THE HIDDEN HEIRESS

ot submissive. Most new employees shrank under his scrutiny, eager to please, desperate to stay in his good graces. But not her. Her sharp eyes had met his without hesitat

he venue was nothing short of extravagant a grand ballroom lined with golden chandeliers, the walls adorned with intricate details that whispered old money and power. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, the soft hum of conversation mixing with the gentle clinking of champagne glasses. Lana stepped through the entrance, all eyes snapping to her. She could feel the whispers, the way women glanced at her with envy, the way men's gazes lingered just a little too long. But none of it mattered. Because the only gaze that truly burned was Damian's. She felt it before she even saw him. When she turned, their eyes locked. Damian Wolfe stood at the top of the staircase, dressed in a classic black suit, his presence commanding even in a room full of power players. But his usual impassive mask had slipped just for a second. His gaze dragged over her, slow and deliberate, his lips parting slightly as if he had forgotten how to breathe. Lana smirked. Good. He recovered quickly, his expression hardening. But as she walked toward him, she didn't miss the way his hands flexed at his sides, as if restraining the urge to reach for her. "You're late," he murmured when she reached him. Her eyes flickered with amusement. "I had to make an entrance." Damian's jaw clenched. "You're drawing attention." She tilted her head. "Wasn't that the point?" Something dark flickered in his eyes. "Careful, Lana." She smiled, brushing past him, intentionally letting her perfume linger in the space between them. The Dance The night progressed with smooth precision. Damian introduced her to powerful men and women, forcing he