I could be your towel

Damian POV:

The steam clung to my skin as I stepped out of the shower, water still dripping from my hair. I grabbed a towel, slung it low around my hips, and rubbed another one across my chest. I glanced at the time beside the bed stand, it was 10:56 pm

The room was too quiet ,until it wasn’t.

Click.

The door creaked open behind me.

"Lira."

I didn’t turn around immediately. Just said her name like it was normal, like I hadn’t spent the last five minutes trying to forget the way her laugh used to sound echoing off these walls.

She froze in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh. God. I didn’t…know you were…half-naked..” she stammered, throwing a hand over her eyes but failing miserably at pretending not to look.

A smirk tugged at my lips. “Correction. I’m fully naked. The towel is just a courtesy.”

She let out a strangled sound, half cough, half groan, and spun around. “Could you, like….not be so comfortable in your nudity?”

“Could you not barge in like you live here?” I stepped closer, water still dripping from my hair, letting it fall just enough to make her fluster worse. “Wait. You do still live here.”

She muttered something under her breath. Probably a curse. Probably adorable.

“I just came to grab my script,” she said, waving a hand over her shoulder. “Didn’t know this was The Garden of Eden.”

“Feel free to bite the apple,” I murmured.

“Damian!”

I laughed. Actually laughed. She made it so damn easy.

“Fine, I’m going to take a shower. Enjoy your... exhibitionism.”

As she disappeared into the bathroom with a dramatic slam of the door, I shook my head. This woman. Always in control on camera, but a complete mess when it came to me.

I looked at her jokingly, knowing what was to come next.

Ten minutes later, I was scrolling through emails on the couch when I heard it.

“Damian.”

Soft, and muffled. From the bathroom.

I smirked.

“Damian!” Louder now. “Where are the towels?”

I stretched out lazily. “Oh. I moved them earlier. They’re in the dryer.”

Silence.

More silence.

Then. “Well, can you bring me one?!”

I kept quiet.

"Please?" She said.

I bit my lip, already grinning. “Or... I could be your towel.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” I stood up, walked to the bathroom door, and leaned against it. “I’ve got warm hands. Strong arms. Very absorbent.”

“Damian!”

“Just trying to help.” I raised my voice in mock innocence. “You always said I didn’t know how to be soft. This is me being soft.”

She cracked the door open just a little. All I saw was a dripping hand reaching out. “Towel. Now. Or I swear I’ll walk out of here and drip all over your precious Italian couch.”

“That’s a five thousand dollar couch.”

“Then fetch the damn towel.”

"I wouldn't mind if you drip all over my couch by the way. I'm fucking rich and a five thousand dollar couch won't make any difference. I could get it a million times."

"please Damian." She pleaded.

I chuckled and grabbed one from the dryer, tossing it gently toward her hand like I was feeding a tiger.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, slamming the door again.

I turned to walk away, still smiling.

Then I heard it, her low, quiet voice from behind the door:

“And for the record... I wasn’t staring.”

I grinned.

“Sure, Lira. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Few minutes later.

The bathroom door creaked open again, and I glanced up, expecting the usual rush of steam.

What I wasn’t expecting… was her, in that.

Lira stepped out in one of the white robes, loosely tied at the waist. Her damp hair framed her face in soft waves, and water still clung to her collarbones like drops of honey. She looked…

Holy hell.

She looked like the kind of dream you wake up from aching.

Her bare feet padded across the marble floor as she walked past me with the kind of calm confidence that should be illegal, and studied. I swallowed hard, my eyes trailing lower before I yanked them back up.

Up, Damian. Eyes up.

“Something wrong?” she asked, dropping onto the couch beside me and adjusting the robe in that not subtle way that gave me a perfect view of her thigh. “You look… flushed.”

“I’m fine,” I said, maybe a little too quickly.

She bit her lip to hide a smile. “You’re the one who wanted to be my towel. I just assumed you could handle wet women.”

I choked on absolutely nothing.

She smirked.

Lira. Smirked.

I knew that expression. It's the one she used in scenes just before completely dismantling a co-star onscreen. And now, somehow, I was the co-star.

“This is payback,” I muttered.

She tilted her head. “For what?”

“For existing like that,” I gestured toward her, vaguely, helplessly.

“Like what?” she asked innocently. “Clean?”

“Tempting,” I muttered, then instantly regretted it.

Her brows arched. “Interesting choice of words.”

I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck and stood up, trying to put distance between us. Big mistake. She followed me, steps light, a predator in silk. Or cotton. Whatever the hell robes were made of.

“You’re not scared of me, are you, Mr. CEO?” she whispered behind me.

Goosebumps ran down my spine.

“No,” I said too fast.

“No?” she echoed, stepping in front of me, blocking my way.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her eyes searched mine, and for a second, we just stood there. Inches apart. The air charged. I could smell her shampoo… lavender, I think, and something warmer underneath. Her.

She tilted her chin, confident. “Maybe you should be.”

I exhaled a quiet laugh. “What happened to the girl who blushed because I wore a towel?”

“She grew up,” Lira said softly, “and realized you blush harder.”

Damn it.

I stepped back, only for her to gently tug at the hem of my shirt.

“Relax,” she said, teasing. “You can go back to your cold CEO mode now. Ice prince. Emotionless robot. It's only a matter of time before our divorce will be finalised. ”

“Shut up,” I muttered, lips twitching.

She gave me a wink and walked away toward the living room.

I watched her go.

And for the first time in a long time, I was the one left flustered.

Lira Pov:

I woke with a start.

The room was dark. The candle had burned out. Damian was probably sleeping in the guest room.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. The clock on the nightstand read 3:17 a.m.

I needed water, so I padded barefoot down the hallway, the cool marble floor soothing against my skin. The house was silent.

I filled a glass at the kitchen sink and leaned against the counter, sipping slowly.

That’s when I saw a shadow, moving past the French doors that led to the back terrace.

My breath caught in my throat.

I froze, the glass halfway to my lips.

It was gone in an instant. Just a flicker, a trick of the moonlight, maybe.

But my heart was pounding.

I walked slowly to the doors, peering out into the darkness. The garden was still. The fountain burbled softly. Nothing moved.

Maybe I was being paranoid. That’s all. The stress, the emotions, and the sudden, overwhelming changes.

I turned away from the window, ready to head back to bed.

Then something on the kitchen counter, next to the fruit bowl.

A single, perfect red rose, Its stem was wrapped in black ribbon, and tucked beneath it was a small, folded piece of paper.

My hands trembled as I reached for it.

I unfolded the note.

The handwriting was unfamiliar.

> “You look beautiful in his house. But it won’t be his for long. Sleep well, Mrs. Blackwood. You’re not as safe as you think.”> Your secret admirer.

The glass slipped from my fingers, shattering on the marble floor.

The sound echoed through the silent house like a gunshot.

And somewhere, in the darkness outside, I felt eyes on me, like someone was watching. I hurriedly ran back upstairs.

Maybe I was over thinking things, it might be a prank. How could someone enter our house? With the tight securities. It might be a prank, or Damian was tricking me.