Chapter 4: The Dinner of Masks
The next day came wrapped in tension. Amara woke early, determined not to make the same mistake again. By the time the sun had climbed above the city, she was dressed, quiet, and waiting in the living room. The maids passed her with polite nods, carrying trays and fabrics—preparing for something far more elaborate than she had imagined.
At noon, a stylist arrived with several dresses. They hung in shimmering rows of silk and satin—elegant, expensive, and far beyond anything Amara had ever worn.
"Mr. Cole requested that you wear something suitable for tonight's dinner," the woman said in a crisp tone. "He prefers classic styles. Minimal jewelry. No bright colors."
Amara's hand brushed over the gowns until she paused on one—an off-shoulder midnight-blue dress. The fabric felt cool against her skin, heavy with quiet power. "This one," she said.
The stylist gave a small approving nod. "Good choice."
Hours later, when Damian came downstairs, he paused mid-step. His dark eyes scanned her from head to toe, and for the first time since they'd met, silence replaced his usual cold remarks. He didn't say she looked beautiful, but his gaze lingered just long enough for her to feel it.
"Let's go," he said finally, voice low. "We're already late."
---
The Cole family limousine glided through the streets, smooth as shadow. Amara sat beside him, her heart thundering beneath the layers of silk. Outside, the city glowed—a million lights, each one a story she'd never live. Damian's phone buzzed twice, but he ignored it, his attention fixed on the passing skyline.
"You don't like crowds," she said quietly.
His eyes flicked toward her. "No."
"Then why go?"
"Because appearances keep power in place," he replied, his tone sharp but calm. "And power keeps everything else from falling apart."
Amara turned away, her fingers clutching the hem of her dress. "That sounds lonely."
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his expression—a crack, almost invisible. But then he looked away again, and the mask returned.
---
The dinner was held at one of the city's most luxurious hotels. Crystal chandeliers bathed the grand hall in soft gold light. The moment they entered, cameras flashed. People turned, whispers rippling through the room.
"Is that her? Damian Cole's new wife?"
"She's… not what I expected."
Amara kept her smile steady, though her stomach twisted with nerves. Damian's hand rested on the small of her back—a gesture that looked protective, but felt rehearsed. His touch was light, distant.
"Smile," he murmured without looking at her. "They're watching."
She did.
For the next hour, Amara stood beside him as investors, business partners, and socialites floated by with polite laughter and sharp eyes. She learned to nod at the right time, laugh softly, and pretend she belonged there. Damian spoke little, but his presence filled every inch of space—controlled, composed, intimidating.
It wasn't until the music began that she finally slipped away to breathe. She stepped onto the balcony, where the city wind swept against her face like freedom. The noise faded behind her, leaving only silence and stars.
"Running away already?" a smooth voice asked.
She turned to see a man leaning against the railing—a tall figure in a silver suit, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Don't worry, I'm not one of your husband's enemies. Yet."
Amara frowned. "And you are?"
"Ethan," he said with a charming grin. "Old friend of Damian's. Or, well—once upon a time."
There was something familiar in his tone, something dangerously calm. "You used to work together?" she asked.
He tilted his head. "You could say that. But let's just say… I know the real Damian Cole."
Her pulse quickened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Ask him someday. If he ever lets you close enough."
Before she could respond, Damian's voice cut through the night like a blade.
"Ethan."
Ethan's grin widened. "Speak of the devil."
Damian stood at the doorway, his expression cold, his presence radiating authority. "You're not welcome here."
Ethan laughed softly. "Relax, old friend. Just saying hello to your lovely wife."
"Leave," Damian said flatly.
For a moment, the air between them turned sharp and heavy. Then Ethan gave Amara one last lingering look. "Be careful, Mrs. Cole. Some contracts cost more than they promise."
He walked away, disappearing back into the glittering crowd.
Amara turned to Damian. "Who is he?"
"No one," he said, too quickly.
She stepped closer. "He seemed to know you."
"I said he's no one," he snapped, his control cracking for the first time that night.
The hurt flashed across her face before she could hide it. "You don't have to talk to me like that."
For a moment, he looked at her—the sadness behind her eyes, the exhaustion, the quiet strength. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
They stood in silence, the city lights flickering below. Then, softer this time, Damian said, "He's dangerous. Stay away from him."
Amara's voice trembled. "Dangerous… or honest?"
His gaze hardened. "Both."
He turned and walked away, leaving her alone again with the whisper of the wind and the echo of Ethan's warning.
---
Later that night, when they returned home, the house was dark and silent. Damian went straight to his study, locking the door behind him. Amara stood in the hallway, staring after him, a dozen questions burning in her chest.
Who was Ethan really?
What had happened between them?
And why did Damian's eyes hold both guilt and grief whenever that name was spoken?
She walked to her room, the click of her heels echoing softly. But before she reached her door, she heard a faint noise—a whisper through the hall, like the rustle of paper. Curiosity led her toward Damian's study. The light was still on beneath the door.
Through the small gap, she saw him standing by the desk, holding the same photograph again. But this time, he turned it over, revealing the image of a woman smiling beside him.
Ethan was in the photo too.
Amara's breath caught.
Whatever history bound them—it wasn't just business. It was betrayal. And it was far from over.
She stepped back quietly, her heart pounding, and whispered to hers
elf, "What have I gotten into?"
The mansion was silent again, but somewhere deep within its walls, secrets stirred awake.