Chapter 7 Promise ring

THIRD PERSON POV

LAKE COMO

The iron doors of the Grey mansion loomed ahead, a towering monument of old-money Italian luxury. Mia took a sharp breath, straightening the fabric of her blazer. She was ready. She had spent the entire private flight mentally building her walls, preparing to face the lions in their den.

With her chin lifted, she took a step toward the grand entrance, ready to march inside.

Before her heel could click against the stone, a firm, heavy grip clamped around her wrist.

The sudden restriction caught her off guard. Mia gasped, her momentum halting instantly as she was pulled back into the shadowed alcove of the massive stone entryway. She snapped her head up, her eyes wide. "Damien, what—"

Damien didn't answer right away. His expression was a mask of unreadable, icy concentration as he reached into his breast pocket. When he pulled his hand out, a small velvet box rested in his palm. He flipped it open with a quiet click.

Mia’s breath hitched. Nestled in the silk was a rock so brilliant it seemed to swallow the daylight—a deep, mesmerizing blue diamond, flanked by rows of platinum. It practically screamed wealth. Before she could protest, Damien took her hand and slid the heavy band down her ring finger. His fingertips were warm against her cold skin, his touch lingering a second too long.

"Damien," Mia whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. She stared at the blinding stone. "What is this? Is... is this an engagement ring? We never agreed to—"

"No," Damien interrupted smoothly, his low, gravelly voice vibration close to her ear. He let go of her wrist, but his dark eyes remained locked onto hers, trapping her in place. "It's a promise ring."

Mia let out a disbelieving, breathy laugh, looking from the massive stone back up to his enigmatic face. "A promise ring? Damien, who on earth uses a blue diamond for just a promise ring?"

"I do," he murmured, his tone perfectly casual, yet carrying an intensity that sent a sharp shiver down her spine. "Wear it, Mia. Don't take it off."

Mia swallowed hard. The sheer weight of the rock felt like an anchor, pulling her deeper into a game where the rules kept shifting. She didn't pull it off, though. She clutched her handbag tighter, letting the diamond catch the light as Damien finally ushered her through the massive double doors.

The moment they stepped into the grand, marble-floored foyer, the quiet serenity of the estate vanished.

"Damien!"

A high-pitched, ecstatic squeal echoed through the high ceilings. Before Mia could even register the movement, a blur of silk and perfume launched itself straight at Damien. It was a stunning girl with perfectly styled hair and an air of effortless entitlement—Esther.

"Oh my god, it’s really you!" Esther cried, throwing her arms around Damien's neck, completely ignoring the fact that another woman was standing right there. "Ten years, Damien! It’s been ten years since you set foot in Lake Como! No one actually believed you’d show up for your nephew's wedding!"

Mia stood frozen, a sudden, uncomfortable prickle of something she didn't want to admit was jealousy blooming in her chest. She watched Damien. He didn't hug Esther back with the same fervor, but he didn't push her away either. He merely caught Esther by the shoulders, gently but firmly creating space between them.

"Hello, Esther," Damien said, his voice dropping into that cool, controlled celebrity cadence.

Without breaking stride, Damien reached out and wrapped his large hand firmly around Mia’s waist, pulling her flush against his side. The sudden heat of his palm anchored her instantly.

"Everyone," Damien’s baritone voice boomed slightly, commanding the attention of the entire room. Mia’s eyes scanned the foyer, expecting to see the sharp, smug faces of Elena or Harry—but they were nowhere to be found. Instead, a sea of unfamiliar old-money faces turned toward them. "Meet my girlfriend, Mia."

A collective, hushed gasp rippled through the gathering. The untouchable Damien Grey, a man who hadn't attended a family function in a decade, had not only showed up—he had brought a woman.

As Damien smoothly began navigating the room, introducing Mia to the extended family, her mind spun. She was introduced to a sharp-eyed auntie who looked her up and down like a prize horse, and two young grandchildren who quickly ran past chasing a ball. Mia smiled, played the part, and nodded, but her eyes kept searching the crowd for her ex and his new fiancé. Where were they?

"Damien."

The cold, sharp voice cut through the chatter like a guillotine.

The crowd naturally parted, and Mia felt Damien’s grip on her waist tighten to a bruising force. Walking toward them was a man who looked terrifyingly like an older, harsher version of Damien.

Floyd Grey.

The tension in the air instantly became suffocating. The smiles faded from the room. Mia doesn't know the history—but she knew instantly that the two brothers couldn't bear to breath the same air.

Floyd stopped a mere two feet away, his eyes scanning his brother with a calculating, malicious glare. He didn't look like a man welcoming family; he looked like a general sizing up his enemy.

"Brother," Floyd said, his voice dripping with a fake, corporate warmth that didn't reach his icy eyes. "I must say, we were all shocked you chose to leave your... sanctuary. I didn't think you had the stability for a crowd these days."

The insult was quiet, but it hit like a slap.

Damien didn't flinch. He stood like a wall of granite, a dangerous, mocking smile touching the corners of his lips as he looked down at his older brother.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Floyd," Damien replied, his voice dangerously soft, yet clear enough for everyone to hear. He raised his left hand, deliberately letting the sunlight hit the blue diamond on Mia's finger, mocking Floyd's entire presence. "After all, I hear you've been worried about my assets. I wanted to come assure you in person... I've never been more invested."

.

Despite the suffocating corporate warfare vibrating between Damien and Floyd, Mia could barely concentrate on the daggers being thrown across the marble foyer. Yes, the family dynamics were terrifying. Yes, Damien’s grip on her waist was entirely too intense.

But right now, the tension in her bladder was vastly worse than the tension in the room.

Twisting slightly in Damien's hold, she offered a tight, polite smile to the auntie standing nearby. "Excuse me," Mia murmured, trying to keep her voice level. "Could someone direct me to the powder room? It was a very long flight."

The older woman waved a dismissive, diamond-encrusted hand toward the grand, sweeping corridor to the left. "Oh, just head down the east wing, dear. The main powder room is being remodeled, but you can slip into any of the empty guest suites down that hall and make use of the restrooms inside. They’re all fully serviced."

"Thank you," Mia breathed. She gave Damien a quick, meaningful look—a silent plea for a temporary ceasefire—and slipped away from his side before Floyd could lob another psychological grenade.

The moment she stepped out of the crowded foyer and into the east wing, the noise of the family gathering faded into a heavy, opulent silence. The hallway was lined with towering mahogany doors and priceless oil paintings. Her heels clicked softly against the polished marble as she hurried down the corridor, looking for the first door that seemed completely dark and unoccupied.

Finding one slightly ajar at the very end of the hall, she pushed it open and slipped inside, letting out a sigh of relief.

But the relief vanished the exact second her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the luxurious guest suite.

Directly across the room, pressed against the heavy velvet drapes of the floor-to-ceiling windows, were two people. They weren't just talking. They were completely wrapped around each other, locked in a passionate, breathless, and utterly frantic kiss.

Mia froze by the door, a wave of intense disgust washing over her. Just how shameless can people be? There were more than enough rooms. she thought, her jaw tightening. To be groping and kissing each other in a random, unlocked guest room during a massive family homecoming was wild, even for old-money standards.

She turned on her heel, fully intending to quietly back out of the room and find another toilet, when a low, familiar moan caught her attention.

Mia’s entire body went rigid.

Slowly, against her better judgment, she snapped her head back around to look at the couple. The dark clouds outside the window parted for a brief second, allowing a sharp beam of afternoon sunlight to pierce through the glass and illuminate the pair.

The blonde hair. The designer sundress.

It was Elena.

Mia's breath caught squarely in her throat, her mind violently scrambling to make sense of what she was seeing. Elena—the glowing, smug, status-obsessed bride-to-be—was cheating on her groom in his own family home.

But as the man pulled back slightly, his fingers tangling in Elena’s blonde hair as he laughed a low, wicked sound, the light hit his face.

Mia’s heart completely stopped. The blood froze in her veins, and her handbag slipped from her fingers, hitting the carpeted floor w

ith a dull thud.

The man holding the bride wasn't Harry.

"Tristan?" Mia exclaimed, the name ripping from her throat in a shocked, breathless gasp.

Previous Chapter
Next Chapter