Chapter 8: Playing with Fire

Inside the black sedan, Damien let out a soft, amused grunt as he swiped the live feed closed on his phone.

"She found the false bottom in the desk," Marcus noted from the front seat, catching a glimpse of the screen. "She's smarter than we anticipated, sir. Do you want me to have security relocate the Vance dossier?"

"No," Damien said, leaning his head back against the leather. A slow, quiet smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Leave it right where it is. Let’s see how long it takes her to find it. This marriage was supposed to be a tedious transaction, Marcus. My new wife is proving to be... highly entertaining."

Damien checked his watch. "What does the rest of the day look like?"

"Just the two executive briefings at headquarters, sir. You'll be wrapped up by two o'clock."

"Perfect. Clear anything else. I want to be back at the estate early."

"And if she discovers the truth about your eyes while you're away, sir?"

Damien’s smile faded into something sharp. "She won't. Not until I'm ready to let her."

Back in the east wing, Avery’s fingers traced the back of the bookshelf. Her heart was beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

Come on, there has to be a safe or a hidden latch, she thought, scanning the heavy wood.

Suddenly, the sharp, rhythmic sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway outside.

Avery froze. The security sweep.

She looked around the room in absolute panic. The desk was too far, and the door was about to open. Desperate, she squeezed herself into the narrow, dusty gap between the massive bookshelf and the heavy velvet drapes of the window.

She held her breath, pressing her back flat against the wall. The space was incredibly tight, pinning her arms to her sides.

The office door clicked open.

Through a tiny slit in the velvet, Avery watched a burly security guard in a dark uniform walk in. He scanned the room, his eyes lingering on the desk. He took a few steps forward, checking the window lock right next to where she was hiding.

Avery squeezed her eyes shut, her muscles aching from holding such an unnatural, rigid posture. A speck of dust tickled her nose. Don't sneeze. Please, do not sneeze.

After what felt like an eternity, the guard muttered something into his radio and walked out, the heavy door clicking shut.

Avery slumped forward, sliding out of the tight space and catching her breath. She rubbed her sore shoulders, her hands still shaking from the adrenaline.

"Too risky," she whispered, wiping a stray smudge of dust from her cheek. "I can't do this today. I need to cool off."

Leaving the office exactly as she found it, she slipped out and headed down to the estate's massive rear gardens to clear her head.

The air outside was crisp, smelling of damp earth. Avery walked down the stone path, trying to steady her breathing. The sheer scale of the Kingsley estate was dizzying, but the quiet green space helped ground her.

She rounded a corner near a high, manicured hedge, and froze.

Standing in the center of a stone courtyard was Damien. He was back early.

He had discarded his suit jacket, wearing only his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was holding his silver-tipped cane, but he wasn't using it to guide himself. Instead, he was standing perfectly still, his chin tilted up toward the sky, listening to the birds.

Without the rigid posture of his business suits, he looked younger. Almost relaxed.

Before Avery could step back into the shadows of the hedge, Damien spoke.

"You walk quietly, Kendra," he said, his voice carrying easily across the quiet courtyard. He didn't turn around, but his head tilted slightly in her direction. "But not quietly enough."

Avery swallowed her panic and stepped forward. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I was just... getting some fresh air."

Damien turned slowly, his dark glasses reflecting the afternoon light. He began walking toward her, his cane lightly tapping the stone path. Suddenly, the tip of his cane caught on an uneven stone.

He stumbled, his broad frame tilting forward.

Instinct took over. Avery lunged, her hands catching his forearms to steady him.

The moment her hands made contact with his solid, warm arms, a quiet spark flared between them. Damien’s hand shot out, his fingers locking around her waist to anchor himself. He pulled her flush against his chest, holding her close enough that she could hear the steady, heavy thud of his heart.

For a second, neither of them moved.

"Careful," Damien whispered. He didn't let go of her waist. In fact, his grip softened, drawing her just a fraction closer. "Or else it'll seem like we're falling for each other."

Avery stared up at his face, her heart hammering for a completely different reason now. From this close, she could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. He smelled like cedarwood and the crisp afternoon air, and for a fleeting second, she forgot about the stolen files, her sister, and the lie she was living. She just felt safe.

"You... you should be more careful," Avery managed to say, her voice soft. "The stones are uneven."

"Then it's a good thing I have a wife to catch me," Damien murmured.

He let his hand slide up her back, a gentle, warm touch through her knit sweater, before slowly letting her go. A genuine, relaxed smile touched his lips—not his usual mocking smirk, but something lighter.

Avery stepped back, her cheeks burning, but she couldn't help the small, quiet smile that tugged at her own lips.