The jet landed. The silence remained.
Layla followed Damian to the car, still unsure what any of it meant. He hadn't said much after "Let's go." No teasing. No anger. Just silence. Controlled. Measured.
Until about halfway through the drive.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Adjusted the air conditioning. Then again. And again.
Layla glanced over. His skin looked paler than usual, a faint sheen of sweat forming at his temples.
"You good?" she asked.
"I'm fine," he muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter. But his voice wasn't convincing.
Ten minutes later, he pulled the car over without warning.
Layla's heart skipped. "Damian?"
He leaned forward, elbows on the steering wheel, breathing slowly through his nose. He didn't like traveling—she remembered. Something about the change in air, the stress, the climate… it always hit him after long trips. And still, he came all the way here. For her.
Without a word.
Her phone buzzed. She looked at his — four missed calls. Mom.
She watched him reject another call.
Again.
Again.
"Damian," she whispered. "You're burning up."
His knuckles were white against the wheel.
"I can call someone," she said.
"No." He shook his head. "Don't. Just… get me home."
She blinked. "Your house is an hour from here."
"I know."
"But—"
"I didn't come here for nothing," he snapped, not at her—just at everything. The heat. The calls. Himself.
She exhaled. "Alright. But I'm driving."
He didn't argue.
The ride was quiet. Not tense this time. Just heavy. He leaned back in the passenger seat, eyes shut, jaw tight.
She drove fast.
His mom kept calling. He didn't answer once.
Layla's fingers curled tighter around the wheel.
He had come all this way. And yet hadn't told her why.
Damian's house was silent when they arrived. Big. Empty. Clean. Cold.
She helped him up the stairs. He didn't ask for help, but he didn't refuse either.
His weight slumped a little against her shoulder.
"You should lie down."
"I'm fine," he muttered.
"You're not."
They reached his room. He sat on the edge of the bed like he had nothing left.
She looked around. "Water? Painkillers?"
He nodded faintly toward the bathroom.
She moved quickly. His mom called again.
This time, Layla picked up the phone and silenced it herself.
The sun bled gently through the tall windows.
Layla opened her eyes, confused for a second—until she heard the soft ticking of the clock on Damian's wall. She was still in his house. On the armchair by his bed. She hadn't meant to fall asleep.
She sat up quickly, heart racing. Her legs were stiff from the awkward sleeping position, and her shirt was wrinkled.
Damian was still in bed, one arm flung over his forehead, breathing slow and even. Peaceful. Almost too peaceful.
She checked his temperature with the back of her hand like she'd done hours ago. It had come down. No more burning skin. Just… Damian. Sleeping.
There was something strange about seeing him like this. Not in a suit. Not behind his desk. Not acting cold or in control. Just him. Quiet. Vulnerable. Real.
And he looked… good. Too good.
Layla stood, stretched, and turned to sneak out and freshen up—until she heard his voice, low and gravelly:
"You stayed."
She paused. "You were burning up. What was I supposed to do?"
"I didn't ask you to."
She looked over her shoulder. "You also didn't say a word the whole trip. What was I supposed to think?"
His eyes opened then. He studied her.
"You think too much," he muttered.
She almost laughed. "And you talk too little."
Silence again. Then he slowly sat up, wincing slightly. "What time is it?"
"Almost nine."
He groaned. "Meeting at ten. I need to—"
"No, you need to rest," she cut in. "You were sick yesterday. You need—"
"I need to get to the office." He threw the covers off, and just like that, the boss mask slid back on. But Layla could tell—he was still tired.
She sighed and turned toward the door. "Fine. I'll wait outside while you get ready."
She reached for the door handle when he said it:
"Why were you with Luke Rashford?"
Layla froze.
Slowly, she turned back to him. "Excuse me?"
"On the street. The other day."
"That's not your business."
"It is," he said calmly.
"Why? Because I work for you?"
He stood now, towering but still weak. "Because I came all the way to that stupid branch just to see you. And I walked in on you and him laughing like school kids."
"We bumped into each other—"
"And you didn't think to tell me?"
"You didn't ask!" she snapped. "And if we're being honest, you've been acting like I don't even exist. One minute you're silent, the next you're dragging me across town, and then there's Maya—"
He raised a hand. "Don't."
"What?" she said bitterly. "Can't handle a taste of your own medicine?"
His phone rang again. Mom.
Layla turned and stormed out of the room before he could stop her.