The place was warm and glowing when they walked in, filled with quiet laughter and the low hum of live jazz. Luke's hand brushed hers as they followed the host to their table.
And then—
She saw him.
Damian.
Seated three tables away with Maya, the head of a PR firm they occasionally worked with. Maya was laughing at something, leaning forward just enough to look interested without being obvious.
Layla's stomach tightened.
Luke noticed her sudden stillness. "You okay?"
She smiled faintly. "Yeah. Fine."
Damian didn't move when he saw them. His face was unreadable, the very definition of unconcern. He turned back to Maya as if Layla wasn't sitting across the room. As if she wasn't wearing a dress he would have noticed instantly on anyone else.
They didn't approach each other. Not a word, not a glance more than necessary.
Luke's conversation kept flowing, and Layla forced herself to focus, even laughing a few times. But every now and then, her eyes drifted to that table—to Damian, who looked perfectly comfortable not looking at her.
When Luke suggested they head out, she didn't hesitate. Anything to avoid lingering in the same air too long.
By the time they left, Damian's table was empty.
Damian's POV:
He wasn't following her. That's what he told himself.
Dinner with Maya had been casual—her idea, not his. He didn't plan for Layla to be there, didn't plan to watch her smile across the table at another man like it didn't bother her at all.
But when he walked Maya to her car and sent her off, he found himself circling back toward the restaurant's front drive.
And there she was.
Just about to get into Luke's car.
Something in his chest snapped—quietly, sharply—and before he could think, he was out of his own car.
"Layla."
She froze, hand still on the car door handle. Luke turned toward him, brows raised, but Damian's eyes were only on her.
"Come with me," he said simply.
It wasn't a request.
She didn't speak. Didn't argue. Didn't even look back at Luke as she walked toward Damian's car and got in.
Minutes Later – Outside Her Building
The car idled in the dim streetlight glow. Neither of them moved.
Layla stared out the window, her jaw set, refusing to fill the silence for him.
Damian's hands tightened on the wheel before he finally spoke. His voice was low, rough at the edges.
"Don't leave me in the dark, Layla."
She turned slowly, meeting his gaze at last.
He looked… different. Not the calm, in-control man she was used to. Not the one who could shrug her off with three words.
"I've been there before," he went on quietly. "I don't like it. And I don't like it with you."
Layla held his gaze, her expression unreadable.
The only sound was the faint hum of the engine, the only light the soft spill from the streetlamps outside.
She didn't answer. Not yet.
And that silence—it burned