Chapter 8
She looked toward Damian.
“You did all this for her?”
His answer was merciless.
“No. I did it because you tried to use me.”
That one sentence cut deeper than if he had shouted.
Bella swayed.
Jennifer rushed forward at last, but not to defend her. She grabbed Bella’s elbow in alarm.
“What the hell did you do?”
Rachel’s face was pale. “Bella… tell me that isn’t true.”
Bella yanked her arm away.
“Shut up! Both of you, shut up!”
Her voice cracked across the ballroom.
Then she rounded on me with pure hatred.
“You think you’ve won? You think this makes you better than me?”
I looked at her quietly.
“No. This just makes me done.”
Security moved in then, prompted by the dean and the Steel Group’s legal team. Bella was escorted out of the ballroom still crying, still protesting, still calling Damian’s name as if he might look at her once and undo everything.
He never did.
The moment the doors closed behind her, the entire hall exploded into noise.
Reporters from the student paper were already typing. Phones were out. Faculty were whispering. One investor was demanding a copy of the forensic report. Another was congratulating Damian under his breath.
And me?
I stood there in the center of it all and felt unexpectedly calm.
Because revenge, when imagined, is usually hot.
In reality, when it lands exactly where it should, it feels cold.
Precise.
Almost quiet.
The gala ended early.
Too much chaos.
Too much scandal.
Too many important people wanting statements.
Damian dealt with the Steel Group lawyers first. Then the dean. Then his father, over a phone call he took with a face so unreadable I couldn’t tell if he was being praised or threatened.
By the time he found me again, I was standing on the empty terrace outside the ballroom, the night air cool against my skin.
He came up behind me and draped his jacket over my shoulders.
“You should have stayed inside.”
“I needed air.”
He leaned on the railing beside me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I said, “You really enjoy dramatic timing.”
He gave a quiet laugh.
“You liked it.”
“I tolerated it.”
“That’s not what your face said when you walked onto the stage.”
I turned my head and looked at him.
“That was adrenaline.”
“Mm.”
He studied me in the soft terrace light.
Then his eyes dropped to my bare collarbone.
“Now I’m angry again.”
“Why?”
“Because the necklace that was supposed to be on you tonight never made it onto your neck.”
I stared at him for one beat.
Then two.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Always.”
He reached into his pocket.
My heart skipped.
Not the giant boutique box from earlier, obviously. That had been left with security as part of the evidence chain after Bella and Lucas used it as cover for their little performance in the mall.
But inside his jacket pocket was a much smaller velvet box.
I blinked.
“You had a backup?”
“I’m a Steele. We always have backups.”
He opened it.
Inside was a diamond bracelet.
Delicate. Elegant. Not loud. Just breathtaking.
I looked at him.
“You bought two?”
“No.” His voice softened. “This one I chose because it looked like you.”
That should have been cheesy.
It should have made me roll my eyes.
Instead, my chest tightened in a way I hated.
Because somewhere along the line, between plotting and pretending and watching him lie with a straight face to a girl who thought she could take everything, I had forgotten one very dangerous possibility.
I had started to actually like him.
Maybe more than like.
And judging from the way he was looking at me now, he knew it.
Which was unfair.
I held out my wrist without a word.
His smile was slow and devastating.
He fastened the bracelet around my wrist, fingers brushing my skin.
Then he looked up.
“Molly.”
“Mm?”
“Now that the operation is over…”
He stepped closer.
“Do I get to stop pretending?”
My breath caught.
I tried to stay calm.
“You tell me.”
He lifted a hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“No,” he murmured. “You tell me.”
The terrace went silent around us.
The muffled ballroom noise behind the glass doors felt a hundred miles away.
I looked into his eyes and realized that for once, Damian Steele wasn’t performing.
There was no audience there.
No Bella.
No Lucas.
No plan.
Just him.
And me.
So I answered honestly.
“Yes.”
He kissed me then.
Not like in the stairwell, sharp and heated and edged with adrenaline.
This one was slower.
Warmer.
Certain.
The kind of kiss that made the rest of the night blur at the edges.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against mine.
“You know,” he said quietly, “for the record, I hated every second she touched me.”
I smiled despite myself.
“You already said that.”
“I’m saying it again because I suffered.”
“You looked fine to me.”
“Inside, I was dying.”
I laughed.
A real laugh this time.
The kind I hadn’t had in months.
Damian watched me like he wanted to memorize the sound.
Then he kissed the corner of my mouth and said, “Good. Keep laughing like that. I earned it.”