Chapter 3: Damian’s Dangerous World

"Put on the dress I picked for you." Damian's voice was cold, leaving no room for negotiation as he stood by the doorway of the lavish guest room.

I looked down at the simple, pale blue gown I'd chosen from the wardrobe earlier. "I thought this was—"

"It’s not," he cut me off. "If you're going to be my wife tonight, you’ll at least look the part." His words were a blade slicing through my pride.

I wanted to snap back, but the weight of this new life held my tongue. My defiance wouldn’t matter to a man like Damian Cross. Instead, I reached for the shimmering black gown he’d left draped across a chair.

The fabric clung to my skin like a second layer, elegant but uncomfortable. The neckline plunged more than I was used to, exposing skin I usually kept hidden. I barely recognized myself in the mirror as I adjusted the dress.

When I emerged, Damian's eyes flickered briefly over me, unreadable as ever. "That'll do," he muttered, already turning toward the door. "Let’s go."

We rode in silence to the corporate event, his presence next to me cold and oppressive. I had never felt more like an outsider, pretending to be someone I wasn't. My hands twisted in my lap, nerves gnawing at my stomach.

"What’s the purpose of this event?" I finally asked, desperate to break the silence.

He didn’t look at me. "You'll smile, nod, and say nothing unless spoken to. Got it?"

I clenched my fists. "I'm not a puppet, Damian."

He arched a brow. "Aren’t you? You’re wearing the dress I chose, standing in the place your sister abandoned. Sounds like a puppet to me."

The words stung, but I swallowed the retort burning on my tongue. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.

The venue was breathtaking—a towering glass building illuminated by shimmering chandeliers. Men in tailored suits and women in gowns worth more than my family’s annual income floated through the room, champagne flutes in hand.

Damian's hand rested on the small of my back as we entered, a possessive gesture that felt more like a warning than comfort. "Smile," he ordered under his breath. "They’re watching."

I forced a smile, even though my heart pounded in my chest. The whispers started almost immediately.

"That's the new Mrs. Cross?"

"She’s nothing like her sister."

"Poor Damian. He must be desperate."

I kept my gaze forward, my nails digging into my palms. Damian, on the other hand, moved through the crowd with the confidence of a man who owned the world.

"Damian," a smooth voice called from behind us.

We turned, and I froze as a tall man with dark hair and a charming smile approached. Evan Reid. I'd seen his face in business magazines, always alongside headlines about his rivalry with Damian.

"Reid," Damian greeted him coolly.

Evan's gaze flickered to me, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "And this must be your lovely new wife," he said, extending a hand. "Naomi, isn’t it?"

I hesitated but took his hand. "Yes. Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine," he said smoothly. "I must admit, I was surprised when I heard the news. I always imagined your brother-in-law would be the one at Damian’s side." His smile was polite, but there was a sharp edge to his words.

"Careful, Evan," Damian warned, his voice low. "You wouldn’t want to overstep."

Evan’s smile widened. "Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it." He looked back at me, his expression softening. "If you ever need someone to show you what this world is really like, give me a call."

My breath hitched at the weight of his words. Was he warning me about Damian? Or offering me a way out?

"Evan," Damian's voice was a razor blade, cutting through the tension. "Run along. I'm sure someone else here is desperate for your attention."

Evan held my gaze for a beat longer, then reached into his pocket and slipped a card into my hand. "Think about it," he whispered before walking away.

I stuffed the card into my clutch, my heart racing. Damian's jaw was clenched, fury radiating off him. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising.

"What did he say to you?" he demanded.

"Nothing important," I whispered.

"Don’t lie to me, Naomi." His voice was deadly quiet. "If you ever speak to him again, there will be consequences."

I yanked my arm free. "I didn't ask for this life, Damian. I didn’t ask to be your wife or get dragged into your war with Evan. Don’t expect me to play by your rules."

His eyes burned with a mix of anger and something else—something I couldn’t quite place. "Careful, Naomi. You're walking a very fine line."

The rest of the evening was a blur of forced smiles and icy conversations. By the time we left, my feet ached, and my nerves were frayed.

The ride home was tense and silent until Damian suddenly swerved the car off the main road, pulling into a dark, deserted side street. The tires screeched as he came to an abrupt stop.

"What are you doing?" I asked, panic rising in my chest.

He turned to face me, his eyes blazing. "Tell me the truth, Naomi," he growled. "Did you conspire with Evan? Is that why you're really here?”