Damon The bathroom door shuts behind her with a soft click, but the silence it leaves feels anything but soft. It’s loud. Suffocating. Like the room itself is daring me to admit what that kiss back at the event really meant.I don’t.I can’t.I lean back in the chair by my side of the bed, dragging my tie off with more force than necessary, letting it fall to the floor without a care. The buttons of my shirt come undone one by one, but it does nothing to cool the heat still crawling under my skin. I roll my neck, lean back, and close my eyes.But all I see is her.Again.The same girl who’s not supposed to be anything more than a guarantee for my position in the company. A body beside mine for show. Yet somehow, tonight—hell, the past few weeks—she’s been bleeding into places she has no damn business being.And I let her.Time and time again.That kiss? It wasn’t in the damn playbook. Sure, I told myself it was for the cameras, for the applause, for my image as CEO. But even as the l
DamonThe applause is still echoing as I step down from the stage, and yet the sound feels like static against the rush in my head. The weight of those three words I just said...I love you.To a room full of investors, associates, and strangers in custom-made suits. I dropped it like a headline. Like a practised punchline to round off a successful speech. Like it meant nothing.But it did.And that’s the problem.I tell myself it was for effect. To end with a bang. Give our performance its final act.But I know better.There are things I’d never say, not even for show. And that one? That was dangerously close to the truth I’m still too stubborn to admit.I move briskly through the crowd, ignoring the curious glances and polite nods. I can feel the heat crawling up the back of my neck, not from nerves but from the memory of her expression—shocked, confused, and blindsided. The applause is still going when I reach our table. I slip into my seat beside her, keeping my jaw locked, tryin
AriaThe car ride is quiet, except for the faint hum of the engine and the occasional sigh I try to stifle but don't quite manage. I glance at him from the corner of my eye. Damon sits beside me, his gaze fixed out the window like the streetlights hold the answers to all the questions he’ll never let himself ask. His face is unreadable, his jaw flexed like he's working through equations no one else can see.I rest my head back against the leather seat. My thoughts won't settle. They're bouncing around every second, running into each other, crashing into questions that don't have names yet.He’ll show concern in the smallest of ways: a hand on my forehead, a low command to rest, checking in when he thinks I’m not paying attention. But it's never warm. Never feels personal. It always reeks of obligation. A checkbox. Duty wrapped up in distance. Still, it's more than enough to throw me off. Enough to make me second-guess what’s real and what’s just performance. And it’s all too exhaustin
AriaThe first thing I feel is the cold. Not the kind that comes from the air conditioning or the windows cracked open, but the kind that settles beside you when someone who was there hours ago suddenly isn’t.Damon’s side of the bed is empty. Cold. Undisturbed for hours now, judging by the way the sheets are smoothed back into place.I roll over and stare at the ceiling for a while. The room is quiet, save for the hum of the fridge in the mini kitchen and the distant traffic outside the penthouse windows.Great. Another morning, another mystery. He's disappeared again.I eventually crawl out of bed, stretch, and pad barefoot toward the bathroom. On my way, I spot a note on the kitchen island:“Meeting. Back in two hours. Don’t wander off. — D.”I blink."Don’t wander off? What am I, his damn cat?" I mutter to myself. And what the hell is 'D'?I pick up the note, shake my head, and toss it back on the island. But something catches my eye again—a second note, taped to the fridge:"We
DamonThe moment Kingsley says, "Holy shit" my jaw tightens.I don't answer.Not right away.Because what the hell am I supposed to say?Yeah, Kay. Tall, friendly, charming enough to get Aria to keep in touch. And she was out there, right by the car lot, holding his coffee or whatever that was, laughing like her world hadn't been hell these past few months. Like, she isn't living under the same roof as me. Like whatever we shared—whatever that night was—didn’t matter. At all.But, then again, I wrote it off. Called it nothing. A mistake even, if I remember correctly.I rub a hand down my face, lean back against the cold steel of the treadmill, and stare at the ceiling like it might give me an answer. It doesn't."Damon," Kingsley prods.I exhale. "His name’s Daniel. He’s a corporate lawyer. Divorced. Got two girls. She met him on one of her shopping runs, and they kept in touch. Clearly."He whistles low. "Wait… she told you that?"I nod, even though he can’t see me. "Told me like she
DamonThe door shuts behind me with a quiet click, but the silence it leaves behind is anything but peaceful. It presses against my shoulders as I walk to the elevator, every step a little heavier than the last. I hit the button.She's everywhere.A.She was curled up beside me just hours ago. Her head tucked beneath my chin. Her body folded into mine like it belonged there. Then this morning, she moved like it never happened.Of course she did.Because she’s not mine. Because this marriage isn’t real.Because I wanted a reset. But I’m not resetting. I’m unravelling.Every time she walks past me in those damn sweatpants. Every time she stares me down like she’s waiting for me to flinch. Every time her voice softens when she talks to someone else. And especially when she goes quiet.It’s getting harder to pretend I’m indifferent.But when I saw her with that man in the car lot...No. Not going there.The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. I walk out, nod at the attendant, and ma
AriaThe door shuts behind us like a full stop at the end of a sentence neither of us finished.I set my coffee cup on the counter with a soft clink and slide my phone onto the couch cushion. Damon doesn’t say a word after opening the door. Doesn’t even look at me. Just walks a few steps ahead, jaw locked, back straight, like he’s holding something in that’ll burst if he loosens his grip on it even a little.So I do the only thing I know how to do in awkward silences lately—I pretend like I don’t notice.I kick off my sneakers, stretch my toes against the cold floor, and gather my items littered by the closet. I pack them to the couch, kneel, and start arranging slowly. Deliberately. Waiting for something. A glance. A breath. A reaction. Anything.Still nothing.My chest tightens, but I ignore it. I’m not going to beg for conversation. Not today. Not after the good morning I just had.He disappears towards the bedroom. I hear the closet door slide open, the faint sound of a zipper, t
DamonI don’t stick around to watch whatever the hell that is. My feet start moving before my mind catches up. Back through the lot. Back toward the hotel. Back inside this building that feels like a fucking simulation at this point. My head is spinning.Two little girls. Him. A.What the hell was that?They're not hers, obviously. But the ease. The way she crouched, smiled, and smoothed the hoodie over one of their tiny shoulders like she'd done it a thousand times.And then the man.He walks up, and it's like watching a scene I have no business interrupting. The rhythm. The ease. Like they were a family.Like she belongs there.My chest tightens, and I tell myself to shut it down. You're not her husband. Not really. You can't claim what isn't yours. Especially when you're the one who built a damn fortress between you both.We’ve got a year left, if it’s even still up to that. Maybe less. Then she’s out. Free.So why the hell does it feel like something's slipping away?The elevator
Aria The first thing I notice when I wake up is how warm the bed still feels.The second? Damon’s still asleep.He’s facing the other way, one arm folded under the pillow, the other draped over his chest. The blanket’s slipped down his torso, exposing just enough skin to send a flood of images racing through my already too-busy mind.I close my eyes for a second and exhale. Right. Last night.It comes back slowly — the way I rolled into him like the boundaries no longer existed, the way I literally pulled his hand over my waist like he owed me comfort. What the hell was that? Was I high? Drunk?Then it hits me.Dinner with Daniel. The wine.That damn bottle of wine I picked — rich, smooth, with a punch strong enough to mess with my better judgment.Still, that doesn’t explain why some pathetic part of me needed to feel his arms around me last night. Especially after everything; Gina showing up like some scene from a soap opera, his usual ice-cold responses, and the silence that alway