Chapter 7: Almost
She was still staring.
So was he.
Neither moved.
The noise of the party faded, blurring into something far away—like it belonged to a different world. Mila felt the weight of his gaze settle on her skin, sharp and unrelenting, and for a moment, it felt like everything she'd been trying to ignore was suddenly right in front of her, looking back.
She blinked first.
Broke the stare. Looked away.
And stood up too quickly.
Her heels wobbled, but she didn't stop. She grabbed her clutch and walked toward the hallway, threading past waiters and laughter and someone snapping a photo behind her. Her breath was tight in her chest, and her heartbeat had started to do that uneven thing it always did when Damien was too close.
She didn't hear his footsteps, but somehow she knew.
She stepped into the nearest room—some kind of reading lounge with floor-length curtains and too many leather chairs—and exhaled. Her fingers dug into the edge of the table as she tried to steady herself.
Then the door clicked shut behind her.
Of course.
"You always run when you're scared," he said softly.
Mila turned slowly. "I'm not scared."
"Then why are we in here?"
His voice wasn't smug. It was... quiet. Maybe even tired.
She folded her arms. "Maybe I needed air without everyone staring."
Damien stepped forward, just once. Not close enough to touch her, but close enough that her spine straightened. "No one was staring. Except me."
She hated how that made her stomach flip.
"You don't get to look at me like that," she said, voice low. "Not after everything."
He tilted his head, like he was trying to figure her out. "After what?"
"After pretending like none of it meant anything."
Something flickered in his eyes. Pain, maybe. Or guilt.
"I never said it didn't mean anything."
"You didn't have to," she said.
The silence between them stretched. He took another step. Just one more.
"Mila." His voice was barely there. "You think this is easy for me?"
"I don't know what to think anymore," she whispered.
Another pause.
Then he reached out—not all the way, not touching her—but his hand hovered near her wrist. Close enough to feel the heat. Close enough for her to feel how badly she wanted to close the gap.
But she didn't.
Neither did he.
They just stood there, breathing the same air, wrapped in something that felt too fragile to name.
"I meant it," Damien said quietly. "Be careful."
"Why?"
"Because I care."
She almost laughed. "Since when?"
"Since I kissed you and couldn't stop thinking about it."
Mila's heart slammed against her ribs.
She looked at him, really looked—and for a second, she saw it. The truth. In the curve of his mouth, the way his shoulders tensed like he was waiting to be hit, or worse, ignored.
But before she could say anything, her phone buzzed in her clutch.
She pulled it out.
Anna.
Tomorrow. Noon. Don't be late.
And don't tell Damien.
Mila stared at the screen. Her mouth suddenly felt dry.
Damien noticed. "Who is it?"
She locked the phone. "No one."
He didn't believe her, but he didn't push.
Instead, he stepped back. "Don't lie to me, Mila."
She looked at him, a dozen questions balancing on the edge of her tongue.
"I won't," she said. But her voice sounded like a lie even to herself.
He nodded once and opened the door, leaving her alone in the quiet room, heart pounding, fingers trembling.
Mila stood there, still wrapped in the scent he left behind.
She should've told him the truth.
But she didn't.
And now, tomorrow wasn't just a meeting.
It was the beginning of something she might not come back from.