Alina didn't sleep that night.
Even after Damien left the greenhouse and returned to his world of shadows and secrets, her mind kept replaying the kiss — soft, aching, and far too real. It wasn't part of their contract. It wasn't for the press. It wasn't for appearances.
It was... for them.
And that terrified her more than she was ready to admit.
Wrapped in her robe, she stood by the tall windows of her bedroom, staring out into the moonlit garden. The silence pressed against her chest, thick with everything unsaid.
What are we doing?
Her heart had started to betray her — and she wasn't sure she could keep pretending.
A soft knock startled her. She turned, expecting one of the staff, but when the door opened, Damien stepped in. His suit jacket was gone, his tie loosened, and his hair slightly tousled like he'd run his fingers through it one too many times.
"Couldn't sleep," he said simply.
"Me neither," she replied, voice barely above a whisper.
They stood there, a few feet apart, with the kind of silence that said too much. Damien walked in slowly, his gaze searching hers, but he didn't come close enough to touch.
"I've spent years keeping people out," he said. "It was the only way to survive in this house."
Alina's throat tightened. "I know the feeling."
He looked at her then, really looked — past the surface, past the convenient lie of their marriage. "But when I kissed you... it didn't feel like a mistake."
Her heart pounded. "It didn't feel fake either."
He nodded. Then, after a beat, he added, "That's the problem."
A bitter laugh escaped her. "You think feelings are problems?"
"I think they're dangerous. Especially in this world." He took a step closer. "Especially with me."
She looked up at him. "And yet, here you are."
They stared at each other for a moment too long. The air between them charged with tension again — not lust, not entirely. It was something more dangerous. Trust, maybe. Or the possibility of it.
"You should rest," Damien said, breaking the moment. "We'll be expected at the Montgomery fundraiser tomorrow night."
Alina blinked. "Tomorrow? We just went to the gala."
He smirked. "This is New York high society. They party more than they legislate."
She gave a tired smile. "Great. More fake smiles and judgmental stares."
"You're getting good at it," he said, voice low. "Too good."
She arched a brow. "That's not a compliment."
"It wasn't meant to be." His eyes softened. "Don't lose yourself in this."
And with that, he turned and left, closing the door behind him — but not before she saw the flicker of conflict in his eyes.
The Montgomery estate was a picture of opulence, but unlike the Lancasters' imposing mansion, this one exuded charm — as if designed to make you forget how ruthless the people inside really were.
Alina wore deep emerald silk that hugged her curves and swept behind her like a whisper. Her makeup was flawless, her hair pinned in a soft updo. On the outside, she was the perfect image of Damien Lancaster's wife.
But inside, she was unraveling.
Damien stood beside her, all sharp angles and cold elegance, but his hand lingered at the small of her back a little longer than necessary. A silent reassurance? A performance?
She didn't know anymore.
They mingled with politicians, heiresses, and legacy CEOs — faces Alina had only seen in magazines or scandal blogs. Every smile was calculated. Every compliment, a transaction.
"Alina, darling!" came a saccharine voice. A woman in her mid-forties, dripping in diamonds, air-kissed her cheeks. "You look divine. Damien, you've done well."
Alina smiled politely. "It's good to see you, Mrs. Hargrove."
"Oh, please. Call me Cynthia. You're family now, aren't you?"
The word sent a tremor down her spine. Family. This wasn't family. It was a minefield.
Cynthia leaned in conspiratorially. "Word is, you're softening our dear Damien. I haven't seen him smile at a function in years."
Alina's smile tightened. "He smiles?"
Cynthia giggled. "Well, his version of it. A less-murderous glare."
Damien returned just then with drinks in hand, arching a brow. "Talking about me?"
Cynthia waved him off. "Always. You're the most fascinating topic in this city."
He handed Alina a glass of champagne, his fingers brushing hers. A subtle touch. But it burned.
Cynthia left them soon after, and Damien leaned close. "You're handling this better than I expected."
She sipped the champagne. "I'm pretending. That's all this is, right?"
He didn't answer.
Before she could press him, a new voice cut through the crowd — one she didn't recognize, but Damien clearly did.
"Well, well. If it isn't the prodigal son."
A man approached — older, tall, silver-haired, and dressed in a suit that probably cost more than Alina's tuition. His presence commanded attention, and he radiated charm laced with poison.
"Father," Damien said, voice like ice.
Alina's breath caught. This was him.
Richard Lancaster.
He looked at her, eyes assessing. "And this must be your bride."
Alina straightened. "Alina."
"Lovely name. Lovely girl. I must say, I was surprised. You've never brought a woman home, Damien — not one you didn't want to see disappear the next morning."
Alina felt Damien stiffen beside her. "Watch your tone."
Richard smiled, slow and dangerous. "Why? She doesn't look fragile."
"I'm not," Alina said, voice firm. "But I don't tolerate disrespect."
There was a pause — just long enough for the tension to spike — and then Richard laughed.
"Well said." He sipped his scotch. "You'll need that fire if you want to survive in this family."
Then he walked away, leaving a trail of icy discomfort in his wake.
Alina turned to Damien. "Why didn't you warn me he'd be here?"
"I didn't think he'd show."
"He seemed very... aware of us."
Damien's jaw worked. "He always is."
They moved to a quieter corner of the ballroom. Damien downed the rest of his drink.
Alina watched him carefully. "He knows you're looking into your mother's case, doesn't he?"
"Of course he does. He probably has ears in every department."
"Then this is dangerous."
"I've never been safe, Alina." He met her gaze. "Neither have you. Not since the day you signed that contract."
She swallowed hard. "Then why are we pretending any of this is real?"
"Because it's the only way to survive until we figure out how deep this goes."
"And after?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You were brilliant tonight," he whispered. "But if you ever feel like walking away, I won't stop you."
She held his gaze. "That's the problem, Damien. I don't want to walk away."
The words hung between them like a vow.
And in that instant, with chaos all around, they were the only truth in the room.