Chapter 4 Chapter 4

~ Elena's POV

Getting sleep that night was hard. Damian's words, especially when he stopped at 'El', had me suspicious. El becomes Elena, and there is a high chance that he was going to call my name. Every time I closed my eyes, the possibility of him knowing and pretending in front of me got on my nerves. For some reason, every time I heard my sister's name come from his mouth had me devastated.

By the time the sun came out, I had to force myself out of bed and freshen up. I went downstairs and found Damian already sitting at the table, sipping coffee like nothing had happened. He glanced at me for a short moment, his expression unreadable, then went back to reading the newspaper.

Frustration crawled at me. How could he act so normal? Did he know or not? Was he teasing me? I clenched my fists under the table and silently made a promise to myself... I will find out whether he had seen through the switch or if I was safe for now.

~ After a While

I was in our room when he entered and went straight to the wardrobe. He came out a few moments later, holding a dress. My stomach sank the moment I saw it. It was white, my favorite color, and even the design of it was to my liking.

"Wear this tonight," he said, placing it neatly on the bed. His tone left no space for me to argue or refuse.

I stared at the dress. It was beautiful, but I had to keep myself from blurting it out. "Why are you controlling and choosing what I wear?"

His eyes flickered to mine, becoming intense instantly. "Is there a problem?" There was something hidden in his voice, and my gut told me not to trigger it.

I shook my head slowly, hiding my confusion. "No."

He smirked, satisfied, before turning away. My jaw clenched as I picked up the dress, realizing I really was getting the complete torture.

~ At The Gathering

"Do not move from my side, pup," Damian whispered as we entered a grand hall. I wanted to bark back at him, but I simply replied with a single nod of my head. Damian again became the man I couldn't recognize, polished, respected, and feared. My hand grabbed his arm as he led me through the huge wave of guests swarming us.

"Hi, congratulations on your wedding, Mrs. Damian."

"Mrs. Damian! Big congrats on your wedding."

"Good wishes on your new journey, Mrs. Damian."

Wishes and congrats rang around us, and my face was almost starting to hurt because of the fake smiles. It was starting to suffocate me.

"Mrs. Damian. The media definitely didn't do you right. You look stunning in person." Another guy came up and took my hand in his. He was about to place a kiss on my hand when Damian pulled my hand back.

"Possessive as always, Moretti." The guy chuckled at Damian, who gave him a death glare.

"Thank you for your compliment." I thanked him, who placed his hand on his heart and bowed a little.

"Welcome to my gathering. Hope you enjoy yourself." I smiled and nodded, settling my free hand on Damian's arm to make sure he didn't suspect anything. I heard Damian let out a breath, and I knew it was one of satisfaction. I hated myself for looking forward to his satisfaction.

Damian finally let go of his hold on me when he talked with someone while picking up a phone call. I wandered around, admiring the kind of place I've seen for the first time in my life. I belonged to a middle-class family, and the only reason I got entangled with Damian was because my parents were the only eyewitnesses to a murder his father committed. To ensure our safety, they offered one of their daughters in exchange, hence, eventually me.

I moved around the hall, noticing Damian's eyes on me the entire time. Even when he was speaking with powerful men, even when smiling for others, his gaze always darted back to me.

I greeted everyone with a polite smile forced onto my lips. I noticed a name on the surface around the guests: "Carlo Gambino." Every time the name was mentioned, everyone shushed each other and looked over their shoulder, making sure no one heard them, so I got curious.

I leaned in subtly when I caught one conversation. "If Gambino makes a move—"

"He wouldn't dare challenge Moretti here."

"Still... with their history—"

The voices started to fade when the guests noticed I was standing too close.

My heart roared so loud in my chest, I was scared it would jump out. Carlo Gambino. Whoever he was, he was not an ally of Damian, but rather the opposite. If the guests were talking this much about him, one thing was for sure: he was Damian's sworn enemy.

I kept noticing Damian looking at me, making sure I was in sight of him, and I realized it must have been because of Carlo Gambino. Maybe he was afraid he'd hurt me to destroy Damian.

Even though the gathering included dinner, we didn't stay for it. One moment, Damian was calmly talking with a few men, and the next, his entire posture shifted. His jaw clenched and his eyes darkened as he moved toward me.

"We're leaving." His words were final as he grabbed hold of my wrists.

"What? But wh-"

"Don't ask questions, pup." Damian's voice was enough to shut me up. Even though I didn't want to shut up but something in his voie told me that there was no time to ask questions.

~ Back At The Mansion

We were seated at the dining table, food served neatly in front of us on the dining table before us. I was pushing my food around my plate, wondering what he saw there that made him rush out of the gathering. The moment he asked to leave was the first time I ever saw his brows furrow in frustration.

However, right now, Damian looked composed as ever, sitting slowly, his thoughts not visible on his face like mine were.

Suddenly, the doors burst open. A servant rushed inside, his face pale, sweat dripping from his forehead. Before I could even turn fully, the man was on his knees before Damian, hands clasped together, shaking violently.

"Please, signore, forgive me," the servant cried out, his voice desperate and breaking. "It wasn't my fault, I swear! Have mercy, I beg you!" His sobs were echoing through the dining room, the sound going straight into my chest and crumpling my heart.

Damian didn't even flinch. He set down his knife and fork, his gaze slowly dropping to the man who was kneeling before him, crying.

"Pathetic," he muttered, reaching inside his jacket. My eyes widened, and a gasp left my mouth when I saw a hint of metal peeking through his clothes.

"Damian—wait—" I gasped, shooting up from my seat. But it was too late.