Chapter 7

Here’s Chapter 7, focusing mainly on Harper and Damian’s marriage, with a balance of dialogue and description, simple billionaire-romance style, and ending on a cliffhanger.

Chapter 7

Damian

The penthouse felt unusually quiet after the news broadcast.

Harper stood near the window, staring at the city lights. Her phone was still in her hand. The picture of her mother and my father had shaken both of us.

But right now, I was thinking about something else.

My marriage.

Our marriage.

Fake or not, Harper was my wife.

And every day, it felt less fake.

“You’ve been staring at that photo for twenty minutes,” I said.

She didn’t turn around.

“I know.”

“You won’t find answers by looking at it.”

A small sigh escaped her lips.

“I know that too.”

I walked closer.

The tension between us had changed over the last few weeks.

At first, she barely wanted to be in the same room as me.

Now she looked for me when something was wrong.

I wasn’t sure when that happened.

Maybe neither of us noticed.

“Come sit down,” I said.

She finally turned.

“I’m not tired.”

“I didn’t ask if you were tired.”

A tiny smile appeared.

“There he is.”

“Who?”

“The bossy billionaire.”

I smirked.

“And yet you’re still here.”

Harper rolled her eyes and walked toward the couch.

I sat beside her.

Not too close.

Not too far.

Somewhere in between.

For a moment neither of us spoke.

Then she surprised me.

“When was the last time you were happy?”

I looked at her.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A normal one.”

“Since when do you ask normal questions?”

She laughed.

“Answer it.”

I leaned back.

Honestly, I didn’t know.

The years after my wife’s death had blurred together.

Work.

Meetings.

Pressure.

Responsibility.

The company.

Lily.

The family.

Everything except happiness.

Then Harper walked into my life and destroyed every wall I had built.

“I don’t remember,” I admitted.

Her expression softened.

“That’s sad.”

“It is what it is.”

“No.”

She shook her head.

“It isn’t.”

I watched her quietly.

She always challenged me.

Most people agreed with everything I said.

Harper never did.

“Then tell me,” I said. “When were you happy?”

She smiled faintly.

“When my mom was still healthy.”

The smile faded quickly.

“Before everything got bad.”

I understood that feeling.

Missing someone never got easier.

You just learned how to carry it.

A sudden noise interrupted us.

Small footsteps.

Seconds later Lily ran into the living room.

She stopped when she saw us sitting together.

A huge grin spread across her face.

“You’re having date night!”

Harper nearly choked.

“We are not.”

“You are.”

Lily pointed at us.

“You’re sitting together.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“That’s your proof?”

“Yes.”

Harper laughed.

“Your daughter is impossible.”

“My daughter learned that from me.”

Lily climbed onto the couch between us.

Then she looked at Harper.

“Can we bake cookies tomorrow?”

“Cookies?”

“Please.”

Harper glanced at me.

“Am I allowed?”

“You’re asking me?”

“It’s your kitchen.”

“I own the kitchen. You own Lily now.”

Harper stared at me.

“What?”

Lily giggled.

“He means you’re family.”

The room suddenly became very quiet.

Harper’s smile disappeared.

I immediately regretted the comment.

Family.

That word carried too much weight.

Especially for us.

Lily didn’t notice.

She hugged Harper’s arm.

“You’re family.”

Harper looked down at her.

Something vulnerable crossed her face.

Then she gently touched Lily’s hair.

“Maybe.”

“Definitely,” Lily said.

I looked away.

The sight did something strange to my chest.

For years I had worried about Lily.

About her loneliness.

About the emptiness left by her mother’s death.

Now she smiled more, laughed more and talked more. Because of Harper and that scared me.

Because if Harper left…

Lily would be devastated.

The same thought hit me harder than expected.

I stood suddenly.

“I need coffee.”

Harper frowned.

“It’s almost midnight.”

“I know.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t.”

I stared at her.

She stared back.

Lily looked between us.

Then she gasped dramatically.

“Oh my God.”

Harper blinked.

“What?”

“You sound married.”

I burst out laughing.

Harper covered her face.

“This is embarrassing.”

“It is not,” Lily argued.

“It absolutely is.”

“No.”

Lily pointed at me.

“You worry about Daddy.”

Then she pointed at Harper.

“And Daddy worries about you.”

Neither of us spoke.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

And we both knew it.

The silence stretched.

Finally Lily yawned.

A huge one.

Harper smiled.

“Bed.”

“But—”

“Bed.”

Lily groaned dramatically.

“You’re both so strict.”

“Goodnight, Lily.”

“Goodnight.”

She hugged me first.

Then Harper.

A few seconds later she disappeared down the hallway.

The penthouse became quiet again.

Harper stood.

“I should sleep too.”

“Probably.”

Neither of us moved.

The distance between us suddenly felt smaller.

The way she looked at me made my pulse slow.

Then speed up again.

Dangerous.

That was the only word for it.

Everything about this woman was dangerous.

Because she made me want things I had promised myself I would never want again.

A real marriage.

A real family.

A future.

“Harper.”

My voice came out rougher than expected.

She swallowed.

“Yeah?”

I stepped closer.

“So much for staying strangers.”

Her breath caught.

“We stopped being strangers a long time ago.”

The admission hung between us.

Raw.

Honest.

Real.

Before either of us could say another word, the elevator doors suddenly opened.

Both of us turned.

Mason stepped out looking furious.

My stomach dropped immediately.

Mason never showed up at this hour.

Not unless something was seriously wrong.

“Mason?” I said.

He looked directly at Harper.

Then at me.

“You need to see this.”

His expression was grim.

“What happened?” Harper asked.

Mason tossed a file onto the table.

I opened it.

The blood drained from my face.

Because sitting on top was a marriage certificate.

Not ours. My late wife’s.

And attached to it was proof that someone had altered it years ago and according to the signature at the bottom, the person responsible was my own father.