Chapter 5 — First Appearance
929 Words
Sadie’s POV
The soft hum of the limousine’s engine was almost hypnotic, the city lights streaking past like liquid gold. I stared out the tinted window, fingers clenched tightly in my lap. Tonight was the first real test of the arrangement: the Blackwell Gala. The most visible, scrutinized event of the season. And I was expected to be his… companion.
I glanced at Liam. He sat beside me, calm, composed, the very picture of control. His tailored suit, sharp jawline, and dark eyes made him look almost untouchable. And yet, the energy in the car — the quiet charge — made my heart race in ways I didn’t fully understand.
“Relax,” he said quietly, as though reading my tension like an open book. “It’s just a social event. You’ll be fine.”
I laughed softly, but it sounded hollow even to me. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple,” he replied, his eyes meeting mine briefly before returning to the cityscape. “Follow my lead. Smile when necessary. Engage when appropriate. That’s all.”
I tried to steady my breathing, repeating his instructions like a mantra. Smile. Engage. Follow the rules. Keep it professional. And above all, do not get distracted by the man beside you — impossible, unapproachable, infuriatingly magnetic.
When the car pulled up to the gala entrance, the flash of cameras and the murmurs of the crowd hit me like a wave. I straightened instinctively, adjusting my dress and smoothing my hair, feeling exposed despite every careful preparation.
“Stay close,” Liam murmured, his hand brushing mine ever so slightly as we stepped out. A spark of heat flared up my arm. I looked at him, startled by the contact, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Just kept walking, perfectly composed.
The lobby glittered with chandeliers, mirrored walls, and impeccably dressed socialites. Every eye turned as we entered, whispers spreading like wildfire. Liam’s presence commanded attention effortlessly. And me? I was his shadow, his accessory, his partner in the illusion.
“Smile,” he said softly, and I did, forcing the perfect, polite curve of my lips.
We moved through the crowd, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries. He guided me gently but firmly, subtly controlling our proximity, subtly asserting dominance without appearing overbearing. Every gesture, every glance, every tilt of his head was calculated. And yet, despite the artifice, I felt a flutter in my chest that was entirely real.
“Your first gala with me,” he said under his breath as we paused near the champagne table. “Observe, mimic, adapt. You’ll be fine.”
I nodded, trying to focus on the rules, on the strategy. But my eyes kept drifting to him, the way his gaze cut through the crowd, how he seemed completely untouchable yet hyper-aware of me. The thought made my stomach tighten.
A reporter approached, microphone poised, camera flashing. “Mr. Blackwell, who is this lovely lady by your side?”
I froze slightly, but Liam’s hand covered mine briefly, grounding me. “This is Sadie Reed,” he said smoothly, voice low enough that only I could hear the subtle warmth beneath the formal tone. “My guest tonight.”
“Guest,” I repeated under my breath, but the heat of his eyes burned into me, hinting at layers I was not yet allowed to explore.
The conversation passed smoothly, cameras clicked, smiles were exchanged, and I followed his lead with mechanical precision. And yet, as the night progressed, the line between acting and feeling blurred. The way he leaned closer when talking to others, subtly protective, subtly possessive; the way our hands brushed when passing a drink or adjusting my hair — these tiny, controlled movements made my pulse stutter.
During dinner, seated side by side at the head table, I caught glimpses of him observing me, assessing, almost as if measuring my reactions. I wanted to pull back, maintain boundaries, but his presence was magnetic. Dangerous. Irresistible.
“Toast,” he murmured under his breath, signaling subtly. I followed, lifting my glass. The crowd clapped, laughter and chatter filling the air, but beneath it all, the tension between us simmered quietly, dangerously.
Later, in the quieter part of the evening, he leaned closer as we navigated the balcony. “You’re doing fine,” he said, a rare softness in his voice. “Better than I expected.”
Heat flared across my cheeks. “Better than you expected?” I whispered, almost laughing at my own embarrassment.
“Yes,” he replied, eyes dark, unreadable. “You’re competent. You handle pressure well. But… you’re unpredictable.”
I wanted to argue, to maintain my boundaries, but the way his gaze held mine made words useless. I felt small, exposed, aware of every flutter of my pulse, every breath I took.
The evening ended with a public exit, hand-in-hand for cameras, smiles perfected, a performance flawless to everyone watching. But in the limousine back, the mask slipped for a moment. I caught his hand brushing mine, just a whisper of contact, and I felt it — the spark, the warning, the thrill.
Tonight, I had played my part perfectly. I had followed the rules, maintained composure, and kept the illusion intact. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted — between us, between me and him. Something real, dangerous, and intoxicating had been set in motion.
Because no matter how much I tried to convince myself it was just acting… the sparks were already dangerously real.
- Writer
