The soft hum of the mansion's grand clock filled the silence.
Tick. Tock.
Each second felt heavier than the last.
I sat by the window in my guest room — my "wing," as Damien's assistant once called it. I preferred the quiet there. The space didn't smell like wealth or power — it smelled like the faint oil paints.
I was trying out another painting when I heard a knock. Not the housekeeper's soft, polite knock — this one was firm, even… commanding.
My brush stilled midair.
"Come in," i said softly.
The door opened, and Damien stepped in — immaculate as always. Dark suit, crisp tie, expression unreadable. But something in his eyes looked unsettled.
"Evening," I said, setting the brush aside. "I didn't expect you here."
His gaze flicked briefly to my painting. "You've been working late."
I smiled faintly. "It's not work when it's the only thing keeping me sane."
He didn't smile back — he rarely did. "We need to talk."
I was tensed, wiping my paint-stained fingers on my apron. "That sounds serious."
"It is," he said simply. "The annual Blackwell Gala is in three days. I need you to attend."
You've said this to me before I said with a sigh of relief
I know it's about fancy dresses, cameras, reporters, rich people pretending to like each other?"
His lips twitched. "Exactly that."
And lastly i can't bypass it right?
No you can't it more like meeting my family he said though some business associates will be present
Aha! I said with a bitter laugh.
Eva, I'm not asking you to pretend. Just… be there. Please."cause I know you always call it pretence he concluded.
The please startled me more than the request.
"Alright," I said softly. "I'll go."
His shoulders relaxed a little. "Good. My assistant will handle the wardrobe. It's formal."
He turned to leave, but I stopped him. "Damien?"
He paused at the door.
"You didn't have to pay for my father's surgery," I said quietly. "I know you didn't do it out of kindness. But… thank you."
His expression shifted, unreadable again. "Don't thank me. Just hold up your end of the deal."
Then he left — leaving behind the faint trace of cologne.
---
The next morning, the mansion came alive with activity.
My peaceful solitude was invaded by stylists, designers, and makeup artists. Damien's assistant, Lydia — sharp, composed, and kind in a quiet way — supervised everything.
I stood before racks of glittering gowns that didn't feel like mine
"Mr. Blackwell requested something elegant," Lydia said, holding up a midnight-blue dress. "He said you'd look… right in this one."
Eva blinked. "He said that?"
Lydia gave a small nod. "He's not as detached as he looks, Mrs. Blackwell."
By evening, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. The dress hugged my frame perfectly; my hair was swept into a soft, effortless style.
When i stepped downstairs, Damien was waiting near the grand staircase. The look on his face — quick, fleeting, and unguarded — nearly stopped my breath.
"You're late."
"You're impossible."
"And yet," he said, offering his arm, "you still agreed to come."
I hesitated only a moment before taking it. His warmth surprised her — steady, grounding, dangerous.
---
The gala was a world of chandeliers and champagne.
Cameras flashed. Laughter echoed. The air smelled of money and hidden motives.
My pulse quickened as we entered, the crowd parting to greet Damien Blackwell — heir, billionaire, king of calm. Everyone knew him. Everyone wanted something from him.
But no one looked at me — not until i was announced as Mrs. Eva Blackwell.
Heads turned. Eyes lingered. Whispers rippled.
"She's lovely," someone murmured.
"Never seen her before."
"Probably another charity project."
I forced a smile. "I think your friends like me," she whispered through her teeth.
"They don't have to," Damien said quietly, "I do."
I froze. He didn't look at me when he said it, but the words hit somewhere i didn't expect.
---
Halfway through the evening, i slipped away to catch my breath. The crowd, the lights, the fake smiles — it was too much.
I found a quieter hallway, lined with portraits of the Blackwell family. All stern faces. Power-hungry eyes. Generations of ambition.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice said behind me.
I turned sharply . A man — tall, well-dressed, with the same sharp features as Damien — was watching me with a curious smile.
"You must be Eva," he said. "I'm Graham. Damien's brother."
I blinked "Brother?"
His grin widened. "Didn't he mention me?"
"No," i said carefully.
"Ah." He chuckled softly. "That sounds like him. Always selective about his truths."
There was something about Graham — charming and dangerous, like a smile that hides a blade.
"I've heard a lot about you," he continued. "The mysterious wife who appeared out of nowhere."
I grew tensed. "I'm not mysterious. Just private."
"Private," he echoed
"That's what he likes. The quiet ones who don't ask too many questions."
"Excuse me?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Tell me, Eva… do you really think my brother married you out of love?"
My breath caught. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because," he said, with a sheepish laugh and smile, "in this family, everything has a price. Including affection."
Before i could respond, Damien appeared — his expression ice-cold.
something is definitely not okay i said within me.
"Graham," he said sharply. "You've overstayed your welcome."
Graham laughed, unbothered. "Just getting acquainted with your lovely wife."
"Don't."
The warning in Damien's tone made the air itself heavy and difficult for proper breathing.
Graham smirked and brushed past them. "See you around, sister-in-law."
I stood frozen as Damien's jaw tightened.
"You shouldn't talk to him," he said quietly.
"Why?" she asked, voice trembling. "Because he might tell me something true?"
His silence alone was the answer.
That night, long after we returned home, I lay awake replaying every word Graham had said.
Everything has a price.
When Damien finally walked past my door, I whispered to the dark,
"What did I cost you, Damien Blackwell?"