Damian's Pov
The city lights blur past. I barely see them. Elle sits beside me, calm and frustrating, every nerve refusing to settle.
The penthouse looms ahead, but my mind is stuck on her apartment. The quick glances between her and Camila. The missing "boyfriend." The way Elle's fingers brushed the doorframe like she was trying to anchor herself to the wall. They're hiding something. It hangs in the air between us like static electricity.
"Where is he?" I'd asked.
"Uh… he... he had to… leave. Emergency."
"Emergency, huh?" I'd let it hang. Their quick glances, shifting feet, enough to tell me something's wrong.
I glance at her now, sitting beside me. She catches the tension in my jaw. "You okay?"
"Fine." My voice is tight. "Just focused."
I squeeze her hand, pulling me back to the present, back to the lie we have to make real. "Tonight's just us. No work. I promise."
My phone vibrates.
Gilbert. Damn it. I've been drowning in work, clawing my way out of that scandal, barely keeping appointments straight.
I'll definitely see him tomorrow.
I pull up to the penthouse, and grab my phone to confirm every detail exactly as I'd instructed: soft amber lights, the specific wine, music.
"No work, then you proceed to working, " she says, tilting her head. "Fun."
"I was making sure dinner was set."
Her fingers twitch against her purse. A hesitation I catch. I lean closer under the pretense of grabbing something from the pigeonhole, letting my hand brush hers, longer this time.
"Careful, Damian," she murmurs. "If you keep touching me like that, I might start thinking this is a date."
"Wouldn't be such a bad thing."
*****
The door swings shut behind us. The penthouse smells of wine and candles, exactly as I ordered. Elle's eyes sweep the room, settling on the table set for two.
"Welcome to where you can actually relax," I say, guiding her to her seat.
She smiles as she sits, crossing her legs in that slow, deliberate way. "Somewhere I can be interrogated in comfort?"
I laugh and lean against the wall, fighting the urge to push her. "No interrogations tonight. Promise."
"Just dinner?" she challenges.
I pour us both a glass of wine, watching the way the light catches the crimson liquid. "Just dinner... unless you start being mysterious again."
She bites her lip. "I'm no mystery."
I circle the table slowly, my gaze roaming over her: the long line of her neck, the soft curve of her shoulders. "You're no mystery?" My voice drops. "There's something behind your eyes you aren't ready to say. I'll wait."
She laughs lightly, tucking her hair behind her ear.
When I lift my glass, there's a tremor in my hand. I press both hands together to steady myself, then pour more wine into her glass. Then more. And more. I watch the way her lips wrap around the rim of the glass, the faint flush on her cheeks.
"You're going to make me tipsy," she laughs.
"Good," I say, leaning close enough that our thighs touch under the table. "I want you relaxed."
She meets my gaze with a dare. "Loose enough to ask me questions?"
"As long as you're not hiding anything." I watch her. "Anything that affects my company."
She shakes her head, mock-offended. "Nothing to hide. I swear."
I let it slide, even though part of me wants to drag my chair closer, run my hand down her spine, figure out exactly what she's keeping from me. Instead, I pour more wine. Each refill a test. She lets me lean in, brush her shoulder, tuck a strand of hair away. My phone vibrates violently on the table. Gilbert, again. I cut the call.
Seconds later, Uncle Harrison calls. I turn the phone off entirely.
"Someone's in demand."
"Not tonight." I lean in, breathing in the scent of her hair. My fingertips skim across her hand. "Ever been in a relationship?"
She looks up, startled but amused. "Who hasn't?" Then her brows lift. "Wait... don't tell me you haven't?"
I take a slow sip. "Love is leverage. Feelings are the quickest way to lose your footing."
"Who hurt you?"
"No one." The lie tastes familiar. "I learned early that attachment makes you predictable."
Elle shakes her head, stubbornly. "That's not weakness, Damian. Caring for someone, loving someone, takes strength. It means you're choosing them even when it scares you."
Her words settle too close to the places I keep buried. Wanting her is already dangerous.
"You don't have to tell me everything," she whispers. "But don't pretend you're made of stone."
Our conversation melts into teasing touches and lazy smiles. The wine flows. Her fingers graze the back of my hand, mine trail slowly along her palm, up her forearm.
Dinner is untouched. The plates sit half-finished between us. She's not looking at the food anymore. She's looking at me. The air between us tightens, slow and quiet. Her breathing shifts, barely.
I lean back, trying to steady myself. Wanting her is easy. Trusting her isn't. Logic keeps tapping at my skull, reminding me of the unanswered question.
"You're quiet."
"Just thinking," I say, watching the candlelight flicker against her collarbone. It glows there, soft and infuriatingly perfect.
She leans in a little. The air between us tightens. Her perfume rises; enticing, pulling me forward before I even decide to move. I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. There's too much I don't know. But her knee grazes mine under the table, just a whisper of contact, and everything in me stalls.
She looks up through her lashes. "Damian…"
My name in her mouth ruins the last bit of restraint in me.
I lift my hand to her chin, slow, giving her time to pull back. She doesn't. Her breath brushes my thumb, shaky, like she's fighting the same thing I am. The quiet thud of wanting is everywhere.
I close the space.
Our mouths meet, gently at first, testing. Then deeper as she leans into me, fingers curling in my shirt. The kiss tilts, pulls, turns hungry. Her lips tastes faintly of wine. She makes a small sound against my mouth, and my grip tightens at her waist as I pull her closer.
She rises from her chair, and I follow, hands sliding down her waist. We stumble backward, lips still locked. She gasps when my hand finds the zip on her dress.
"Damian..." she whispers.
That's all I need. Logic falls away. Completely.
I guide her down the hallway, her fingers tugging at me, pulling me closer with every step. The candles flicker behind us. The untouched dinner cools on the table.
By the time her back touches the bedroom door, I'm already reaching for the handle, her mouth still on mine.
The rest of the world stays outside.
I pull her closer, and the door shuts out the noise.