The Mafia Boss Brought His Secretary as His Fake Date—Then Got Jealous When Every Man Wanted Her
Chapter 3
The ballroom became more crowded as the night continued.
Elena had expected attention.
She hadn’t expected this much.
Men approached her constantly.
Some wanted to know what she did.
Others wanted to know how long she had worked for Adrian.
One even asked whether she was truly his secretary or whether there was “something more going on.”
Elena laughed politely.
Adrian did not.
Every time someone got too close, he appeared beside her.
Every time someone offered her a drink, he had already ordered one.
Every time someone asked for her number, his expression became darker.
Eventually, Elena leaned toward him.
“You’re making this obvious.”
“What?”
“Your jealousy.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Then stop glaring at every man who speaks to me.”
“I wasn’t glaring.”
“You frightened three of them.”
“Good.”
She laughed.
Adrian stared at her.
“What?”
“You laughed.”
“So?”
“You don’t usually laugh around me.”
“Maybe you’re not as terrifying as everyone thinks.”
“That’s dangerous information.”
She smiled.
For a moment, the noise around them disappeared.
Then a man approached.
This one was different.
Elena recognized him immediately.
Damien Cross.
A wealthy businessman with connections all over the East Coast.
And a man Adrian openly disliked.
“Miss Brooks.”
“Mr. Cross.”
Damien smiled.
“You look beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you.”
His gaze moved toward Adrian.
“Blackwell.”
“Cross.”
A silent war seemed to begin.
Damien looked back at Elena.
“Would you like to dance?”
Elena opened her mouth.
Adrian answered first.
“She already has plans.”
Damien chuckled.
“I was asking her.”
Elena glanced at Adrian.
His expression was almost frightening.
She should have refused.
Instead, something reckless inside her made her say,
“I’d like to dance.”
Adrian’s eyes snapped toward her.
Damien smiled.
“Excellent.”
He offered his hand.
Elena placed hers in it.
As Damien led her away, she didn’t miss the look on Adrian’s face.
He was furious.
Absolutely furious.
Damien was an excellent dancer.
“You enjoy provoking him,” he said.
Elena looked surprised.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because every time I look at him, he looks ready to kill me.”
She laughed.
“Maybe he just doesn’t like you.”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
Damien’s voice lowered.
“He doesn’t look at you like an employer looks at a secretary.”
Elena’s smile disappeared.
“What does he look at me like?”
“Like a man who has already decided you’re his.”
She looked toward Adrian.
He stood near the bar, watching them.
His eyes were fixed on her.
Something inside her tightened.
Damien spun her gently.
“Be careful with him.”
“Why?”
“Because Adrian Blackwell doesn’t pretend about things that matter to him.”
Before Elena could answer, the music ended.
She returned to Adrian.
He stepped toward her.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”
His eyes darkened.
“It is tonight.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere private.”
She crossed her arms.
“No.”
His face hardened.
“Why?”
“Because you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“You look like you’re deciding whether to kill Damien.”
“I was.”
She stared.
He sighed.
“Elena.”
“What?”
“I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
The admission surprised her.
She had never heard Adrian apologize.
He looked down briefly.
Then back at her.
“You’re right.”
Her anger softened.
“Then what is going on?”
Before Adrian could answer, his phone vibrated.
He checked the screen.
Everything in his face changed.
“What happened?”
“Stay here.”
“No.”
He looked at her sharply.
“Stay here, Elena.”
“I’m not a child.”
“I know.”
He lowered his voice.
“That is why I need you to trust me.”
Then he walked away.
Elena watched him disappear behind a private door.
Ten minutes later, she noticed something on the floor.
A small folded piece of paper.
She picked it up.
Inside was a single handwritten sentence.
You should never have come here with him.
Her blood went cold.
At the bottom was another line.
Ask Adrian what happened to your father.
Elena stared at the words.
Her father had died when she was twelve.
At least, that was what she’d always been told.
