The door clicked open before she knocked twice.
Layla stood there, caught under the low hallway light, coat clutched tightly around her. She stepped inside slowly, brushing past him with a quiet, "Thanks."
He didn't say anything. Just shut the door.
The silence between them was… padded. Like the walls of his home — thick, quiet, sterile.
She looked around.
Cold marble floors. High glass windows. Bare walls. A long, low couch that looked barely used. Everything was gray, white, or black.
No warmth. No energy. No sign of life.
"This place feels like no one lives here," she said, barely glancing at him.
Damian stood near the door for a second, then moved to the living area. "I guess… I don't, really."
Layla dropped her bag on the edge of the couch but didn't sit.
"How long have you been here?"
"Three years," he said, opening a cabinet near the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"
She shook her head.
He hesitated, then said, "There's something in the fridge… you can look, if you want. Or walk around. If that makes you comfortable."
Comfortable. The word echoed.
She walked slowly toward the center of the room, eyes scanning the space. Every inch was perfect — in that cold, unlived-in kind of way. Designer, yes. But heartless.
She turned back to him.
"You're really bad at this," she said.
His brows lifted. "At what?"
"People."
A short silence.
He nodded once. "I know."
She exhaled. "I didn't come to fight. I came to ask something."
Damian didn't sit. He leaned on the edge of the counter, arms crossed.
Layla took a breath, then said it. "Why didn't you tell me?"
His eyes flickered. "Tell you what?"
"That you've been… doing things behind the scenes. Preparing me. Pushing me forward. All this time."
He didn't deny it. Didn't deflect. Just looked at her and said, "Would it have changed anything if I did?"
She blinked. "Yes. Maybe."
"I didn't do it for gratitude."
"Then why?"
A pause. Too long.
He finally said, "Because you deserve it."
Her chest pulled tight. "You barely speak to me unless it's for work. You act like you can't stand me half the time."
"That's not true."
"But it feels like it."
He looked away, jaw tight. "Sometimes keeping a line is the only way to protect something important."
Layla didn't know what to say to that.
She sat down — finally — at the far end of the couch, arms folded.
He stayed standing.
The tension between them stretched like a taut wire.
"I don't know what you think of me, Damian," she said quietly. "And I know it's not my place to ask. But if you see me — really see me — then why hide that?"
"I see you," he said, almost too fast. Then softened. "I see everything."
Her breath hitched.
But he didn't move.
Didn't inch closer.
Didn't change his tone.
It was infuriating.
"You say that like it's nothing," she muttered.
"It's not nothing."
"Then act like it."
The silence that followed was louder than any argument.
He glanced toward the window. The city lights outside threw soft reflections across his face.
Then, quietly, he asked, "Do you like it here?"
She looked around.
"No. It's too cold. Too quiet. Feels like the furniture's afraid to be touched."
He almost — almost — smiled.
"I guess that makes two of us," he said under his breath.
Her eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to make a joke?"
"I don't do that often."
"Well, don't start now," she murmured. "Not when I'm this confused."
Damian finally walked around the couch and sat — not too close, not too far.
"I don't show things easily, Layla. You already know that."
"But I'm not asking for all of you," she said softly. "Just a little bit of honesty would do."
A quiet passed between them.
And in that stillness, she felt it.
The way his body angled slightly toward her. The way his hands stayed clenched, like touching her would undo him. The way his gaze hovered near her mouth before pulling back.
He was feeling something.
But he was hiding behind silence.
And she wasn't sure if crossing the line would ruin everything.
So she stayed still.
Waiting.
Wishing.
Wondering if he'd ever make the first move.
The silence stretched again, but this time it didn't feel heavy.
It felt Calm.