The first push

I wake up late.

Sunlight is already bright against the curtains. My body feels heavy, restless, like I spent the entire night running from something I couldn’t escape. The black lace underwear I fell asleep in is twisted around my hips. My skin is warm. Too warm.

I sit up slowly and press my fingers to my temples.

Damien is in the house.

The thought alone makes my stomach tighten.

I shower longer than necessary, letting the water beat against my shoulders while I try to push last night’s dinner out of my head—the way Damien watched me, the way Adrian’s voice went sharp when he told him to stop, the heat that had lived under my skin the entire time.

When I finally dress, I choose carefully: soft gray sweater, black leggings, hair pulled into a loose knot. Nothing that invites attention. Nothing that looks like I’m trying.

It doesn’t matter.

The moment I step into the hallway, I hear voices downstairs.

Adrian’s low and controlled.

Damien’s smoother, threaded with that lazy amusement that always feels like a private joke at someone else’s expense.

I almost turn around and go back to my room.

Instead I force myself down the stairs.

They are in the kitchen. Adrian stands at the island with a cup of coffee, already dressed in a dark shirt and tailored pants. Damien leans against the counter in a black T-shirt and jeans, looking completely at ease in a house that has never felt easy to me.

Both of them look up when I enter.

Adrian’s eyes move over me once, quick and unreadable.

Damien’s linger.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Damien says. “We were starting to think you’d decided to hide from us.”

“I overslept,” I answer, keeping my voice even as I walk to the coffee pot.

Adrian slides a clean cup toward me without a word. The small gesture feels intimate in a way it shouldn’t. Our fingers almost brush. Almost.

Damien watches the exchange with open interest.

“I have a meeting in the city at eleven,” Adrian says to me. “I’ll be back late. Damien will be working from the home office today.”

The information settles in my chest like a stone.

Adrian is leaving me alone in the house with Damien.

I look at him, but his expression gives nothing away. He finishes his coffee, sets the cup down, and checks his watch.

“Try to stay out of trouble,” he says, and I can’t tell if the words are meant for me or for his uncle.

Then he is gone.

The front door closes. The sound of his car fades down the driveway.

Silence stretches.

Damien pushes off the counter and walks toward me slowly. He stops close enough that I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes. The scent of his cologne wraps around me—darker, heavier than Adrian’s.

“Just us now,” he says quietly.

I don’t move. “I have class.”

“No you don’t. I checked the schedule on the family calendar. Your only lecture today was cancelled.” His smile is slow. “Convenient, isn’t it?”

My pulse jumps. “You went through the calendar?”

“I like to know what’s happening in the house I’m staying in.” He reaches past me for the coffee pot, his arm nearly brushing my chest. “Especially when the most interesting thing in it keeps looking at my nephew like she’s starving.”

The words land hard.

I step back, but there is nowhere to go. The counter is behind me.

Damien doesn’t follow immediately. He pours coffee, takes a slow sip, and watches me over the rim of the cup.

“You can relax, Aria. I’m not going to tell him.” His voice drops. “Not yet.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Liar.” He sets the cup down and closes the distance between us in two easy steps. One hand braces on the marble beside my hip. The other lifts, two fingers tracing the edge of my jaw so lightly it feels like a threat. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching. You’re both drowning in it.”

My breath catches.

Damien’s thumb brushes the corner of my mouth. “The difference is, I’m not interested in pretending.”

For a moment neither of us speaks. The kitchen feels too small. Too quiet. I can hear my own heartbeat.

Then his hand slides from my jaw to the side of my neck, warm and deliberate. His thumb presses lightly against my pulse.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” His eyes darken. “And I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

The air leaves my lungs.

I should push him away. I should walk out of the kitchen and lock myself in my room until Adrian comes home. Instead I stay frozen as Damien leans in, his mouth close to my ear.

“I’m going to find out exactly how long you’ve been wanting him,” he says, voice low and rough. “And then I’m going to make you admit it while you’re coming on my fingers.”

A broken sound escapes me before I can stop it.

Damien smiles against my skin.

He steps back suddenly, the loss of his heat almost painful. He picks up his coffee again like nothing happened.

“Go eat something,” he says, tone light again. “You’ll need your strength.”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

I turn and walk out of the kitchen on unsteady legs, his words still burning in my ears, my pulse still racing under the place where his thumb had pressed.

Behind me, I hear him laugh softly.

The house has never felt more dangerous.

And the day has only just begun.