Chapter 8
“Avery?!”
Xavier’s voice rang out across the grand hall, where glittering gowns and clinking champagne glasses filled the air. On his
arm was Sophie, her rounded belly unmistakable beneath her silk dress.
The second he spotted me, his pupils constricted. “You faked your death?!”
The sight of Sophie’s pregnant form hit me like a blade to the chest.
So it was true. They ended up together.
He instinctively started toward me–but before he could touch me, a sharp crack split the air.
A cane, cold and hard as ironwood, struck his wrist with violent force.
Damien had stepped up beside me, one arm casually draped around my waist. He wore the same dark jacquard tuxedo as
me, the cut perfectly tailored. His skin was pale as ever, but his eyes gleamed with deadly calm, radiating a quiet menace
that kept the entire room at bay.
“Xavier,” Damien said, voice low but slicing through the noise like a blade, “keep your filthy hands to yourself. She belongs
to the Blackwell family now.”
Sophie bit her lip and clutched Xavier’s arm, her fingers trembling. She slowly wrote in his palm: Don’t do this… We
wronged her.”
“I’m sorry, Avery.” She then gave me a small bow, awkward with the weight of her pregnancy.
But what caught my attention wasn’t her words–it was the flash of irritation in Xavier’s eyes, the cold indifference with
which he looked at her.
Something was off.
“It’s all past,” I said flatly, turning to leave.
Before I could take another step, Damien scooped me up effortlessly into his arms.
“Put me down!” I struggled, furious.
He looked down at me, the light catching the sharp angles of his face, making his expression even more unreadable.
“You looked unsteady,” he said with a smirk. “Just doing my civic duty.”
Carrying me like it was nothing, he strode past Xavier, ignoring the daggers being shot at his back.
Damien’s bedroom felt less like a room and more like a military command center–dark, sterile, and cold.
A maid brought in several outfits, all from high–end designer brands I’d worn before They were perfectly tailored–my
exact size, down to the inch.
“You’ve been digging through my life?” I asked coldly as he shrugged off his jacket, revealing a lean, wiry frame lined with
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faint muscle.
“You think just any stray off the street gets to be called ‘Damien Blackwell’s fiancée“?”
I didn’t know exactly what he meant, but I changed clothes anyway.
Later, at the banquet.
Richard Blackwell sat at the head of the long table, exuding quiet authority. He didn’t need to speak to command
attention.
Xavier approached him, suppressing his fury behind a polite smile. “Hell of a place, Mr. Blackwell. Let’s drink to that.”
He downed the drink in one shot.
Richard didn’t even look at him. Instead, he turned to me, his voice unexpectedly gentle.
“Miss Lane, thank you for humoring this stubborn boy of mine. He’s wild by nature–thank you for your patience.”
The man who controlled nearly a third of the world’s black market in arms and energy… was personally toasting me?
The room collectively held its breath.
I kept my expression calm. “You’re too kind, Mr. Blackwell.”
Richard scanned the room. His voice never rose, yet it carried an unmistakable weight.
“Tonight, I have one announcement. Miss Lane is now theBlackwell family’s officially recognized future bride. Those of you who do business with the Lanes–be wise. Keep pests away from her.”
The entire hall erupted in congratulations and flattery.
Xavier’s hand tightened around his crystal glass until it whined with the strain.
“Mr. Blackwell!” he stood suddenly, voice hoarse. “Avery is my wife! She’s not some heirloom for your family to claim!”
Silence fell like a curtain.
Richard finally looked up, his eyes cold and dismissive, as if staring at something beneath him.
“You?”
Damien swirled the wine in his glass, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You think you’re worthy?”
Xavier’s composure cracked. His bloodshot eyes locked on me. “Avery! Tell them! Are you coming back to me, or staying
with this half–dead invalid?!”
Crash!
Richard’s wine glass shattered against the marble floor, the sound cutting through the room.
Damien chuckled softly and rose to his feet.
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He stepped into the center of the hall. Under the chandeliers, he pulled out a sealed medical folder and slowly opened it.
Who says I’m dying?” he said calmly, holding up the document. “My so–called incurable illness? Cured–thanks to Avery.”
The crowd gasped.
Healed? From ALS?
“Damien, what are you saying?” Even Richard’s voice cracked for the first time.
The report circulated quickly. It was real. Official. The words “fully recovered” stamped across the diagnosis left the entire hall in stunned silence.
But a chill ran down my spine.
The timing. The miraculous serum. It was all too convenient.
Damien looked only at me.
He knelt on one knee.
A rare black diamond–ten carats, cut to perfection–sat in his palm, glinting like the heart of a starless abyss.
“I know you may not trust me yet,” he said, his voice steady and clear. “Marry me. Let the Blackwells and Lanes become
one. My father is ready to sign the deal–half of the Blackwell empire will be yours.”
He paused.
“Vows are just words. But power? That’s real. That’s binding. So what do you say, Avery? Do you bet on me?”
Xavier’s voice cracked as he roared, “Avery! You’re mine! Come back to me!”
I looked at the diamond in Damien’s hand, then at Xavier’s twisted, desperate face.
The sound of that gunshot from my past. My parents‘ mangled bodies. The humiliation. The blood. The silence.
And now, this.
A man holding power soaked in danger, wrapped in ice–and offering it all to me.
I slowly reached out, my fingers brushing the stone.
“I’ll take the risk,” I said softly. “Damien Blackwell–I’m in.”
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