Chapter 10 — The Night After the Lights (or How to Lose Composure Gracefully)
"Every gala ends the same way — with too much champagne, too many glances, and one truth you can no longer ignore."
The ballroom had quieted, the orchestra fading into softer melodies. Guests were trickling out, their laughter echoing down the marble corridors like confessions left behind.
Eloura stood by the balcony doors, the night wind teasing the silk of her gown. From below, the city shimmered—golden, endless, and indifferent. Damian approached from behind, jacket off now, bowtie undone, looking far too effortlessly human for someone usually carved from composure.
"Your fans have finally dispersed," he said, tone amused but eyes steady on her.
She smirked. "Dispersed? Or did you personally escort each one to the exit?"
He didn't deny it. "They were… persistent."
Eloura turned, catching his faint smile. "Admit it, you were jealous."
"I was strategic," he said, hands sliding into his pockets. "There's a difference."
"Mm. Strategic jealousy, then."
He exhaled softly, the kind that meant she'd caught him. For a moment, silence replaced the teasing—thick, humming with everything unsaid. The music from the ballroom softened further, just the faint echo of a piano drifting through the open doors.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. "You handled tonight… better than I expected."
She tilted her head. "Better than tripping at the red carpet and spilling champagne on dignitaries?"
"That was surprisingly effective," he admitted. "You made chaos look… intentional."
She laughed, but his gaze didn't waver. There was something else there—something unguarded. The kind of look that made her heart thud in its silk cage.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, softly now.
He hesitated, then moved closer, the scent of cologne and night air blurring between them. "Because you don't seem to realize what you do to a room… or to me."
The words landed like velvet over fire—quiet, devastating.
Eloura swallowed. "Careful, Damian. That almost sounded like a confession."
He leaned in, voice low. "Almost."
For a moment, neither moved. The world had folded into the space between their breaths—the city hum, the last notes of jazz, the faint taste of danger and desire.
Then, as if remembering himself, Damian straightened. "You should get some rest. It's late."
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you dismissing me?"
"Protecting you," he corrected.
"From what? The city lights?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he offered his arm. "Come on. I'll take you home."
But when they reached the entrance, the valet informed them the car had been delayed—some confusion at the parking bay. Damian sighed, checked his watch, then looked at her.
"My place is closer," he said, hesitating for half a heartbeat. "Just until the car arrives."
Eloura smirked. "Of course. Just until."
---
The penthouse was what luxury whispered about in its dreams. Floor-to-ceiling glass framed the city skyline, the faint hum of jazz still playing somewhere unseen. She stepped inside, removing her heels, half in awe, half in disbelief.
"You live like a movie set," she said.
"I prefer efficiency," he said, loosening his cufflinks.
"Efficiency doesn't usually come with a view of half the skyline."
He poured two glasses of champagne, offering her one. "Consider it strategic aesthetics."
She took the glass, eyes glimmering. "Strategic again. You really should trademark that."
They stood by the window, the city lights reflected in the glass—and in their silence. For the first time all evening, Eloura felt the world slow down. No cameras. No crowd. Just them.
"You know," she said softly, "you don't always have to be the one in control."
He glanced at her, curious. "And who should be?"
She smiled. "Maybe the moment."
Damian studied her like she was a language he was still learning. "Moments are unpredictable."
"So are people," she said. "And that's what makes them worth it."
Something shifted in his expression—less guarded now, almost gentle. He set his glass down. "You make everything complicated."
"Or maybe," she said, stepping closer, "I make everything honest."
The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was electric.
For a second, it felt like the entire city held its breath with them.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, fingers barely grazing her cheek. "You should rest," he murmured again, though his voice had lost its conviction.
She smiled faintly. "And you should stop pretending you don't want to stay right here."
The air between them trembled—dangerously close to something neither of them could undo.
But then Damian's phone buzzed on the counter, shattering the spell. He turned away, a quiet curse slipping out.
Eloura exhaled, setting her glass down beside his. "Saved by the ringtone," she said lightly.
He looked back at her, a hint of frustration mixing with admiration. "You always know how to end an evening on your terms."
"Of course," she said, heading for the balcony again. "It's the only strategy I've mastered."
And as she looked out over the glittering city, Damian stood behind her—silent, thoughtful, dangerously close to crossing that invisible line neither of them could pretend didn't exist anymore.
Xoxo Eloura 😘😍