Chapter 7: Lillian

I was so deep into the textbook that I didn’t even notice the door creak open. My eyes were scanning the same paragraph for the third time, trying to absorb the dense academic language that somehow felt more foreign with each reread. It was only when Ana placed her hand on my shoulder, sending a jolt through my entire body, that I realized she had walked back into the apartment. I jumped from the chair, clutching the edge of the table as my heart tried to steady itself, and that was when I saw him—her brother—standing right behind her, watching me with that familiar scowl etched permanently across his face.

“You scared the living shit out of me!” I gasped, placing a hand to my chest, trying to calm the sudden rush of adrenaline surging through me. My exclamation only made Ana laugh harder.

“I wasn’t even being quiet!” she wheezed, her laughter bubbling out uncontrollably as she clutched her torso. “What in God’s name has you so sucked in?”

I rolled my eyes, feeling the faintest heat touch my cheeks. Crossing my arms over my chest, I replied, “I’m studying. You know that. It’s for my Postcolonial class.”

“What does that entail?” Damien asked suddenly, his voice deep and calm, but somehow carrying a weight that made me immediately turn toward him.

Ana rolled her eyes at the interruption, muttering something under her breath before disappearing into her room, suitcase dragging behind her. That left me alone with the brooding figure who now towered near the dining table, his expression unreadable, his arms crossed loosely across his chest.

“It’s, uh...” I began, instinctively reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear, trying to suppress the awkward flutter in my stomach. “It’s about how colonial history continues to shape modern international relations,” I answered cautiously, assuming he wouldn’t want to hear more than that.

But to my surprise, Damien simply nodded, a subtle motion that almost encouraged me to continue. It was like he was actually interested in what I was saying—an odd and unexpected twist.

“We’re focusing right now on how to define an empire,” I went on, my voice gaining a bit more confidence as I spoke, “and then analyze where they succeeded and how those lessons can be translated into modern-day strategies. So, like, what made the Roman Empire so effective, and how could we adapt some of those methods today to elevate how our nation—or even just our cause—is perceived globally.”

“Interesting,” he said, the word cutting cleanly from his lips. Though short, it didn’t feel dismissive. If anything, he seemed genuinely engaged.

“It really is,” I said with a small nod, letting a breath out. My fingers fidgeted with the edge of the textbook in front of me, the spine worn from weeks of flipping through heavy readings. “I mean, I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to do with all of it career-wise,” I added with a nervous chuckle. “But I definitely know I’m learning something new, and as long as I’m doing that, then the class isn’t completely wasted on me.”

Damien nodded again, and I could feel the full weight of his gaze. It was strange how still he could be, how intensely present. You could never really know what was going on inside Damien’s head. Whether he was silently judging you or internally approving of you, it all seemed locked up inside that stoic exterior. He was the kind of person who kept everything under tight control—every thought, every emotion, every reaction sealed up behind a calm, impenetrable wall.

Then, unexpectedly, he asked, “Did you plan your wedding?”

I blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in topic. My jaw nearly dropped at the question. Two inquiries from Damien in under five minutes? That was something I’d never experienced before. He was typically reserved to the point of silence, even around Ana. I didn’t understand much of their native language, but it never seemed like their conversations were particularly warm.

“A little, yes,” I said cautiously, tilting my head as I looked up at him. But just like before, he remained silent, expectant. It was like he was waiting for more, prompting me to explain without asking outright.

“I’m honestly a little overwhelmed by it all,” I admitted, my voice softening as I glanced toward Ana’s almost closed door, aware she might be eavesdropping. “It’s turning into the event of the year, something massive. And I’m not really sure what to do with all that attention or expectation.”

“You don’t want a big wedding?” he asked, raising one brow slightly in curiosity.

I shook my head slowly. “Not necessarily. I mean, sure, there’s something kind of exciting about getting to go all out, choosing every little detail, but... that’s not the part that matters most to me. I just want to marry him. I don’t need a spectacle. I don’t want to feel like I’m performing for everyone else.”

Damien studied me for a long moment, his face unreadable again, as if measuring my words against something in his own mind. He had that unnerving ability to go silent without making it awkward—like he could sit in silence forever, and you’d be the one who felt the need to speak.

“Shouldn’t you tell him that?” he asked, and though the words were simple, they struck somewhere deep inside me.

I shrugged my shoulders, breaking eye contact and looking away from his intense gaze. I wasn’t doing so well with the way he stared—so unblinking, so focused. It was too much. There was something about Damien’s eyes that always made me feel like I was standing completely exposed, like every little secret I had ever tried to hide was already known to him. That kind of attention made me squirm. It made me feel... visible. And I didn’t know how to handle that.

But then he stepped closer.

Suddenly, his massive frame was looming directly in front of me, taking up more space than seemed possible. He moved with such purpose, such steadiness, like every inch he closed between us was a decision, not an accident. His hand rose gently, and with surprising tenderness, he tilted my chin upward until I was forced to look at him again. I couldn’t hide anymore. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t notice him, couldn’t pretend I wasn’t affected. His eyes were darker now, deeper somehow, and his voice came out low and gruff, carrying a weight that settled deep in my chest.

“You shouldn’t waste your time with a man who doesn’t worship you, моя богиня,” he said, the foreign words curling like smoke between us. “You should find someone who would gladly lay down the world at your feet—someone who would do anything in his power just to see you happy.”

My breath caught.

My eyes flickered between his, searching for a clue, a signal—anything that could help me figure out what this moment meant. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know how to process it. Was this just... brotherly advice? Or was I living out the opening scene of one of those romance novels I secretly devoured late at night, the ones where brooding men say things they aren’t supposed to and everything changes?

“Any man,” he continued, his voice a little softer now, eyes darting briefly to my lips before returning to meet mine, “would be lucky to have your attention, моя богиня. You shouldn’t settle. You should find the greatness that’s waiting for you.”

“I—I...” I stammered, completely thrown. No words came to me, none that made sense, anyway. I had never heard anything like that before. Not in real life. And definitely not directed at me.

His eyes trailed across my face, his thumb brushing lightly along my cheekbone. The touch was soft, reverent almost—like I was something delicate, something worthy of gentle hands. I froze, caught between the heat of his touch and the cool silence that wrapped itself around us. Then, just as quickly as he had stepped into my space, he stepped away again.

The tension in the room broke instantly.

The intensity, the warmth, the moment—it all vanished, like someone had flipped a switch and turned off the sun. I felt the absence of him before I even realized he had moved. The place on my cheek where his thumb had rested still tingled, as if some invisible mark had been left behind, something invisible but lasting.

He turned his head toward the door, his gaze locking on the space that was half-closed, half-open. Ana stood there—of course she did—trying far too hard to pretend she hadn’t been eavesdropping on every second of the conversation. Then Damien barked something in Russian—sharp and abrupt—something that didn’t sound like goodbye. It sounded more like a warning, or maybe a deflection. I wasn’t sure.

I had just started to find my voice again, to pull my scattered thoughts into something coherent, when Damien turned his attention back to me one last time. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing slightly, and then he gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Lillian,” he said. Just my name. But the way he said it was different—softer somehow, gentler. Like it meant something. Like I meant something. And then he turned around and left the apartment once more, disappearing without another word.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, turning away from the door and letting my hands slide over my face. I was trying to collect myself, to somehow gather all the emotional fragments left behind in the space where he had stood. My heart pounded in my chest, like it was trying to escape my body entirely. I felt warm all over—an ache that wasn’t unpleasant but confusing, like being caught in a moment you didn’t expect and now couldn’t forget.

My skin still buzzed with the echo of his presence, especially the place where his thumb had touched my cheek. It felt like a spark had landed there and lit something that wouldn’t go out. Not pain. Not even desire, exactly. Just... awareness. Like I had suddenly come alive in a way I hadn’t known I was missing.

“So,” Ana said, drawing the word out like she was the star of some dramatic soap opera.

I turned around slowly.

She was standing in her doorway, leaning against the frame with a smirk stretched across her face. Her dark eyes glittered mischievously, full of knowledge I hadn’t intended her to have. It was like she had watched the whole scene unfold with a bowl of popcorn in hand, like it was the highlight of her evening. And maybe it had been.

“Wedding planning went well, I take it?” she teased, her smirk deepening.

I swallowed hard, my pulse still racing. I pressed one hand over my heart, as if that would calm it, as if that would slow the racing beats that felt like they were echoing through my entire body.

“Actually,” I said, pushing the moment away, needing to ground myself in something else, something safer, “I wanted to ask you something.”

She straightened, her smirk fading as she noticed my more serious tone. “Is something wrong, Lil?”

“It’s quite serious, actually,” I said, leaning into the dramatic delivery, if only to pull myself out of whatever emotional quicksand I was drowning in. I wanted to see her squirm. Just a little.

“What happened?” she asked, her brows furrowing. “What did he do?”

“It’s awful,” I replied, shaking my head slowly. “Ana, it might change everything.”

She muttered something sharp in Russian and started marching toward me with purpose. There was a fire in her eyes, something fierce and protective.

“Tell me,” she demanded, gripping my upper arms. Her eyes bored into mine, sharp and unwavering.

“Would you—” I started, only to be interrupted.

“Yes, just say it. I’ll do it,” she barked, totally serious, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Would you do me the honor of being my maid of honor?” I asked, unable to contain my grin as the meaning registered on her face.

And then she squealed.

Like, full-on squealed.

We both did, actually, jumping up and down like two overexcited schoolgirls—which, in some ways, we still were. In that moment, all the tension, all the confusion from earlier dissolved into laughter and joy. And just like that, I checked one more thing off the endless wedding to-do list, feeling, for once, like something was exactly how it was meant to be.