Chapter 6 – The Other Side of Power
The knock on the door came just past nine the next morning.
Elara opened it still wearing a silk robe and was greeted by a sharply dressed woman holding a tablet, flanked by a man in a tailored charcoal suit.
"Elara Voss?" the woman asked crisply
"Yes?"
"I'm Simone, your personal assistant. This is Jordan, your security liaison. Mr. Voss has instructed us to brief you on your updated schedule and security clearances."
"Security clearances?" she repeated, blinking.
Jordan offered a polite smile. "You're the wife of one of the most powerful men in the country. You're no longer a civilian in the public eye."
Simone handed her the tablet. "Your calendar, contacts, press briefings, styling preferences, and scheduled appearances are updated daily. Jordan will walk you through the protocols."
Elara stared down at the sleek device. Her name was printed on the leather case in gold. This wasn't a life—it was an operation.
"I assume I have a say in any of this?" she asked.
Simone's polite expression didn't falter. "Of course. Within the boundaries of the public image Mr. Voss is building."
And just like that, the cage she'd walked into shimmered back into view.
An hour later, she sat in a luxury SUV beside Jordan, headed downtown.
"I thought I had a day off," she muttered.
"Change of plans," Jordan said. "Mr. Voss wants you to join him at a lunch meeting with a potential partner. It's a soft appearance—no press. But it's important."
"Why?"
Jordan looked straight ahead. "Because the man you're meeting isn't in the press. And people like him don't attend galas—they move things behind the curtain."
Elara folded her arms. "And what exactly am I supposed to do?"
"Play the wife. Observe. Smile. But mostly, listen."
The restaurant was discreet, tucked inside a hotel that didn't advertise its dining room to the public. The kind of place where billion-dollar deals happened over tea.
Damian was already there, seated across from a silver-haired man with eyes like polished steel.
"Elara," Damian said smoothly, standing as she approached. "Meet Mr. Arman Delacroix."
Delacroix rose, kissing her hand with unnerving formality. "So this is the woman who changed Mr. Voss's mind about bachelorhood."
Elara offered a polite smile. "Or at least made him pretend to."
Delacroix chuckled. "I like her."
Damian's mouth twitched slightly, but he said nothing.
The lunch was a dance of veiled threats and subtle power plays. Delacroix asked questions that sounded friendly but dug deep. Damian responded with charm-laced iciness. Elara sipped her wine and said almost nothing—but she watched.
And when Delacroix's eyes slid to her during a pause in conversation, he asked softly, "Tell me, Mrs. Voss… do you know the man you married?"
Elara met his gaze. "I know what he lets people see."
"And you're content with that?"
She tilted her head. "I think that's all anyone ever really gets."
Delacroix smiled, slow and impressed. "Smart. Very smart."
When he finally left, Damian remained silent for several seconds.
Then, "You handled him well."
She shrugged. "I've dealt with worse."
He glanced at her. "Delacroix funds half the defense contracts in Europe. He could crush entire companies with a whisper."
"And yet you brought me along. Why?"
"Because I wanted to see how you'd survive in my world."
She leaned forward. "And?"
"You didn't flinch."
That night, Elara stood at the window of the penthouse, watching the skyline blink like a living thing.
Damian entered the room, loosened his tie, and poured himself a drink.
"Why do I get the feeling you don't trust anyone?" she asked.
He didn't look at her. "Because I don't."
"Not even me?"
He finally turned. "Especially not you."
It hurt more than she expected.
"But I respect you," he added quietly.
She met his gaze. "Why does that sound more intimate than trust?"
"Because in my world, it is."
There was silence. And then she asked the question that had been circling her mind since lunch.
"Who is Delacroix really?"
Damian took a long sip of scotch. "A man who knows where all the bodies are buried. And who put some of them there."
"Why involve yourself with someone like him?"
"Because if I don't, someone else will. And I don't lose."
There it was again—that ruthlessness. That refusal to bend. The same steel that had protected her… and now held her hostage.
"What happens if you lose control, Damian?" she whispered. "What happens when you can't manipulate every piece?"
He stepped closer.
"Then I find the one piece that doesn't belong—and I remove it."
For a heartbeat, she didn't know whether to be terrified or intrigued.
Then she spoke, quieter now. "And if that piece… is me?"
His expression didn't change. "Then you'll have to decide if you want to be protected… or sacrificed."
That night, sleep never came.
Because for the first time, Elara realized something.
She wasn't just playing a part in a fake marriage.
She was part of a war.
And if she didn't start playing her cards right…
She wouldn't survive it.