Chapter Eighteen

T he sleek black limousine glides to a graceful stop at the entrance of the venue. Our chauffeur, dressed in a crisp black suit, steps out first and extends his hand to assist me. But Hal pats him on the shoulder and shakes his head slightly.

Damian exits and offers his hand. I feel the gaze of the gathered crowd and cameras turning toward us. I don’t want to take it but I can’t humiliate him in public. He would never let it slide. So I let him help me and emerge from the limousine.

Taking his arm, we step onto the red carpet. Flashbulbs burst like miniature fireworks, capturing the lie we feed them. A facade of being a happy couple.

Damian tugs me closer as we continue to pose. The blinding flash and shouts of the photographers evokes a memory from the past that makes my shoulders stiff with tension.

He leans down and brushes his lips against my ear. “Don’t.”

My body grows stiffer when I realize he knows exactly what I was thinking about. I try to relax.

His eyes survey the cameras and onlookers with a sense of detachment as the reporters call out his name. He’s the picture of control, effortlessly holding it all together, while I—on the other hand—feel myself unraveling. Especially when they start calling out mine.

Damian senses my uneasiness and ushers me forward. As we finally make our way past the flashing lights and the buzzing excitement.

Hal, who had been patiently waiting to the side, joins us. A second later a small group of people is suddenly by our side and is guiding us inside.

The grand doors open to reveal a magnificent ballroom adorned with crystal chandeliers and opulent floral arrangements.

I do my best to maintain composure, but my heart races, and I feel a tightness in my chest. The memories of countless social events, where I smiled and played the role of the perfect hostess, flood back. The pressure to be flawless, to say the right things, and to always be in control had taken a toll on me in the past.

And here I am, right back where I started. Only this time, I asked for it. Because being surrounded by strangers in this crowded room somehow feels safer than being with Damian, who, despite how well I know him, still feels like a complete stranger in every sense.

I clutch the edge of my purse a little tighter, my knuckles turning white. My breaths come in quick, shallow gasps, and I subtly press my free hand to my chest, feeling the rapid thumping of my heart.

This can’t be happening right now. The anxiety that’s become my constant companion threatens to consume me again. My shoulders start to tremble, and I can feel a fine sheen of perspiration forming on my forehead.

I suddenly feel a firm hand gently squeezing my waist. The contact distracts me and I find myself glancing up. Damian pulls me closer to his chest.

His dark night eyes bore into mine. Cold and distant as ever. Yet, in that moment, as our bodies press together, the distance between us seems to narrow, and a strange sense of calm begins to wash over me.

Damian doesn’t provide me warmth. His presence is far from warm but despite that, it acts as a shield against the overwhelming world around us.

His hand slides up my back, underneath my curls. His fingers find the nape of my neck, and he starts to massage it with a touch that’s both expert and intimate. While his other hand cradles my hip.

It’s ironic, really. I feel safe in his embrace. His gaze, empty of any warmth or empathy, should make me feel uneasy. But strangely, it doesn’t. Because the carnal possession in the depths of them tells me that he would keep me safe from everything. Everything but him.

My anchor and my storm.

It’s as if he knows my body better than I do, and his skilled hands send a wave of relief through me.

The tension in my neck gradually eases, and my racing heart begins to slow.

The kind of power Damian has over me is scary. I didn’t realize that I was tying the knot with the devil who would capture my soul. He may not have forced me to be his wife but he has me trapped with no way out. He is the main cause of my anxiety.

I attempt to pull away but he tightens his fingers.

“This is too much for you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You hate social gatherings.” His fingers stroke my nape, sending shivers down my spine.

“It’s better than being caged in your mansion.”

He fists my curls. “Our home.”

I press my lips in a line, stopping myself from arguing.

“Damian Montgomery.” A male voice interrupts our silent war.

A man who seems to be in his early forties with tanned skin and a well-maintained beard, grins at Damian. “Long time no see.”

He pauses at the sight of me and runs his gaze over me curiously. “And who is this beautiful lady?”

Damian stares at him as if he wants to poke his eyes out. His hand finds my hip and he glues me to his side.

“Carlos.”

I try not to gape at him when he doesn’t provide any introduction for me. Carlos doesn’t appear to notice his rudeness and asks for my name.

“River—”

“My wife,” I hear him say at the same time I offer my name. I peek at him. The asshole thinks “my wife” is equivalent to my name, my identity.

“River. What a lovely name for a lovely lady. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.” He takes my hand and brushes his lips over my knuckles.

Damian stands rigid and unmoving, his gaze like ice as he observes the interaction.

“And you are?” I ask to be polite.

“Carlos Rodriguez at your service.” He grins, seemingly oblivious to the tension. “I’ve had the pleasure of working with your husband on a numerous projects.”

I stare up at Damian again. He never told me about Carlos. But then he never did share anything. Not since we married.

The last time he ever shared anything about his work was before our marriage. I miss those days when we used to talk so much. It’s like the person I fell in love with and the person I married are two different people. Sometimes, I miss that man, long for that friend, who used to talk to me for hours. After the wedding, it seemed like a switch had gone off. He changed. Completely.

Three well-dressed men join us, greeting Damian with familiarity.

Is he the same way to the outside world like he is with me? Cold and distant and intense.

I stand stiffly as they talk. But even in my numb state, I’m aware of his fingers in the curve of my ribcage just below my breast, stroking distractedly.

Carlos, with a charming smile says, “Damian, I have to admit, I’m quite impressed. How did you manage to win the heart of such a young beautiful woman?”

Damian flashes him an impatient look. Despite the tender smile I manage to conjure, my voice carries a hint of melancholy as I respond, “Well, actually, it was me who pursued him.”

A thick silence settles around us after my confession. Damian’s jaw clenches noticeably.

His grin widens. “No offense, man, but I’ve seen most men cower in front of you. And then there’s your wife, this fragile little thing. It’s pretty hard to picture her pursuing you.” He chuckles softly before turning his attention back to me. “So, River, tell me, what made you fall for him?”

“My private life is none of your business,” Damian says brusquely.

“Stop being nosy, Carlos,” The other man says, picking up on the tense atmosphere as he glances at Damian.

“Sorry, not sorry,” he grins, shrugging with a mischievous glint in his eye. “This guy’s a damn enigma. He barely says a word, and when he does, it’s all business. Never shows up to any of our parties. I won’t let this opportunity pass me by. So, River. What was it about him that made you fall for him?”

“I just couldn’t help it.” A soft smile graces my lips as I recount the memory of my eighteenth birthday. “It was my birthday. I couldn’t even remember anything else from that night because everything faded the second I laid eyes on him.” I stare into the distance, reminiscing. “I was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. I don’t even know how—I just felt this... hollowness in him that resonated with the emptiness I carried within me.” And now I’m not even sure what I felt was ever real. My lower lip trembles.

The memory shouldn’t cut as deep as it does. But looking back on that day, all I feel is foolish. Na?ve. I see it now that every touch, every kiss and every word he gave me in the past meant nothing.

If I hadn’t read those files that day, I still would’ve stupidly thought his kiss from earlier meant something more. But now I see for what is really is—lust.

That is the worst form of rejection. I know that now. Because I’m just a means to an end for the love of my life. I am just a body for him because I could never be something more. And that is the most heartbreaking thing for a woman who did nothing but worship her man. I blink back my tears.

Just then, Damian reaches out. Capturing my face with a hand, he bends his head and kisses me passionately.

Right there, in front of his business associates and a ballroom full of socialites, he kisses me possessively.

I hear someone clearing their throat, Carlos commenting how we are still in the honeymoon phase among few female gasps.

When he releases me, I stare at him in a daze. He tucks my curl before pressing his lips against mine once more, this time softly. “I ruined your lipstick again,” he says, breathing hard without an ounce of guilt.

I duck my face, flushing.

“Hal.” Damian speaks and immediately, Hal is by my side and is whisking me away from the group.

◆◆◆

After using the ladies’ room, I decided to leave the gentlemen to their conversation and wandered alone. Well, with Hal shadowing. Because Damian ordered him to.

My heart flutters with a mixture of emotions, and my cheeks tingle from the memory of his lips pressed against mine. I can’t believe he did that, right in front of everyone.

The music playing softly seems to fade away as I replay the kiss in my mind. His touch was firm yet tender. Was it an act to shield my vulnerable side? Or was it a move to stop me from humiliating myself by speaking about our past?

I touch my lips which are still tingling from his kiss.

I take a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. This is not the time for overthinking.

The walls are adorned with vibrant artwork, each piece reflecting the healing power of mental health support. I focus on studying them as if they hold the answers to the questions swirling in my mind.

My attention remains fixated on the artwork, contemplating its intricate details, when a new, deep captivating voice fills the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice begins, laced with a hint of smile, “I must say, this gala is straight out of the sets of a movie, but it seems my eyes have been blessed with something equally exquisite.”

I glance around the room, and I can see heads turning toward the podium where the speaker stands, a figure shrouded in the dim light.

It’s a voice I don’t recognize, yet its rich timbre pulls my attention. A ripple of laughter spreads through the audience as he skillfully combines charm and wit.

I find myself curious enough to crane my neck to get a better view. The dim light of the ballroom had obscured his figure, but now he strides confidently into the spotlight. He is tall, with a commanding presence and with dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and rugged good looks. He looks close to Damian’s age. Early thirties.

“As I stand here,” he continues, his gaze sweeping the room, “I can’t help but admire the beauty that surrounds us, both in the art on these walls and in the faces gathered here tonight.” His gaze meets mine then and he holds the contact for a second too long.

I avert my eyes quickly, feeling a bit out of sort.

“But,” he adds with a subtle shift in tone, “as we come together for this noble cause, we must also recognize that beauty often conceals hidden depths, just as the grandest of galas can hide the struggles of those who attend.” The room grows still as his voice deepens, carrying a weight of sincerity that contrasts with his initial charm.

“You see,” he continues, “I, too, have experienced the shadows that can cloud the mind and heart. Mental health challenges do not discriminate. They touch the lives of many, even those who may seem to have it all.”

As he reveals his own vulnerability, the audience falls under a spell as he continues to talk. His words are a powerful reminder that no one is immune to the challenges of mental health, and that seeking help and support is a sign of strength, not weakness.

The handsome stranger keeps catching my eye. Each time our gazes inadvertently meet, it makes me feel out of depth.

When the uniformed server moves gracefully through the crowd, balancing a tray laden with glistening champagne flutes toward me, I grab one. The cool glass against my palm offers a welcome distraction.

Maybe I am reading too much into something that isn’t there. It can be a co-incidence. Maybe he didn’t mean to look at my way every so often. It might be one of those awkward situations where you lock eyes with a complete stranger over and over again without wanting to because they are merely in your line of sight.

Only one way to find out. I begin walking and don’t stop until I’m far out of his vision. If he is purposefully staring, he’ll have to turn his head to do so.

Taking a deep breath, I lift my head again to test him and find him staring straight at me. But this time, his lips are curved up in an amused smile.

I frown, my fingers tightening around the flute. It makes me so confused that I don’t notice the subtle shift in the air until a sudden, unexpected touch startles me. I gasp in surprise as a possessive and muscled arm snakes around my waist.

Startled, I turn to see Damian. His eyes hold a dark and unnerving intensity, a sense of danger that makes my heart race. His grip around my waist is unyielding, sending an unsettling chill down my spine.

Did he witness the stranger staring at me? My heart stops in my chest. If he sees something he doesn’t like, he could strip away the little bit of freedom I’ve managed to get from him. And I can’t afford that.

“You all right?” He asks and my brows crease with confusion. Then I remember that he is referring to our very public kiss from earlier. He knows I was flustered and was avoiding the group.

“Oh. Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

“Sir,” Hal interjects. “I believe it’s time to take your seats at the table.”

Damian, though still studying me, seems to relent slightly. Without a word, he releases his hold on my waist, but his dark gaze remains fixed on me.

As Hal guides us toward our table, I can’t help but feel relieved. Damian and Hal are sharp. Nothing escapes them. They must’ve completely missed that guy’s blatant staring; otherwise, there’s no way they’d stay this calm after seeing it.

The night continues to unfold, the speeches progressing with heartfelt sincerity, each one highlighting the importance of mental health awareness and the value of volunteer work. While Damian chats with other couples who join our table, I find my attention wandering, drawn to a speaker who shares her experiences as a volunteer for the mental health charity.

An idea strikes me. I can do volunteer work. Her words resonate deeply with me, and I can’t help but admire her dedication. And this could also serve as a purpose for me to venture out of the house.

I needed a reason to go out of the house. He’d agreed to let me leave the house, but he’d never let me work. The thought of me being gone for hours would never sit right with him. Asking for that would be pointless. But this... this could be my chance.

Volunteering would help me. Damian had given my phone back, but I’m sure he’s tracking it alongside having all the activity monitored. So I can’t seek help through the phone but going out and volunteering would give me the opportunity to meet new people.

The thought of working and helping others fills me with spirit, I can only hope it would help me get out of my husband’s steel-like hold.

I glance at him and find him still engrossed in a conversation about his ongoing project.

This isn’t the time or place to tell him about my interest in volunteer work. He wouldn’t understand. He’s very intuitive and sharp. He knows how much I want to leave. I’ll have to carefully plan what I have to say before discussing it with him. Because one small mistake, and I can kiss my freedom goodbye.

And I need this. I need something to break the endless cycle of loneliness and misery. I won’t be seeing Summer anytime soon. In a way, this could be my own therapy—something to help me manage the stress, the anxiety. It’s the only way I’ll feel like I’m doing something with my life again.

After the speeches, dinner is served, and the atmosphere takes on a more relaxed tone. I excuse myself to use the restroom.

After washing my hands, I stand before the bathroom mirror and gaze at my reflection, taking in the elegant attire and the mask of composure I’ve worn throughout the evening.

It’s been a long night, a rollercoaster of emotions but being here, witnessing people share their journeys was worth it.

Tucking my hair, I give my reflection a once over before venturing out of the restroom.

The room seems more packed than before. It takes a moment to spot Damian across the sea of people. I find him standing at the farthest corner of the room. But he’s not alone.

A beautiful woman with fair skin and golden hair cascading down her shoulder, dressed in a shimmering crimson red is with him.

Something about her tall frame seems familiar. Heaviness grows and tightens my chest. He isn’t looking at the woman but there’s a slight tilt of his head that shows he’s listening to whatever she’s saying.

The lady in front of me who was obscuring my view walks away and that’s when I get to see her face entirely.

Gianna .

The sight shakes me and every bit of composure I had managed to maintain throughout the night. It slices open the old wound that took forever to heal.

In a blink of an eye, I transform into a vulnerable twenty-year-old girl who had her very first heartbreak. The grand ballroom fades into obscurity, and I find myself transported to a different place, a different era.

The woman beside Damian becomes a haunting reminder of a time I felt so lonely, humiliated and broken.

I feel my composure slipping away, my facade of strength crumbling. The present loses its grip, and I am left exposed and stripped bare.

“Ma’am?” It is Hal’s voice that pulls me out of my shock. He must have noticed something in my expression that makes him alert. “What’s wrong?” he asks sharply.

“I-I... It’s...”

“Ma’am?” Hal persists, his concern palpable as I stammer and falter in my attempt to explain. “I’ll get Mr. Montgomery.”

“No!” I choke, trembling as I hug my middle. My eyes involuntarily drift back to Damian and jerk when our gazes collide.

Swallowing thickly, I add frantically, “He’s busy. Can you please take me home?”

When my eyes dart toward Damian again, I find him striding purposefully in my direction.

Without thinking, I turn and flee, my steps carrying me away from the room full of people.

I hear Damian’s voice calling my name, mingling with Hal’s urgent shouts. But I don’t stop.

I run faster, leaving behind the man who not only torments me in my present but also haunts my past.