Chapter Six: Public Displays of Affection

Elara never imagined her life would involve daily meetings with stylists, social strategists, and publicists—yet here she was, seated in a glossy conference room in Damon Ashford’s media headquarters, surrounded by people with clipboards and tablets.

“Tonight’s gala is crucial,” Lila was saying. “There’s speculation floating around already—especially after Cassidy’s little performance at the Harper & Rowe event.”

Elara glanced at Damon, who sat across the table, legs casually crossed, completely unbothered. She envied his calm.

“Speculation?” she echoed.

“That your relationship is fake,” Lila said bluntly. “You’re going to need to go harder. Bigger. More intimate. We’re talking full-blown PDA. Give the press what they want.”

Elara blinked. “You want us to… what? Make out in front of reporters?”

“If necessary,” Lila said. “You need to sell this. No hesitation, no awkwardness. Hand-holding. Whispered touches. Intense eye contact. People believe what they see. Make them feel like they’re intruding on something real.”

Damon finally spoke. “We’ll handle it.”

Elara shot him a look. “We will?”

He gave her a half-smile, lazy and confident. “Unless you’re uncomfortable.”

She straightened. “I can handle anything.”

That earned a grin. “Then we’re golden.”

---

Later that evening, Elara stood in front of the mirror in Damon’s penthouse, adjusting the neckline of her burgundy gown. It clung to her like a secret, the satin material pooling at her feet. Lila had chosen it for maximum impact—dramatic, sultry, impossible to ignore.

She didn’t recognize herself. Not in the smoky eye makeup, the blood-red lips, or the way her pulse thrummed with anticipation.

“You look…”

She turned. Damon stood in the doorway, dressed in a black tuxedo that made him look unfairly good. His eyes roamed over her with slow precision.

“Say something,” she murmured.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he said.

Her heart stuttered.

She laughed it off, lightly. “Just doing my job.”

But his gaze lingered a little too long. Like he wasn’t pretending.

And maybe… neither was she.

---

The event was already swarming with cameras when they arrived. Flashbulbs sparked like fireworks the second they stepped from the black car. A dozen voices screamed Damon’s name, and even a few called out hers.

“Elara! Over here!”

“Elara, how long have you and Damon been dating?”

“Is it serious?”

Damon offered his hand, helping her out of the car with a smile that looked natural but calculated. He pulled her in close—closer than usual—and pressed a kiss to her temple.

The crowd went wild.

“You ready?” he whispered.

She nodded, breath catching.

They walked the carpet like a royal couple, hands entwined, smiles smooth. Then—at the center of the cameras—Damon paused.

He turned to her, hand cupping her cheek, and leaned in.

Elara didn’t have time to think.

His lips met hers in a slow, deliberate kiss. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t shallow.

It was a message.

They were real.

They were in love.

And everyone was watching.

Her hands instinctively found his jacket, holding on as the kiss deepened, just enough to leave no room for doubt.

When they finally broke apart, the world spun slightly.

Her lips tingle. Her skin burned.

And Damon… Damon looked at her like she was the only person in the room.

Then he leaned in and whispered, “Now that’s how you sell a lie.”

Her heart sank.

Right.

A lie.

---

Inside the venue, the air was charged. People stared. Whispers followed them like perfume.

Elara sipped champagne and tried to focus on anything other than the way Damon’s hand rested on the small of her back, or how his gaze kept drifting to her mouth.

Cassidy was there, of course.

Draped in black velvet, she looked like a queen in mourning—and every inch of her screamed jealous.

She approached during cocktail hour, all sharp smiles and sugary venom.

“Elara,” she said sweetly. “That was quite the kiss out there.”

Elara smiled. “We’re just passionate people.”

Cassidy’s smile twitched. “You know, Damon never liked PDA before. Always said it was shallow.”

Elara tilted her head. “Then I must be changing him.”

Cassidy looked her up and down. “Oh, I’m sure you are.”

She turned to Damon, brushing her hand against his sleeve. “Just don’t break her heart. You always were so good at that.”

Then she sauntered off, leaving behind a trail of tension.

Elara sighed. “I’m starting to hate her.”

“She’s just jealous.”

“Of me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked at her. “Wouldn’t you be?”

Her breath caught.

But before she could answer, they were ushered to their table for dinner, where more fake smiles and polite lies waited.

---

Midway through the evening, during a slow jazz set, the event organizers opened the floor for dancing.

Damon turned to her, eyes unreadable. “May I?”

Elara hesitated.

Then she nodded.

He took her hand and led her to the dance floor, their bodies coming together with a practiced ease. His hand found her waist. Hers settled on his shoulder.

They began to move—slow, fluid, close.

“You’re a good dancer,” she said quietly.

“I’ve had practice.”

“Let me guess—ballroom classes at boarding school?”

“Something like that.”

Their eyes locked.

Elara felt the heat again. The pull.

“This doesn’t feel fake,” she whispered.

“It’s not supposed to.”

“Then how do we know where the line is?”

His grip on her waist tightened. “We don’t.”

They spun slowly, like no one else existed. Her heart pounded with something that had nothing to do with performance.

And everything to do with him.

She looked up. “Do you ever forget we’re pretending?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then he leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “Every time I touch you.”

Her knees almost buckled.

They danced through the entire song, and another after that. She was aware of every breath, every look, every slight brush of his hand on her hip.

It wasn’t just for show anymore.

Not for her.

Maybe not even for him.

---

Afterward, back at the penthouse, Elara stood in the living room in bare feet, heels kicked off and gown still clinging to her like memory.

Damon poured two glasses of whiskey and handed her one.

“Tonight was... intense,” she said.

“You were incredible.”

She met his gaze. “You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

She swallowed. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

Silence fell between them.

Thick. Electric.

Then he stepped closer. “Do you want me to kiss you again?”

Her heart thundered.

“I don’t think it’s in the script,” she whispered.

He brushed her hair behind her ear. “Maybe we write a new one.”

And just like that, he kissed her again.

Slower this time. No audience. No cameras. No lies.

Just them.

And it was everything she hadn’t known she wanted.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, she touched her fingers to her lips.

“I thought we were faking,” she said.

“So did I,” he murmured.

But neither of them moved away.

And somewhere deep down, Elara knew: this game was no longer under control.