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Chapter 57 - Damon's POV

"We mingle, charm our way into his good graces, and slip into the secured office upstairs from the VIP Section. Chanderson kept things in there that even I wasn't at liberty to know. We get that, and we're one step closer to wrapping this up."

I sucked my teeth, my tone flat. "And how does the part where we pretend to be lovers fit into all this?"

She leaned in, her perfume sharp and intoxicating. "Oh, don't pretend you're not used to these kind of performances. We've got to entertain the vultures. Smile, whisper sweet nothings, maybe even put a hand on my waist. Just don't blow our cover, got it?"

I didn't respond, but instead focused on the task ahead. I reminded myself that this was for Astrid, for the future we were supposed to have. But as Camila leaned into me, I couldn't shake the unease settling in my chest.

Everything just felt wrong.

Fuck.

Astrid would kill me for this.

~

The Gala was held in a sprawling mansion, its glittering chandeliers and polished marble floors screaming of excess. Every sound echoed with the weight of money—crisp, fresh bills exchanging hands in invisible deals. The crowd was a mix of the rich and the ruthless, their laughter too loud, their smiles too sharp.

Camila played her role effortlessly, her laugh light and melodic as she introduced me to Chanderson's former associates.

"This is Raúl," she said, resting a hand on my chest as she addressed an older man in a tailored tuxedo. "My partner in more ways than one."

Her touch was calculated, as was everything she did. I offered a practiced, hollow smile and shook the man's hand with just enough pressure to assert dominance.

"Ah... I see," he mused, his guard lowering just slightly. "Just the kind of story I needed right now. Love is rare in our line of business... especially for a woman of Camila's character."

I gave him a slow, knowing smirk. "Well, you know, I do happen to be quite the charmer."

The man chuckled and reached into his tuxedo, slipping a golden ticket into my pocket. "Monsieur Jean-Paul. A pleasure." His French accent was thick, his eyes assessing.

"I hear you're a possible investor—a man who talks business." He stroked his mustache, gaze sharpening.

"Seems you've heard just about right," I replied smoothly, reaching to shake his hand once more.

It was brief, but sharp.

"Putain!" He ripped his hand back, biting down on his bottom lip. Then he laughed. "Oho... quite the firm grip you've got there, Raúl." His eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was something else too. Caution. Calculation. "And that damn arrogant smirk," he mused.

"Loyalty is a fragile thing in this world," he continued, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve. "But money? Money always speaks the loudest. And you act as if you have lots of it."

Camila let out a light, relieved chuckle, but I didn't fully relax. We had barely passed the first test.

"Come," Jean-Paul gestured toward an opulent set of double doors guarded by two men in sleek black suits. "Let's discuss this investment of yours over a drink. I do hope you both can keep up."

Camila gave me a sidelong glance as we followed him inside. She was good at keeping up appearances, but I could see the tension in the way she clutched her clutch bag, the way her gaze flicked from one exit to the next. She wasn't comfortable. Good. That meant she understood just how dangerous this was.