The Morning After

Sunlight.

Not the harsh kind. The soft, golden kind that slips through glass and makes everything look less broken.

I woke up to the smell of cedar and coffee.

And to warmth.

My hand was still in his.

Damian.

We’d fallen asleep like that. 2 feet apart turned into 0 inches somewhere between 4AM and sunrise.

His arm was around me now. Not tight. Just... there.

His chest rising and falling against my back.

I didn’t move. I was afraid if I did, this would end.

And for the first time in 3 years, I didn’t feel like I was drowning.

His breath was warm on my neck.

“Morning,” he murmured. Voice rough from sleep.

I froze. “You’re awake.”

“Have been. For 20 minutes.” A pause. “Watching you.”

My cheeks burned. “Why?”

“Because you look different when you’re not scared of me.”

I turned in his arms. Careful. Slow.

He was propped on one elbow, watching me. Hair messy. Shirt still off.

Those black eyes weren’t cold. They were... curious.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

“Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that. Like I’m a person.”

He reached up. Thumb brushed under my eye.

“You are a person, Ava. My wife. For 12 months.”

The last part was bitter. Like it tasted bad.

“Right. The contract.”

“The contract.” He sighed and sat up. The sheet fell, showing his chest again.

I looked away. Fast.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Please.”

---

The kitchen was huge. Stainless steel. Nothing in it except a $5000 espresso machine.

Damian made coffee in silence. Black for him. With milk for me.

How did he know?

He slid the mug across the marble counter.

“Hospital at 10. Remember?”

I nodded. Wrapped my hands around the mug.

“Thank you. For last night. For not—”

“For not what?” He leaned against the counter. Arms crossed.

“For not making me regret signing.”

He was quiet for a long time.

“I told you. I don’t take what isn’t given.” His eyes dropped to my lips. Then back up. “But Ava... I’m not made of stone.”

My heart did something stupid. It skipped.

“I know,” I said quietly.

“Good.” He pushed off the counter. “Get ready. Mrs. Ellis picked out clothes for you. In the closet.”

---

The closet was bigger than my apartment.

Dresses. Suits. Shoes. All my size.

All black, white, and red.

No pink. No pastels.

His colors.

I picked a simple white dress. Sleeveless. Knee length.

Safe.

When I came down, Damian was on a call.

“No, push the merger. I don’t care what it costs.”

He saw me and stopped mid-sentence.

His eyes did that thing again. Head to toe.

The dress was modest. But his jaw still tightened.

“Call you back,” he said into the phone and hung up.

“You look—” He cut himself off. “The car’s waiting.”

---

Liam was sitting up today. Color in his cheeks.

“AVI!” He threw his arms around me. “You’re wearing white! You look like a princess!”

I laughed. Cried a little. “You look better, stinker.”

Damian stood by the window. Hands in pockets.

When the doctor came in, he asked all the right questions.

Treatment plan. Side effects. Timeline.

“Mr. Cole, the transplant is scheduled for Friday,” the doctor said. “With your company’s funding, we can use the experimental protocol. 92% success rate.”

“Do it,” Damian said immediately. No hesitation.

After, in the hallway, I stopped him.

“Why are you doing this? Really?”

He looked at me. Tired.

“Because your brother doesn’t deserve to pay for your father’s sins.”

A beat. “And because... you do.”

Before I could answer, his phone buzzed.

Damian Cole: Emergency board meeting. 2PM.

“I have to go,” he said. “Driver will take you home.”

“Home,” I repeated. “This house.”

“Yes.” He was already walking away. Then he stopped. Turned back.

“Ava.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t wear white tomorrow. I told you I hate it.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile.

And he was gone.

---

6PM.

I was alone in the penthouse. Again.

The silence was loud.

My phone buzzed.

*D: Board meeting running late. Don’t wait for me for dinner.*

*D: There’s food in the fridge. Mrs. Ellis stocked it.*

I typed back: *A: Okay. Be safe.*

3 dots. Then nothing.

At 9PM, the door opened.

Damian. Tie loose. Jacket in hand. Exhausted.

He stopped when he saw me. On the couch. In sweatpants and one of his old button-down shirts I’d found in the closet.

It was huge on me. Came to my thighs.

His eyes darkened.

“That’s my shirt.”

“I know. It was cold.”

He dropped his jacket. Walked to the bar. Poured whiskey.

“Long day?” I asked.

“The longest.” He drank. “The board thinks I’m insane for marrying a Sinclair.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That it’s none of their business.” He turned. Leaned against the bar. Watching me.

“You look comfortable.”

“I am.”

“Good.” He set the glass down. “Come here.”

My stomach flipped. “Why?”

“Because I want to.”

I stood. Walked to him. Stopped a foot away.

He reached out. Tugged me closer by the hem of the shirt.

Now there was no space.

I could feel his heartbeat. Fast.

“Ava,” he said. My name sounded different in his mouth.

“Damian,” I whispered back.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question shocked me. After everything, he was asking.

I nodded. Once.

His hand came to my jaw. Same as at City Hall. But different.

Slower. Gentler.

He tilted my head up.

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t possessive.

It was careful. Like I might break.

His lips were warm. Soft. Tasting like whiskey and something uniquely him.

One hand stayed on my jaw. The other came to my waist, under the shirt.

His palm was hot against my skin.

The kiss deepened. Not demanding. Asking.

And I answered.

My hands came up to his chest. I could feel him under my fingers.

He made a low sound in his throat and pulled me closer.

When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.

“Shit,” he muttered, forehead against mine. “That was not supposed to happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because I told myself I wouldn’t want you. Because this was supposed to be business.”

“And now?”

“Now I want to do it again.” His thumb brushed my bottom lip.

So he did.

This time it wasn’t careful.

This time it was real.

Hungry. Desperate. Like we’d both been holding back for years.

His arms went around me. Lifted me. I gasped and wrapped my legs around his waist.

He carried me to the couch and set me down gently.

Came over me. One hand in my hair, the other still on my waist.

The kiss was deep. Slow. Every touch said _mine_ without words.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were black. Burning.

“Ava,” he said, voice rough. “Tell me to stop.”

I should have. The contract. The revenge. The 12 months.

But all I could think about was his hand on me. His mouth on me.

“I don’t want you to stop,” I whispered.

He closed his eyes like it hurt. “You’re going to ruin me.”

“Maybe you deserve it.”

That got a real laugh out of him. Short. Surprised.

“Probably.”

He kissed me again. Softer this time. Lingering.

Then he rested his forehead on mine.

“We should stop,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Before I forget the contract.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of us moved.

Finally, he rolled off me and sat up. Ran a hand through his hair.

“Go to bed, Ava.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going to take a very cold shower.”

I stood, legs shaky. At the door to the guest room I stopped.

“Damian?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you. For asking.”

He looked at me. Really looked.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Cole.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Cole.”

---

In bed, I touched my lips. They were still tingling.

My phone buzzed one last time.

*_D: Sleep well. I meant what I said. I don’t take what isn’t given.

But now that you’ve given it once... I’m going to have a hard time forgetting.__

I smiled into my pillow.

The devil had kissed me.

And I’d kissed him back.

The contract said 12 months.

But nobody said anything about falling.