Elle's Pov
His question carries a weight that presses the air from the room. My grip tightens on the notebook.
"Why was my uncle holding your arm?"
I swallow hard. "I—uh… I think you misread the situation."
His eyes narrow, steady, cold and unconvinced. Before I can invent a deflection, the door swings open.
"Elle?"
Camila rushes in, her face a mask of panic. She ignores her boss foe a heartbeat, her focus entirely on me. "What happened? What was that out there?"
I hold up the notebook. "Cam, breathe. I'm fine."
"Do you even know who that is?" she whispers, pulling me toward the corner of the office.
I step back "Cam, before you explode…"
"That man..." she air-quotes him, "...is Damian Blackwell. You don't mess with him."
"Explains the jawline," I murmur, trying to force a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.
She doesn't laugh. "Elle, please. Take this seriously."
The room shifts as Damian steps closer. The air feels charged, vibrating with a quiet authority. Camila stiffens immediately.
"Excuse us," he says. It isn't a request.
"Yes, sir." Camila casts one helpless look at me before slipping out. The door clicks shut.
He walks across the room in measured steps. "I should introduce myself properly, but you already know. Damian Blackwell."
"Elle," I manage, my voice sounds smaller than I intended. "Marielle Morgan."
He studies me. "Do you have any idea what you just became part of?"
I give a nervous, dry laugh. "I assume your real fiancée was late, so somehow I ended up here," I say raising the hand that has the eing on it. "Tomorrow, you'll issue a statement, call it a misunderstanding, and I go back to my life."
He chuckles. A dark, joyless sound. "It's not that simple. I'm a public figure, so every move is recorded. This situation..." he gestures between us, "...is out in the open now. We handle this, together."
I stare at him. The audacity stings. Must definitely be from Temu, they'd be proud. "Respectfully? I'm not committing to anything. I'm leaving."
"People panic when the reality of attention sets in," he says, his hand dipping into his pocket with practiced precision. "If you're worried about the inconvenience, I can ensure you're supported. Generously."
"Supported?" My eyes go cold. "You think you can buy your way out of the fact that you dragged me onto this stage?"
"You stepped onto a public stage, you cannot simply disappear."
"I didn't choose the stage," I say through my teeth. "You pulled me onto it."
"And you agreed," he counters.
I step into his space, my temper fraying. "You're a jerk! You begged me to say yes. You should be grateful I saved from a disaster."
"You think you did me a favor? You made it worse."
"Enlighten me." I lean back against the desk, feigning a calm I don't feel. "Because from where I'm standing, I just saved you from becoming tomorrow's headline joke."
He reaches for the notebook. Our fingers brush and the room vanishes. The office melts into a blur of gray light. I see papers scattered across this same desk and a speakerphone blaring angry voices. Two men stand over him.
"Without an heir," one says, "the board pushes control to your uncle."
And then it fades.
I blink rapidly, the vision snapping like a broken thread.
"You… you were under pressure," I murmur, before I can stop. "The board... they were threatening you. Your uncle..."
My hand immediately flies over my mouth. Did I just say that out loud?
He freezes. His gaze turns sharp, almost predatory. "How do you know that?"
I swallow the lump in my throat, my mind racing. Great. Now how do I explain this? Do I say I touched your hand and accidentally saw everything like some movie?
The door opens. Camila. I sigh stands there cautious.
"Sir? The investors are leaving early. They would like to see you before they leave."
He does not look away from me. "Thank you. One moment."
I grab the distraction like a lifeline. "Here," I say, thrusting the notebook toward her. "Take it. Apparently, my new side hustle is accidental fiancée."
As she reaches for it, Damian's hand closes over the cover, pinning it and my hand down. He doesn't pull away. He looks at Camila. "You know her well?"
"Yes sir," she says softly. "She's… my best friend. My flatmate."
He nods slowly, filing the information away. "Your best friend," he repeats under his breath.
"See you at home, Cam," I say, heading for the door. I give him a weary, fleeting smile. "I guess we've had our first fight."
He doesn't answer. I don't wait for him to. I step into the hallway, the air colder than before. My heart's still racing, but I can feel his eyes on me even after the door closes.
Damian's Pov
The meeting ends in a chorus of scraping chairs and smiles. The investors crowd me, their congratulations sounding like hollow scripts.
"Congratulations, Blackwell."
"Didn't think you had it in you, son."
"You bagged yourself a beautiful woman."
I offer them the same practiced mask I've worn for years.
Then comes the voice I hate most.
"Well, well," my uncle drawls. Harrison steps from the crowd, his grin showing too many teeth. "Engaged, finally. I never thought I'd see the day."
"Uncle," I say, my jaw tight.
He takes my hand, his grip unyielding. "Bring your fiancée to dinner tomorrow night. The family should meet her."
"No need. Elle isn't comfortable with the spotlight. And we'll probably be busy."
His grin sharpens. "Ah. Trouble in paradise already?" He raises his voice just enough to catch the attention of the surrounding board members. It's a test. A public challenge.
My chest tightens as his smirk cuts deep, carrying more venom than words. He's mastered the art of saying little and wounding more. Enough poison to remind me he still sees me as that boy who lost everything.
I force a nod. "We'll be there."
His satisfaction is instant. He pats my shoulder, a gesture of feigned affection that feels like a threat, then walks away. Once the hallway clears, I pull out my phone.
"Mr. Alfred," I say as the line connects. "Be honest. Does this engagement buy me time?"
The old man's voice is calm and steady, exactly like it was twelve years ago, when everything else in my life fell apart. "It gives you space, Damian. The board and your uncle will slow down… but only for a little while."
"How long?"
"Not long," Alfred says quietly. "An engagement doesn't protect you. Only marriage does."
I hang up and stare into the empty corridor. Marriage was never the plan. But as I look at the door where Marielle disappeared, I realize the board isn't the only thing I can't control anymore.
Because how on earth did she know all that?