Elara's POV

The red dress clung to every curve like a second skin. I barely recognized myself in the mirror,

hair swept up, makeup applied by a professional Victoria had sent, diamonds at my throat that cost more than my father's debt. I looked like I belonged in Damian's world.

I looked like a beautiful lie.

"Ready?" Damian appeared in the doorway, devastating in a black tuxedo.

 His eyes raked over me with possessive hunger that made my stomach flip. "Perfect."

"I'm not an accessory."

"Tonight you are." He crossed to me, producing a velvet box. Inside was a bracelet, delicate platinum with a single word engraved: ‘Property’.

 "Wear it."

"You can't be serious."

His fingers circled my wrist, clasping the bracelet on. "Everyone at this gala needs to know you're mine. Completely. Irrevocably." 

His thumb traced my pulse point. "Are we clear?"

I wanted to argue. Instead, I nodded, hating my own weakness.

The gala was everything I imagined, crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, people dripping in wealth and arrogance. 

Damian's hand never left the small of my back, burning through the thin fabric like a brand.

"Damian!" A silver haired man approached, his smile predatory. 

"And who is this exquisite creature?"

"Mine." Damian's arm tightened around my waist. "Elara, this is Senator Morrison."

I smiled, playing the part. But my mind kept drifting to that text. Third floor bathroom. 10 PM. Twenty minutes.

Victoria materialized beside us, resplendent in emerald silk. "Senator, how lovely to see you.

 I hope you've reconsidered our discussion about the waterfront development?"

As they talked business, Victoria's hand brushed my arm. "Behave tonight," she whispered.

 "Or your father will pay for your mistakes."

My blood ran cold. "What?"

But she'd already glided away, leaving me shaking.

"Dance with me." Damian's voice pulled me back. It wasn't a request.

He led me to the floor, one hand at my waist, the other clasping mine. We moved together like we'd done this a thousand times, his body guiding mine with confident precision.

"You're tense," he murmured against my ear.

"I'm a prisoner at a party. How should I feel?"

His hand slid lower on my back, pulling me flush against him. "You feel like mine. That's all that matters."

The heat between us was immediate and overwhelming.

 His thigh pressed between my legs as we turned, and I gasped at the friction. His eyes darkened, reading my reaction.

"Careful, Elara. Keep looking at me like that and I'll take you right here on this dance floor."

"You wouldn't dare."

His smile was wicked. "Try me."

He spun me suddenly, my back to his chest, his arm banded across my stomach. We moved like that, intimate and scandalous, his breath hot on my neck. I felt him hard against me, felt my own body responding despite everything.

"Damian," I breathed. "People are watching."

"Let them." His lips grazed my shoulder. "Let them all see who you belong to."

When the song ended, I was trembling.

 He kept me close as we left the dance floor, his hand possessive on my hip.

"I need the restroom," I said, checking my phone. 9:58 PM.

His eyes narrowed. "Marcus will escort you."

"I'm going to the bathroom, not escaping. There's one exit and fifty security guards. Where would I go?"

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "Five minutes."

I hurried toward the third floor, my heart pounding. The hallway was deserted, elegant and eerily quiet. 

I pushed open the bathroom door.

A woman stood by the sink, mid thirties, professional, with kind eyes and a nervous expression. 

She wasn't dressed for the gala.

"Elara Whitmore?" she asked.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Detective Sarah Chen. I've been investigating the Voss family for two years." She pulled out a badge. 

"And I think you're in serious danger."

My world tilted. "What?"

"Victoria Voss is not who you think she is. She's connected to a trafficking ring that."

The door burst open. Marcus stood there, his expression thunderous. Behind him, Damian's face was a mask of cold fury.

"Step away from her," Damian ordered the detective.

"Mr. Voss, I'm trying to help."

"You're harassing my guest." Damian moved past Marcus, grabbing my arm and pulling me behind him.

 "Leave. Now. Or I'll have you arrested for trespassing."

Detective Chen met my eyes, desperate. "Elara, please. Your father didn't sell you willingly. He was."

"Enough!" Damian's voice cracked like a whip. "Marcus, remove her."

As Marcus escorted the detective out, she pressed something into my palm. "Call me. Before it's too late."

Damian dragged me into the hallway, his grip bruising. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"She said my father didn't."

"She's lying. They all lie." He slammed me against the wall, his body caging mine. "Did you plan this? Meet her here?"

"No! I didn't, the text said." I stopped, realizing my mistake.

"What text?" His voice went deadly quiet.

I couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe.

He grabbed my phone from my clutch, scrolling through it. His face went white. "There's nothing here."

Because I'd deleted them. But someone was sending me messages that disappeared. Someone who knew things they shouldn't.

"Damian, please."

"We're leaving." He pulled me toward the elevator. "And when we get home, you're going to tell me everything. Every. Single. Thing."

In my closed fist, Detective Chen's card burned like a promise.

Or a death sentence.