I pressed my back gently against the cool wall, as my toes curled against the carpet as I inched toward the slightly ajar door. The voices downstairs were sharp, clipped, and it was the kind that made me want to crawl under the floor and disappear. My pulse was hammering—not from excitement, but because I knew better than to be caught eavesdropping.
Still… curiosity is a cruel mistress. And damn it, I needed to know what the hell was going on.
I eased the door open, careful to keep it just wide enough for my eyes. The staircase stretched below me like a stage, as Damian's family was gathered in the living hall, and the tension between them could have cut glass.
Vivienne De Rossi, his mother, was standing, wine glass in hand, lips pursed like she was about to bite someone's head off. Damian's jaw was tight, his posture coiled with controlled anger, while his brothers leaned in, amused, curious, ready for the fireworks.
"You're seriously considering inviting Helena Brooks here?" Damian's voice was low, but every word dripped steel. "Do you realize what this would look like?"
"I do realize," Vivienne said, cool as ice. "Helena is a perfect match for the family. Damian, it's about appearances, alliances, and—" she paused, her sharp gaze slicing him like a knife, "—introducing your fiancée properly. You can't deny she's a woman of influence, a peer. She should know the house she might one day walk into."
I felt my stomach twist. Fiancée. One more insane twist in this whole nightmare.
"I am not introducing my fiancée to anything!" Damian snapped, stepping forward, tone deadly calm, but his eyes were storm clouds. "And you're not calling her that because there is no fiancée. Do you hear me? No one's walking into this house under that lie. Not now, not ever."
Vivienne lifted a delicate eyebrow, letting the words hang like a challenge. "And yet, you brought that… girl here. Selene. What is she doing here?"
My heart nearly stopped.
I ducked back instinctively, pressing myself into the shadows as if I could vanish entirely. Her tone, her words, every syllable carried that venomous "you don't belong here" weight.
Damian's older brother muttered something under his breath, smirking. "Well… and what's she doing here, huh? You don't just bring random girls into the mansion without explanation."
I swallowed hard, feeling my throat tighten. Every instinct screamed at me to retreat, hide, and pretend I hadn't been listening, but… I couldn't.
This wasn't just drama anymore. This was a warzone, and apparently, I was standing right in the middle of it.
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I should've tiptoed back to my room, shut the door, maybe even buried myself under the covers, and pretended I never heard a damn thing. But no—my dumbass stayed put, frozen like a deer staring down headlights.
Damian's mother swirled the wine in her glass, her tone casual but her words laced with acid.
"Helena Brooks is a woman of status, Damian. Heiress to an empire. She is refined. Not some… stray you decided to parade into this house."
Stray.
Oh, bravo, Vivienne. Another insult to add to my scrapbook.
Damian didn't even flinch. He only stepped closer, his shadow cutting across the room like a guillotine. "Selene stays. Whatever problem you have with that—you'll deal with it."
The youngest brother—Luciano, the smug one with the smart mouth—let out a short, humorless laugh. "This is wild. Damian, you've never brought anyone home. You don't even let your girlfriends past the car. And now, suddenly, this girl lives under the same roof? Forgive me if I'm struggling to believe she's just a 'guest.'"
Girlfriends. Oh, lovely. So I was competing with ghosts now.
The younger brother, Marco, leaned forward, steepling his fingers like he was bored but secretly loving the chaos. "Luciano has a point. You could have kept her in some penthouse, a hotel, literally anywhere else. But here?" He tilted his head, studying Damian like he was some puzzle piece that didn't fit. "Unless you actually want her seen."
"I said," Damian's voice dropped lower, sharper, "she's my guest."
The room went still. Even the damn chandelier seemed to stop swaying.
Then Vivienne laughed, brittle and mocking.
"Your guest? Damian, don't insult my intelligence. You think I don't see it? You're playing some foolish game, but games end. Helena will be here by the end of the week, and I will not have this… complication jeopardize what should be yours."
Helena again. The name was like nails on glass every time she said it.
My chest tightened as I leaned harder into the wall, biting down the bitter taste in my mouth. Helena Brooks. Platinum blonde heiress, couture queen, Damian's supposed fiancée. She was everything I wasn't.
And here was his mother, already setting the battlefield.
Damian's lips curved, but it wasn't a smile. It was something darker. "You always underestimate me, Mother. Maybe that's your mistake. Helena Brooks doesn't concern me."
"She should," Vivienne shot back. "Because she's coming. And when she does, this farce—" her gaze darted upward, straight toward the ceiling like she could see me standing there listening, "—will end."
The silence that followed was suffocating. My throat tightened so much I couldn't even swallow.
And then, Luciano leaned back in his chair, smirk stretching wide.
"Fine, Damian. Keep your secrets. But at some point, you'll have to explain one thing to us…" His eyes narrowed, sharp with cruel curiosity. "…and what's she doing here?"
Every gaze shifted with that question. Heavy. Brutal. Like floodlights turning to spotlight me, even though I was still upstairs in the shadows.
My stomach dropped.
Because I knew—this wasn't the kind of question that stayed rhetorical for long.
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(Third Person POV)
Selene was halfway up the stairs when the voices rose sharp enough to slice through the marble halls. Damian's voice was low, controlled, but brimming with warning. His mother's, Vivienne, was sharper, and more like steel laced with venom. The brothers murmured in between, but the tension snapped like a whip in the air.
She lingered, careful on the landing, every word soaking into her like kerosene. Fiancée? Helena Brooks? The name dripped like poison.
But then—her luck ran out. One of the brothers spotted her in the shadows.
"There," he muttered. "What's she doing here?"
All eyes turned upward.
Vivienne's eyes narrowed, lips curling as if she'd discovered a rat in her wine cellar. She ordered a maid to get Selene down and well the maid did. Selene was panting and now on the marble floors, the level as them...literally.
"You little—" Her hand snapped upward, a slap ready to burn across Selene's cheek.
Selene barely flinched. She'd taken worse. She was almost ready to throw back some biting line, something dripping with sarcasm and defiance—
But of course Damian was faster.
His hand closed around his mother's wrist mid-air, halting the blow with iron grip. His jaw was taut, his stare a warning. Without another word, he pulled Selene against him and all but dragged her up the rest of the stairs.
The brothers shifted uncomfortably. Vivienne's fury was a thundercloud swallowing the room, but Damian didn't spare her a glance. He shoved open his door, guided Selene in, and slammed it shut behind them.
For a moment, silence. Just the sound of their breaths—hers quick, his steady and simmering.
Then Damian turned, dark eyes pinning her where she stood.
"What did you hear?"