Page 22 of The Billionaire's Obsession

"I'm completing my degree in business," I say, straightening slightly. "My dissertation focuses on gender dynamics in corporate hierarchies."

"Fascinating." Harrington's smile shifts, becomes more genuine. "I'd love to hear more about that sometime. Perhaps over lunch? My company has been working on?—"

"Lucy won't have time," Damon interrupts smoothly. "Her schedule is quite full with her studies and our commitments."

Harrington's eyes flick between us, understanding dawning. "Ah, I see. Well, congratulations to you both. Didn't realize you were off the market, Blackwell."

"Recent development," Damon says, his smile not reaching his eyes. "If you'll excuse us, I see the Montgomerys just arrived."

He steers me away, his grip just short of painful. When we're out of earshot, I pull against his hold.

"That was rude," I say, keeping my voice low. "He was only being friendly."

Damon's laugh lacks humor. "No, he wasn't. Men like Harrington don't make social conversation with beautiful women unless they want something."

"Maybe he was genuinely interested in my research."

"He was interested in what's under that dress, not what's in your dissertation." Damon's eyes are cold now. "And I don't share what's mine."

Heat flares in my cheeks—anger, embarrassment, and something darker I don't want to name. "I'm not yours to share or not share. I'm a person, Damon, not a possession."

For a moment, something dangerous flashes in his expression, but he masks it quickly. His hand gentles on my arm, thumb stroking soothingly. "Of course you are. The most important person in my life. That's why I'm protective."

"There's protective and then there's possessive," I counter, but already I feel my anger ebbing under his touch, his intensity.

"With you, the line blurs," he admits, and the raw honesty in his voice catches me off guard. "Forgive me if I overstep sometimes. I've never felt this way before."

And there it is—the vulnerability he occasionally allows me to glimpse, the chink in his armor that makes it impossible to maintain my defenses. Before I can respond, we're approached by an elderly couple Damon greets warmly. The moment passes, submerged beneath social niceties and champagne.

The next two hours pass in a blur of introductions and small talk. I sip champagne that costs more per bottle than my monthly grocery budget used to be, laugh at jokes made by people who could buy and sell small countries, and try not to feel like an imposter in a dress I didn't choose and jewels I didn't earn.

"I need some air," I finally whisper to Damon, the press of people and wealth becoming too much.

He nods, guiding me toward French doors that open onto a terrace garden. Outside, the night air cools my flushed skin, and I breathe deeply, trying to ground myself.

"Better?" Damon asks, his hand making soothing circles on my back.

"Yes. Thank you." I move to the stone balustrade, looking out over manicured gardens illuminated by subtle lighting. "It's just...overwhelming sometimes. Your world."

"Our world now," he corrects gently.

I shake my head. "No. I'm just visiting. My world is still library carrels and teaching assistantships and ramen noodles when my stipend runs low."

"It doesn't have to be." He turns me to face him, his expression earnest now. "Lucy, let me take care of you. Completely. You don't need to struggle."

"Maybe I need the struggle," I say, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice. "Maybe that's how I know who I am. Without it, I'm just...an extension of you."

His brow furrows, genuinely confused. "Would that be so terrible?"

Before I can answer, the doors open and another guest steps onto the terrace—a young man, perhaps a few years older than me, with tousled hair that suggests intentional dishevelment rather than actual carelessness.

"Sorry," he says, noticing us. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"Not at all," I say, grateful for the interruption. "It's a lovely night for some fresh air."

The man approaches, keeping a respectful distance. "It is. Nearly as lovely as that necklace. Burmese rubies?"

I touch the stones self-consciously. "I wouldn't know."

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