Page 34 of Salem’s Fall (Dark Seasons Thriller #3)

T he moment I step into the New England Historical and Cultural Heritage Museum, it’s like stepping into another world.

Elegant chandeliers cast a golden glow over the vast hall, illuminating plush black velvet lounges, while flickering candles and towering candelabras shimmer like scattered stardust, their flames swaying as if caught in an unseen spell.

Sprawling black marble tables overflow with the finest food and champagne: seafood towers laden with lobster, stone crab, and oysters, a caviar bar, and prime rib carving stations.

Yet, amid all the opulence, there are playful touches too.

Crystal pumpkins in every color. Rows of intricately decorated candy apples that look like fine art.

A towering chocolate fountain surrounded by decadent Halloween-themed desserts.

All these things a reminder that, despite the Gala’s over-the-top luxury, this night is still full of tricks—and more than a few treats.

From a grand, gilded balcony, a ten-piece orchestra fills the space with sweeping melodies, the music swelling in perfect harmony with the shimmer of diamonds and silk on the dance floor below.

Elegantly dressed guests twirl and sway in a mesmerizing blur of movement, their designer gowns fanning out in waves of chiffon and tulle, their tuxedos crisp and tailored.

Politicians. Socialites. Hedge fund moguls. Titans of industry. New England’s most powerful and privileged move effortlessly through the gilded opulence of the night. I even spot a few celebrities, their presence only adding to the spectacle of it all.

I don’t belong here. But for tonight, I’ll pretend I do.

Then—

A warm hand brushes my shoulder. I turn, and my jaw drops.

Damien.

He’s breathtaking in his sharp black tuxedo, the crisp white of his shirt stark against the inky fabric.

The dark silk of his tie catches the light, and the way he wears it all is effortless, commanding.

His presence pulls at me, magnetic and all-consuming.

The heat between us builds instantly, curling around me like a whisper of danger.

“You clean up well, Counselor.”

I find my voice, but it’s weaker than I’d like.

“You’re late.”

He smirks. “For good reason.” He lifts his hand, and that’s when I notice the small red box. His voice softens, more intimate. “I wanted to get you something special for tonight.”

I take the box carefully, popping it open—and gasp. Inside, resting against rich velvet, is a stunning diamond necklace. The chain is delicate but strong, the pendant a flawless, deep-cut black diamond, shimmering under the chandelier light.

I glance up at him. “Damien, I can’t?—”

“Relax. It’s on loan. A favor from the museum,” he cuts in smoothly. “Allow me.”

He lifts the necklace and places it around my neck, his fingers grazing the hollow of my throat as he secures the clasp. His touch is slow. Lingering. It makes my skin tingle with awareness, sending a delicious shiver over every nerve. When I glance up again, I catch him looking down at my hand.

“You’re still wearing my ring,” he murmurs.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Something dark flashes in his expression—something proud, almost possessive. He extends a hand.

“Dance with me.”

I hesitate.

Not because I don’t want to.

Because I do.

Very much. Maybe too much—he’s my client, after all. A man accused of murder. A man who’s been keeping secrets from me since the day we met.

But then I remind myself—this is just a silly society ball. A fantasy. So I place my hand in his, and Damien Blackhollow pulls me into his arms, twirling me across the floor like something out of a fairy tale.

If fairy tales had murder suspects for princes.

The music swells around us, strings rising in perfect harmony as Damien spins me across the floor.

It’s effortless, like we’ve done this a hundred times before.

His grip is firm but not forceful, his movements smooth and controlled.

His fingers flex slightly around my waist, like he’s memorizing the shape of me.

And his expression… the way he’s looking at me while we dance—like I’m something rare, something treasured —sends a soft buzzing through my entire body.

Too soon, the song ends.

“I’m afraid I have to make my rounds for a bit, though I’d much rather stay here with you in my arms,” Damien says, voice low.

But instead of stepping back, he leans in—lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“Don’t dance with anyone else,” he murmurs, almost like a command cloaked as a plea. “Not tonight. You’re mine.”

Then, with a last lingering glance, he pulls away and disappears into the crowd to do whatever powerful men like him do at events like these. Handshaking. Social maneuvering. Kissing babies, maybe. A king moving through his kingdom.

I drift away from the dance floor, slipping toward the edge of the room to quietly observe things while he attends to his business.

Champagne glasses clinking in delicate hands.

Laughter rising in polite, controlled bursts.

I scan the crowd, my gaze searching before I fully realize what I’m looking for.

But Quinn isn’t here tonight, even though his father, the Senator, is one of the Gala chairs.

I tell myself I don’t care, but a strange hollowness settles in my chest. With a steadying breath, I push the sad thoughts away. Tonight is for cutting loose and having a little fun. I don’t want to dwell on my issues with Quinn or the firm right now. They’ll still be here tomorrow.

“Well, well. Look who it is.”

I turn, and my stomach twists, a wave of nausea rolling through me.

William Winthrop stands in front of me. My cheating ex from hell.

Smug. Smirking. Every bit the perfect, polished prep-school-boy-turned-lawyer.

Blond. Blue-eyed. Indistinguishable from every other trust-fund WASP in New England.

And clinging to his arm, looking similarly smug?

Jess. My equally awful ex-best friend. Redheaded, pale, and sharp-featured, with a nose just a pinch too large and beakish, like an overconfident hawk circling for a kill.

My jaw tightens, but I force my expression into something neutral. Indifferent. I refuse to give these two assholes the satisfaction of knowing they can still get to me.

“Will. Jess,” I say, my tone flat and unimpressed. “Didn’t expect to run into you two tonight. ”

William lets out a dry chuckle. “And why is that? Didn’t think my family could still get tickets?” he asks. “I’ve heard the invite list is even more exclusive this year, but Mom is on the fundraising committee now.”

“No, that’s not why,” I say coolly. “I was just hoping I’d see you first so I could avoid you.”

Jess makes a sound that’s almost a laugh, but it’s breathy, fake. “Oh, James. You always did have a sharp tongue.”

William grins, full of himself. “Her tongue is one of the things I liked best about her.”

Another sickening twist coils in my gut.

Ugh, gross.

I can’t believe he just said that, and in front of his new girlfriend too. I really don’t know what I ever saw in the guy.

“So, how’d you get invited?” William asks, eyes sweeping over me with thinly veiled skepticism. “Doesn’t seem like your scene.”

I offer a small, cool smile. “People change, Will. And you don’t really know me anymore.”

His smirk falters for a split second, but he recovers quickly, glancing at Jess, who looks equally curious.

“How’ve you been, James?” she asks, her voice honeyed but patronizing. “We haven’t seen you in ages. We miss you.”

As if she didn’t rip my heart out and stomp all over it.

As if they weren’t the ones who betrayed me.

“I’ve been busy,” I say.

“Oh, right. Still toiling away at Whitehall & Rowe, aren’t you?

” William asks, condescension dripping from his voice.

“Congrats, James. Really. It’s a nice little firm.

Good pay. I know how hard you worked for that job—you’ve always been into that sort of thing.

” He flashes a self-important grin, chest puffing out.

“Me? I’m more interested in public service. I want to serve the people.”

I grip my clutch tighter, heat rising to my face, but I refuse to let him bait me. His family is loaded, he can afford to “serve the people.” The rest of us have to work hard to put money in the bank.

“How nice for you, Will. Good luck with that.”

Jess sighs, long and dramatic, like this entire conversation is some great burden on her. As if she’s the wronged party.

“Look, James, we want you to know we’re sorry. Truly.” She rests a delicate hand on William’s arm, throwing him a look before turning back to me with a saccharine smile. “But sometimes, you can’t fight fate, you know? When something feels right, you have to follow your heart.”

Oh, I want to slug her. I really do. She’s practically begging for it…

“Yeah, no hard feelings, right?” William adds, his smirk deepening. “You’ll understand one day, when you find someone of your own.”

That’s it. I can’t listen to this crap any longer. I open my mouth to respond, ready to verbally eviscerate them both?—

But I don’t have to.

“Oh, she’s already found someone,” Damien says, coming up behind me. His hand rests lightly at the small of my back, possessive, grounding.

Jess’s eyes go wide, her breath hitching as she takes in the man now standing beside me, like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Next to her, William stiffens, his bravado slipping, his face going pale.

“You’re… you’re Damien Blackhollow, aren’t you?” William asks, his voice losing its usual arrogance.

Damien tilts his head, studying William like he’s something stuck to the bottom of his expensive shoe. “And you must be the idiot ex-boyfriend.”

William bristles.

“Excuse me? ”

Damien’s smirk is pure sin. “Can’t say I’m impressed. I expected someone… better.”

William goes rigid, his hands curling into fists. “Hey, now. Listen here?—”

“No, you listen.” Damien steps closer, towering over my ex. “You had your chance with her. I don’t know what she was thinking back then, but she’s clearly smartened up.” His grip tightens on my back, his smile slow and deliberate.

William’s mouth opens, then snaps shut. He looks like he can’t decide whether to argue or run away.

For a brief moment, I almost feel bad for him—almost. But even if this is a lie, even if Damien and I aren’t even remotely together, watching William squirm?

Watching his face turn red, his confidence crumble?

God, it feels good. Maybe it’s silly and petty, but after everything he’s done, I’ll take it.

Without another word, William turns on his heel and stalks off, fists clenched.

Jess, ever the social climber, lingers a beat. She casts me a lingering look before flashing Damien a too-bright, nervous smile. “Well, it was nice seeing you, James! We should catch up sometime!” she calls out, wiggling her fingers in an awkward wave before scurrying after William.

Damien watches them go, his smile only deepening.

“That was unnecessary,” I say, though I can’t help but laugh at my ex-boyfriend scampering off with his tail between his legs. “Sure was fun, though.”

“I aim to please.”

I hesitate, then murmur, “He’s right, though, you know.”

“Really?” Damien snorts, unimpressed. “I can’t think of a single thing that poor son of a bitch could be right about.”

“My job. Whitehall & Rowe. Succeeding at the firm is all I’ve ever wanted.

” I brush my fingers over the stunning black diamond at my throat, glancing around at the opulence of the Gala—the sparkling gowns, the extravagant feast, the endless flow of glittering drinks.

“Tonight has been lovely. And… thank you. But I need to get back to reality now.”

This evening was supposed to be about recon—layout, timeline, Damien’s alibi. But somewhere between the diamonds and the dancing and Damien’s charm, I let myself forget. Just for a little while, I stopped acting like a lawyer.

Damien’s easy smile falters.

“What do you mean? The night’s still young.” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s something else beneath it—something real. He’s enjoying this. Enjoying me.

“Not for me, it isn’t.”

Halloween. Veil Night. It’s all coming to a head, fast.

The Gala was a fun distraction, but I’m not going to find any answers here. They’re in Salem’s Fall. I have to find Professor Hargrove and tell him everything I uncovered at the police station and the library. If anyone can help me make sense of it, it’s him.

Damien’s jaw tightens, like he already knows he’s not going to like what I say next. “James?—”

“I’m sorry. I have to go,” I say and unclasp the necklace, pressing it into his palm. I’m already shifting back into reality as I turn toward the exit, the lingering haze of indulgence and luxury fading into urgency.

“Right now?” Damien’s voice is laced with disbelief. “James, slow down. I thought we were having a good time.”

I hesitate, just for a second. “I need to get back to Salem’s Fall to see Nick. There’s new evidence in your case I want to discuss with him.”

The shift is instant. His expression hardens, curdling into something darker.

“Hargrove again?” His voice is strained now, carrying an edge.

“You sure don’t waste time adding new admirers to your collection, do you?

First Quinn. Now Hargrove. And let’s not forget how you somehow sweet-talked my brother into spilling our family secrets.

” His head tilts, as if mock thoughtful. “Who’s next—the mayor of Salem’s Fall?”

I shoot back, “Good thing you’re immune to my charms, then. Right?”

Damien’s eyes glint with challenge.

“Am I?”

For a moment, the world narrows to just him. The tension between us coils tight, hot, electric. I swallow hard, tearing my gaze away and stepping into the cool night air, leaving him behind before I can make another mistake. Before I say something I can’t take back.

But I still feel him, long after I’ve left the museum.

His gaze. His presence. His heat.

And despite everything—despite Damien Blackhollow being dangerous, manipulative, and entirely too smug—my traitorous heart still races. Because for a few fleeting hours, real or not, he was mine.