Damian's Pov
The restaurant's luxury is a velvet cloak. No flashy signs, no cameras. Just a hushed driveway, and a maître d' who already knows our names without being told.
This was the deal. No drama or leaks. Just family, allies, and people paid to keep their mouths shut.
Alexandra sits beside me. She's elegant and composed in a red dress that likely costs more than my first car. Her performance is perfect; the right nods, the light touch on my arm. We haven't rehearsed this, yet she plays the part of the billionaire's fiancée with a chilling ease.
Across from us, her parents with some of the board members sit like statues of polished power. Business partners. No one is here to celebrate; they are here for the assurance of stability.
At the head of the table, Harrison lifts his glass. "To family," he says, his voice smooth as aged scotch. "To legacy. And to new beginnings built on mutual understanding."
