I didn't understand his rage. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? For Earl Reid to take an interest in me? The plan was working perfectly. Yet, Damian was acting like a man betrayed.
He dragged me back to his car and we drove to the penthouse in a tense, suffocating silence. He didn't take me to our bedroom. Instead, he shoved me into one of the guest rooms.
"What's going on?" I asked, looking around at the impersonal, sterile room.
"Brooklyn is staying for a few days," he said, his voice clipped and agitated. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of extreme frustration. "She'll be in your room."
My room. The room I had slept in for seven years. My things were still in the closet, my scent on the pillows. He was giving it to her.
I said nothing. I simply turned and began to unpack the few belongings I had in the small overnight bag I'd taken with me. It was pointless to argue.
Damian paced the room like a caged animal, muttering under his breath. "That bastard... thinks he can just... with my..." He kept cursing Earl Reid, his voice a low, venomous stream of invectives.
He suddenly stopped, his eyes locking on me.
I knew that look. It was the look he got right before he wanted me, a dark, hungry fire that always left me breathless. It was a look that had once made me feel desired. Now, it just made me feel tired.
"Don't," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "Brooklyn is here."
He ignored me. He started unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. "Did he agree to come to the gala?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Yes," I replied.
His hands stilled. He stared at me for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw ticking.
"This is just a game, Alexa," he said, his voice low and intense. "It's an act. Don't you forget it."
The night of the Mckinney Gala was a blur of champagne and fake smiles. Getting close to Earl was easier than I expected. It was almost as if he was waiting for me. He was surrounded by admirers, but his eyes found mine across the crowded ballroom, and he made a path to me, his presence parting the sea of people.
He was utterly unguarded with me, a stark contrast to the closed-off man he was with everyone else.
Later, on the terrace, under the soft glow of fairy lights, I handed him a glass of champagne. The same champagne he' d been drinking all night. But this one had something extra. A fine, colorless powder Damian had given me. Tasteless, odorless, and potent.
He took the glass, his fingers brushing mine. His gaze was so direct, so knowing, it almost made me drop it.
He was about to take a sip, but he paused, his eyes searching mine. "Are you sure about this, Alexa?" he asked, his voice soft, almost a whisper.
My heart hammered against my ribs. He knew. How could he know?
"I... I don't know what you mean," I stammered, my carefully constructed composure cracking.
He held my gaze for another long moment, then, with a small, sad smile, he tilted his head back and drained the entire glass in one go.
