[ESTELLE]
Definitely, the genes in this family were sothing else if all of Evangeline's children were sought-after bachelors.
But as I watched Evangeline take her final bow, sothing about her face . . .
It nagged at .
I frowned, narrowing my eyes, trying to get a better look. Why did she look . . . familiar?
Had I seen her sowhere before?
I squinted harder, tilting my head. But before I could put my finger on it, the lights shifted, signaling the end of the show. Just like that, she was gone, disappearing into the shadows like a queen retreating into her castle.
And now, the real ga began.
The after-party.
Where I would have yet another chance to plant myself firmly beside Damien—and make sure Kelsey knew exactly where I stood.
The after-party was the kind of event that only the richest, most famous, and most painfully fashionable people attended. It was held in an exclusive rooftop venue, with glittering chandeliers hanging from an open-air ceiling, soft jazz music playing in the background, and waiters gliding around with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres that were so tiny they could be mistaken for food samples.
I had two goals tonight:
Get Damien's attention.
Make sure Kelsey knew I wasn't backing down.
Simple enough, right?
Wrong.
Phase One: The Grand Entrance
I strutted in confidently, my heels clicking against the marble floor like a drumroll announcing my arrival. My dress? Stunning. My hair? Flawless. My confidence? Unshakable.
Then I tripped.
Not a cute, dainty stumble. No. A full-blown, arms-flailing, body-twisting disaster that ended with crashing into a waiter carrying a tray of champagne.
Cue slow motion.
Glasses went flying. Sparkling liquid arced beautifully through the air. One particularly aggressive flute of champagne smacked an elderly socialite right in the face. Another glass landed in a man's pocket—perfectly upright, as if it belonged there.
And ? Oh, I was on the floor, sprawled out like I had just been personally attacked by gravity.
Silence.
Then, a sharp laugh cut through the tension. Kelsey.
I glanced up just in ti to see her whispering sothing to Damien, who—bless him—was trying not to look amused. His lips were pressed into a firm line, but the disapproval was in his eyes.
I scrambled to my feet, dusting myself off with the grace of soone who ant to throw themselves onto the floor for dramatic effect. "That," I announced, "was a test. To see if the floor was . . . stable. It is. You're all welco."
The waiter, who was now wearing most of his champagne, gave a long, suffering look before sighing and walking away.
Phase Two: The Subtle Approach
After recovering from my completely intentional fall, I set my sights on Damien. He was standing near the balcony, looking effortlessly perfect in his suit, sipping his drink like he was the lead in a spy movie.
I needed to make an impression. A good impression.
So I picked up a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and glided toward him, channeling all the grace and charm of a high society queen.
"Damien," I purred, leaning against the railing in what I thought was an elegant pose.
The railing wobbled.
I yelped and imdiately straightened, pretending it never happened.
Damien side-eyed . "Are you okay?"
"Of course." I took a sip of my drink, trying to look sophisticated. Unfortunately, I had grabbed a very strong cocktail instead of champagne, and the second it hit my throat, my entire soul left my body.
I coughed. No, hacked. Like a Victorian child with consumption.
Damien watched, unimpressed. "You sure?"
I nodded frantically, trying to recover. "Absolutely. Just . . . savoring the depth of flavor."
His lips twitched. "Right."
Phase Three: The Dance of Doom
The music changed. A slow, romantic tune drifted through the air, and couples started making their way to the dance floor.
This was my chance.
I turned to Damien with what I hoped was a charming, irresistible smile. "Care to dance?"
He hesitated. "I don't—"
"Perfect! Let's go." I grabbed his arm before he could finish rejecting and dragged him to the dance floor.
Now, here's the thing: I can dance. Really well, actually. But for so reason, my brain chose this exact mont to forget everything I had ever known about moving my body in a coordinated fashion.
Step one: I stepped on Damien's foot.
Step two: I tried to twirl but got my heel caught in my dress, which resulted in an ungraceful flailing motion.
Step three: In an attempt to regain balance, I grabbed Damien's shoulder—except I miscalculated and accidentally grabbed his tie instead.
Step four: I yanked his tie, causing him to lurch forward.
Step five: Our foreheads slamd together.
Stars exploded in my vision. Damien groaned.
Sowhere, Kelsey was definitely laughing.
"Wow," I said, trying to salvage the mont. "That was . . . intimate."
Damien sighed, rubbing his forehead. "You're trying too hard."
I blinked. "Trying too hard to what?"
"To impress ." His voice was calm, but his eyes was serious.
I opened my mouth to deny it, but then . . . I stopped.
Because he was right.
I was trying too hard. I had spent the entire night throwing myself (literally) at him, desperate for his attention, when I didn't need to be so over the top.
A small, embarrassed laugh escaped . "Okay, maybe I was trying too hard."
Damien shook his head, but this ti, there was a hint of amusent in his expression. "You don't have to. My feelings will never change. But maybe we can be friends?"
I raised an eyebrow at Damien, crossing my arms as I fixed him with a determined stare. "After everything I've been through just to get your attention—after all the embarrassnt I've faced—you really think I'd just give up now?" My voice was light, teasing even, but there was an undeniable weight behind my words.
Damien sighed, a slow exhale that carried more than just exhaustion. There was sothing else in his expression now—sothing softer, almost reluctant. His gaze flickered, as if he were battling an internal war. And then, just as quickly as it ca, the hesitation lted away.
"After tonight," he murmured, his voice low and steady, "everything will change."
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