
Inside, I was still reeling; from the kiss, from the noise, from the humiliation that came with realizing I’d just been used again.
The rest of the evening blurred into expensive laughter and clinking glasses.
Everywhere I turned, someone wanted to talk to me. To ask how I’d “landed” Julian Thorne. To compliment my “courage” or my “uniqueness” — code words for you don’t belong here, but somehow you made it work.
One woman with diamonds the size of regrets leaned close and whispered, “You must be very talented to keep a man like him happy.”
I smiled through my teeth. “You have no idea.”
By the time I managed to slip away to the side of the ballroom, I could barely breathe. I wanted air, silence, anything that wasn’t dripping with wealth and judgment.
But, of course, the universe wasn’t done with me.
“Eli.”
Her voice was smooth, venomous… the kind that could slice glass.
Celeste.
She approached like she was gliding, not walking, her red dress clinging to her like sin itself. Cameras turned toward her instinctively, drawn to the kind of beauty that always meant trouble.
She didn’t even look at me at first. Her eyes went straight to Julian, like I wasn’t there at all.
“Julian,” she said sweetly, “you never told me you had a flair for dramatics. That kiss was almost convincing.”
Julian’s expression didn’t change. “Good to see you too, Celeste.”
She laughed softly. “Oh, I’m sure it is good to see me. Tell me, though—” Her eyes finally met mine, cold and glittering. “—what exactly did you see in this… this thing?”
“Celeste,” Julian warned.
She ignored him. “Never mind. I suppose he does look like he’s got a vagina. That must’ve helped sell the illusion.”
A few people nearby went quiet. Her words sliced through the room like a blade dipped in honey.
Julian’s jaw flexed. I could see the muscle twitch in his cheek; the one sign he was losing patience.
Celeste tilted her head, clearly enjoying herself. “You may have fooled everyone with your little act, but not me. I’m watching you, Julian. And next time I visit…”
Her smile sharpened. “…it won’t be through a news article.”
Julian chuckled; low and dangerous. “It’d be really bad for me to kill you over this, Celeste,” he said, voice so smooth one would misread the threat for pleasantry, “so be smart enough to back off.”
Her smile faltered. Just a flicker; small, but satisfying.
She turned on her heel, muttering something about “public decorum” as she disappeared into the crowd.
I shouldn’t have smiled. But I did. God, did I love the look on her face.
Julian’s gaze shifted back to me, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker behind his calm exterior… not affection, not quite anger. Something else.
Possession, maybe. Or he was just enjoying the evening too much.
He didn’t say anything. Just lifted his glass slightly, as if toasting to the chaos he’d orchestrated.
And me?
I stood there, still tasting him
on my lips, surrounded by people who would kill to be in my position, not realizing it already felt like I was dying in it.