Chapter 4

• Elara’s mind raced as she climbed the stairs out of Damien’s private gallery. The hidden space had been unexpected—a window into the man who seemed impenetrable. For all his arrogance and dominance, there was something undeniably raw and vulnerable about the way he had shared that part of himself.
• And now, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
• The following morning, the mansion was abuzz with activity. Staff bustled around, arranging flowers, adjusting linens, and setting up tables in the expansive garden. It was as if a grand event was being orchestrated, but Elara had no idea what for.
• Maria appeared at her door, holding a garment bag.
• “Miss Carter, Mr. Blackthorn has requested your attendance at a formal luncheon today,” she said, her tone brisk.
• Elara raised an eyebrow. “Another event? Does Damien ever stop?”
• Maria’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. “Rarely.”
• With a resigned sigh, Elara took the bag and began getting ready. The dress inside was exquisite—an emerald-green gown that accentuated her figure without being overly revealing. As she slipped it on and looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but feel a small pang of self-consciousness.
• Would she ever feel like she belonged in Damien’s world?
• The garden was transformed into a picturesque setting, with tables adorned in fine linens and crystal centerpieces that caught the sunlight. Guests were already arriving, their laughter and chatter filling the air.
• Damien stood at the center of it all, commanding attention with his effortless charm. He was dressed in a tailored suit, his presence magnetic as he greeted each guest with a firm handshake or a polite nod.
• When his eyes landed on Elara, his expression shifted—softened, almost imperceptibly. He walked toward her, his steps purposeful.
• “You clean up well,” he said, his gaze sweeping over her.
• She rolled her eyes, trying to mask the flutter in her chest. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
• “It’s an observation,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “But you look... stunning.”
• The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard, leaving her momentarily speechless.
• “Come,” he said, offering his arm. “We have appearances to maintain.”
• As they moved through the crowd, Elara couldn’t help but notice the way people’s eyes followed them. Whispers trailed in their wake, and she caught snippets of conversations—curiosity about the “mystery woman” who had captured Damien Blackthorn’s attention.
• It was unnerving, but Damien’s steady presence beside her kept her grounded.
• Near the end of the luncheon, Damien led her to a table where a group of older men sat, their expressions a mixture of respect and wariness.
• “Elara,” he said, his voice smooth, “I’d like you to meet Mr. Langston, Mr. Price, and Mr. Ashcroft. They’re longtime associates of mine.”
• Elara offered a polite smile, though the intensity of their gazes made her uneasy.
• “Pleasure to meet you all,” she said, keeping her tone light.
• “Damien speaks highly of you,” Mr. Langston said, his sharp eyes studying her.
• “Does he?” she asked, glancing at Damien with raised eyebrows.
• “I do,” Damien said, his voice firm. “Elara has proven herself to be an invaluable partner.”
• The word partner lingered in the air, and for a moment, Elara felt as though she had stepped into a game she didn’t fully understand.
• After the event ended and the guests began to disperse, Elara retreated to the garden’s edge, needing a moment to herself. The sun was setting, casting a warm golden glow over the grounds.
• She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Damien approaching, his tie loosened and his usual composed demeanor slightly unraveled.
• “Running away again?” he asked, his tone teasing.
• “Just needed some air,” she replied, leaning against a stone railing.
• He joined her, the two of them standing in silence as the sky shifted from gold to deep purple.
• “You handled yourself well today,” he said after a moment.
• “Thanks, I guess,” she said, glancing at him. “But I still don’t understand why I’m here. Why me?”
• His gaze met hers, intense and unwavering. “Because I trust you.”
• Her breath caught at his words, so simple yet so profound.
• “I don’t know if I trust you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
• “I don’t expect you to,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “But I’ll earn it.”
• The vulnerability in his words was disarming, and for a brief moment, she saw through the walls he so carefully maintained.
• As the first stars began to appear in the sky, Elara felt a strange sense of peace—fragile but real.
• Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as out of place in Damien’s world as she thought.
• The following week passed in a blur of lavish events, high-profile meetings, and quiet moments where Damien would find some way to keep her close. Elara had long since learned to navigate the world of wealth and power that seemed to revolve around him. She had played her part as his fiancée—smiling at the right times, shaking hands with strangers, and sitting beside him at formal dinners—but the underlying tension between them hadn’t disappeared.
• Though the coldness in Damien’s gaze had softened, there was still something guarded about him, as if he was afraid to let her too close. And perhaps, deep down, she was just as afraid to get too close to him.
• It was late one evening when the opportunity to finally unravel some of the mystery surrounding Damien presented itself.
• Elara had just finished dinner when she found him alone in the study, his usual commanding presence replaced by a palpable exhaustion. His tie was undone, sleeves rolled up, and his shirt wrinkled from long hours of work.
• “Did you need something?” he asked, glancing up from his papers.
• Elara hesitated, then made her way toward him. She had been thinking about it for days, and tonight, she felt an unexpected resolve settle within her.
• “Why do you do it?” she asked quietly.
• “Do what?” Damien asked, his voice betraying no sign of surprise.
• “The pretending.”
• He frowned slightly, clearly not understanding what she meant. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
• “You’ve built an entire life on pretending—on controlling everyone and everything around you,” she said, stepping closer to his desk. “But you don’t control me.”
• His eyes darkened, the usual coldness seeping into his gaze. “And why would you think you matter to me?”
• Her breath caught in her throat at the sharpness of his words, but she stood her ground. “Because I do, Damien. You might not be ready to admit it, but I can see it in the way you’re constantly trying to keep me at arm’s length, trying to push me away. You don’t do that unless you care.”
• For a long moment, he didn’t speak, his fingers tapping against the edge of his desk. Elara couldn’t read him, but her heart raced as if they were on the precipice of something huge.
• Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to care about you.”
• The admission hung in the air, and for the first time, Elara saw a glimpse of the man who had been buried beneath the façade of power and arrogance.
• “Then why do you?” she asked, her voice almost tender.
• Damien’s jaw clenched, and he stood from his chair, moving toward her with a quiet intensity.
• “Because I can’t stop it,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “Because you’re my luna. My mate. And fate doesn’t care what I want.”
• The words slammed into her chest like a punch, the weight of them suffocating.
• She shook her head, struggling to wrap her mind around what he was saying. “You still believe in all of that—fated love, luna nonsense?”
• His gaze softened, his fingers brushing against her cheek in a gesture that was far more tender than anything she had ever expected from him. “It’s not nonsense. Not to me.”
• Elara took a step back, trying to process everything that had just been laid bare. “You’ve said it yourself—fate doesn’t give us a choice. But I’m not ready for any of this. I’m not ready to be tied to you, to live in a world that I don’t understand.”
• Damien’s face fell, and for the first time, Elara saw the vulnerability he had always kept hidden beneath his alpha mask.
• “I know,” he said softly. “But you will be. In time.”
• The days that followed felt different—more tense, more suffocating. Elara had tried to retreat into herself, but the bond between them was undeniable, like a magnetic pull she couldn’t resist. Damien was still the same: cold, calculating, and dominant. But now, there was a flicker of something more in his eyes.
• Something more dangerous.
• One evening, as Elara walked through the garden, she spotted Damien standing alone beneath the ancient oak tree, his posture rigid as he stared out into the distance. She hesitated for a moment before approaching, wondering if he was brooding or if he simply needed the solitude.
• “Damien?” she called softly.
• He turned at the sound of her voice, his gaze locking onto hers with a look that made her heart skip a beat.
• “You should be inside,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s late.”
• “I don’t mind the night,” she said, standing beside him. “I just wanted to talk.”
• He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze drifted back to the tree, his brow furrowing as though he were lost in thought.
• “I don’t think you understand what this is,” he said quietly. “The bond between us—it’s not something I can turn off. It’s not something I can control.”
• Elara swallowed, the words sinking deep into her chest. “And what if I don’t want it? What if I don’t want to be your luna, your... whatever this is supposed to be?”
• Damien’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You don’t have a choice.”
• She froze at the rawness of his words, her mind racing. “But I do,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I do have a choice.”
• Damien closed the distance between them, his eyes blazing with something she couldn’t quite decipher. “No, Elara. You don’t. This is fate. And I’m not letting you go.”
• For a moment, it was just the two of them, standing in the garden beneath the stars, the weight of destiny hanging between them.
• Elara’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. She couldn’t escape it—she couldn’t escape him.
• But the question still lingered: could she ever learn to accept it?