Elara knew something was wrong the moment Lucien asked her to wear red.
It was a simple instruction—quiet, controlled, delivered with the same tone he used when discussing security schedules or legal briefings—but it unsettled her more than she expected.
"Red?" she repeated, standing in the doorway of his office.
Lucien looked up from his tablet. "Yes."
"I don't usually—"
"It photographs well," he said, cutting in smoothly. "And tonight will be photographed."
Tonight.
Her stomach tightened. "Where are we going?"
Lucien set the tablet aside and stood. "The Blackwood Foundation Gala."
Elara's pulse spiked. "A gala?"
"You'll attend as my guest."
The word echoed louder than it should have.
"I thought you said public appearances were limited," she said carefully.
"They are," Lucien replied. "This one is unavoidable."
"And the press?"
"They'll be there."
Her chest tightened. "Then why bring me?"
Lucien's gaze held hers, steady and unreadable. "Because my absence would raise questions. And yours would raise more."
She understood then.
This wasn't about protection.
It was about optics.
"I won't embarrass you," she said quietly.
"I know."
That, somehow, hurt more.
The car ride to the venue passed in strained silence. Elara stared out the window at the city rushing past, trying to steady her breathing. Lucien sat beside her, posture impeccable, expression locked behind a familiar mask of composure.
"You don't have to stay long," he said at last. "We'll make an appearance, circulate briefly, and leave."
"And if someone asks who I am?" she asked.
Lucien's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"You're under my protection," he said. "That's all."
Not assistant.
Not ward.
Not family.
Protection.
The gala glittered with wealth the moment they arrived. Crystal chandeliers. Polished marble. Laughter sharpened by ambition.
Eyes turned instantly.
Elara felt them before she saw them—curiosity sliding over her skin like heat.
Lucien placed a hand lightly at her back.
It was subtle. Proper.
Devastating.
"Stay close," he murmured.
She nodded.
They moved through the room together, Lucien greeting donors and board members with ease, Elara at his side like something rare and valuable no one dared touch.
She could feel it—the unspoken questions.
Who is she?
Why is she here?
How did she earn that place?
A woman approached them near the bar, her smile polished and sharp.
"Lucien," she said warmly. "You didn't tell us you were bringing company."
Lucien didn't hesitate.
"Elara Vale," he said. "With me."
With me.
The woman's gaze flicked over Elara, assessing.
"How lovely," she said. "You're very lucky."
Elara forced a smile. "Thank you."
The woman drifted away, curiosity unsatisfied.
Lucien exhaled quietly.
"You're doing well," he said.
"I feel like an exhibit," Elara replied under her breath.
"That means they're too distracted to dig deeper."
A man approached then—older, confident, eyes sharp with calculation.
"Blackwood," he said. "Didn't expect to see you tonight."
"Change of plans," Lucien replied coolly.
The man's gaze shifted to Elara, interest flaring.
"And this must be the reason."
Lucien's hand tightened slightly at her back.
"This is not your concern," he said, voice calm but edged with warning.
The man chuckled. "Relax. I'm only observing. People notice these things."
"They shouldn't," Lucien replied.
"They will," the man said lightly. "Especially when something valuable appears unexpectedly."
Elara felt suddenly exposed.
Lucien stepped forward, subtly blocking her from view.
"Enjoy the evening," he said, dismissive.
The man left, but the tension lingered.
Elara glanced up at Lucien. "You didn't tell me I'd be… noticed."
Lucien's eyes darkened. "That was my mistake."
Music swelled through the room, a slow, elegant rhythm.
Lucien hesitated—then extended his hand.
"We should dance," he said quietly.
Her breath caught. "We should?"
"It looks natural."
Nothing about this felt natural.
Still, she placed her hand in his.
The moment he drew her closer, the world shifted.
Lucien's hand rested at her waist, firm and steady. Her other hand settled against his shoulder, the warmth of him undeniable.
They moved slowly, deliberately.
Too well.
"This is a bad idea," she whispered.
"Yes," he replied. "Which is why we're doing it."
Her heart hammered.
"You're holding me too close," she said.
"Any distance would invite speculation."
She swallowed. "Lucien—"
"Look at me," he said quietly.
She did.
For a moment, the crowd disappeared.
There was only the steady intensity in his eyes. The restraint etched into every line of his face.
"You're safe," he murmured. "Focus on that."
But safety had never felt like this.
The music ended too soon.
Lucien released her immediately, stepping back as if burned.
Applause filled the room.
Elara's hands trembled.
They retreated to a quieter corner near the terrace.
"That can't happen again," Lucien said firmly.
"You asked me to dance."
"I won't ask again."
She looked at him, hurt flickering through her composure. "Then don't put me in positions you're not willing to stand by."
His jaw clenched.
"I'm standing by you right now."
"But only as long as it doesn't cost you," she said softly.
Something broke in his expression—just slightly.
"You have no idea what this already costs," he replied.
The words hung between them.
Suddenly, flashes exploded across the terrace.
Cameras.
Voices calling Lucien's name.
Elara froze.
Lucien reacted instantly, pulling her close—not for show this time, but to shield her.
"No questions," he said sharply. "We're leaving."
They moved fast, security closing in, but not before a camera caught the moment—Lucien's arm around her, his body angled protectively, his expression fierce and unmistakable.
In the car, silence pressed down hard.
Elara stared at her hands. "That will be everywhere by morning."
"Yes," Lucien said.
"Your board will ask questions."
"Yes."
"And the press will assume—"
"I know."
She turned to him then. "Then why did you do it?"
Lucien met her gaze.
"Because letting them see you unprotected would have been worse."
Her voice trembled. "And what about letting them see you care?"
Lucien looked away.
"That," he said quietly, "may be the most dangerous part."
Back at the penthouse, Elara lingered near the door.
"Tonight wasn't just a role," she said.
Lucien didn't deny it.
"No," he admitted. "It wasn't."
She nodded slowly. "Then you should know something."
He looked at her.
"I won't pretend I didn't feel it," she said. "And I won't apologize for that."
She turned and walked away, leaving Lucien alone in the silence.
By morning, the headlines would change.
The rumors would grow teeth.
And Lucien Blackwood knew—without question—that whatever line he'd been guarding so fiercely had just been crossed in public.
There would be consequences.
And for the first time, he wasn't sure he wanted to stop them.