Page 62 of Salem's Fall
Why isn’t Damien here himself?
Bennett offers a smooth smile. “Mr. Blackhollowapologizes, but he has a few last-minute matters to attend to. He’ll meet you at the museum.”
I should be annoyed. But honestly?
I’m standing in a custom couture gown, wearing diamonds on my feet, about to step into a private car and be whisked away to one of the most exclusive events in all of New England.
So I just shrug.
“Let’s go.”
The moment I step into the New England Historical and Cultural Heritage Museum, it’s like stepping into another world.
Elegant chandeliers cast a golden glow over the vast hall, illuminating plush black velvet lounges, while flickering candles and towering candelabras shimmer like scattered stardust, their flames swaying as if caught in an unseen spell. Sprawling black marble tables overflow with the finest food and champagne: seafood towers laden with lobster, stone crab, and oysters, a caviar bar, and prime rib carving stations.
Yet, amid all the opulence, there are playful touches too. Crystal pumpkins in every color. Rows of intricately decorated candy apples that look like fine art. A towering chocolate fountain surrounded by decadent Halloween-themed desserts. All these things a reminder that, despite the Gala’s over-the-top luxury, this night is still full of tricks—and more than a few treats.
From a grand, gilded balcony, a ten-piece orchestra fills the space with sweeping melodies, the music swelling in perfect harmony with the shimmer of diamonds and silk on the dance floor below. Elegantly dressed guests twirl and sway in a mesmerizing blur of movement, their designer gownsfanning out in waves of chiffon and tulle, their tuxedos crisp and tailored.
Politicians. Socialites. Hedge fund moguls. Titans of industry. New England’s most powerful and privileged move effortlessly through the gilded opulence of the night. I even spot a few celebrities, their presence only adding to the spectacle of it all.
I don’t belong here. But for tonight, I’ll pretend I do.
Then—
A warm hand brushes my shoulder. I turn, and my jaw drops.
Damien.
He’s breathtaking in his sharp black tuxedo, the crisp white of his shirt stark against the inky fabric. The dark silk of his tie catches the light, and the way he wears it all is effortless, commanding. His presence pulls at me, magnetic and all-consuming. The heat between us builds instantly, curling around me like a whisper of danger.
“You clean up well, Counselor.”
I find my voice, but it’s weaker than I’d like.
“You’re late.”
He smirks. “For good reason.” He lifts his hand, and that’s when I notice the small red box. His voice softens, more intimate. “I wanted to get you something special for tonight.”
I take the box carefully, popping it open—and gasp. Inside, resting against rich velvet, is a stunning diamond necklace. The chain is delicate but strong, the pendant a flawless, deep-cut black diamond, shimmering under the chandelier light.
I glance up at him. “Damien, I can’t?—”
“Relax. It’s on loan. A favor from the museum,” he cuts in smoothly. “Allow me.”
He lifts the necklace and places it around my neck, his fingers grazing the hollow of my throat as he secures theclasp. His touch is slow. Lingering. It makes my skin tingle with awareness, sending a delicious shiver over every nerve. When I glance up again, I catch him looking down at my hand.
“You’re still wearing my ring,” he murmurs.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Something dark flashes in his expression—something proud, almost possessive. He extends a hand.
“Dance with me.”
I hesitate.
