Alina woke the next morning tangled in Damian's arms, sunlight spilling in through the tall windows. For a moment, she lay there listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, letting it soothe the tiny fear that always lived at the edges of her happiness.
When she shifted slightly, Damian tightened his grip, pressing a soft kiss to her hair.
"Where do you think you're going?" he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
"Bathroom," she laughed. "Unless you'd rather—"
"Come right back." His tone was playful, but his hand lingered on her hip as though afraid to let her slip too far away.
---
When she returned, he was already up, pulling on soft gray lounge pants that still did nothing to hide the strength of his body. The sight made heat curl low in her belly.
Damian caught her staring and gave her a slow, knowing smile. "Like what you see?"
She crossed the room and slid her arms around his waist, tilting her head up. "Very much."
His mouth found hers in a slow, unhurried kiss.
It was different now — still hungry, but layered with something deeper. As though each brush of lips was a silent admission: I need you. I want you. I'm terrified of how much.
---
They spent the next few hours in a hazy cocoon of touch and laughter. Damian made her coffee, insisted on feeding her tiny bites of toast while she sat perched on the marble island in his kitchen. He watched her like he was trying to memorize the shape of every smile.
It felt dangerously close to… normal.
And that realization should have terrified her. Instead, it only made her heart open wider.
---
It wasn't until later that the outside world finally found them.
They were still in the kitchen when Damian's phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at it — and something in his face changed. His shoulders tensed, jaw hardening.
"Everything okay?" Alina asked carefully.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he accepted the call with a clipped, "What is it?"
She couldn't hear the voice on the other end, but whatever they said made the muscles in his forearm tighten where his hand gripped the counter.
"I told you that deal was off-limits," Damian said, voice low and dangerous. "Handle it. Or I will."
He ended the call without waiting for a reply, then ran a hand through his hair. When he finally looked at her, some of that raw vulnerability from last night was shuttered again.
---
"Business?" she asked softly.
Damian gave a terse nod. "A complication I hoped wouldn't follow me here."
Her chest tightened. "Is it serious?"
"It's manageable," he said — but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.
Alina stepped forward and touched his arm. "You don't have to protect me from everything, Damian. I'd rather know the truth than be shut out."
For a heartbeat, she thought he might actually tell her. His eyes searched hers, something pained flickering there.
Then his phone buzzed again. He swiped it up, glanced at the screen, and his expression went dark.
---
"This needs my attention," he said. His tone had gone back to the calm, authoritative cadence he used in boardrooms — and with strangers. "Stay here. Order whatever you like. I won't be long."
"Damian—"
But he was already pulling on a blazer, shutting himself off from her with practiced ease. Before she could say anything else, he pressed a quick kiss to her temple and was gone.
The door closed behind him with a quiet, final sound that made something twist in her gut.
---
Alina wandered back to his bedroom, suddenly aware of how big and empty his townhouse felt without him in it.
She tried to distract herself by straightening the bed, but the lingering scent of his skin on the pillows only made her ache. This is too much, she thought, pressing a hand to her chest. I've fallen too quickly. Too hard.
But even as she thought it, she knew there was no pulling back.
---
She was still curled up there an hour later when the door downstairs clicked open.
Footsteps sounded — lighter than Damian's. Then a voice she didn't recognize, low and distinctly feminine, floated up from the entryway.
"…said he was out. I wanted to wait here."
Alina stiffened. A few seconds later, the bedroom door swung open.
A woman stood there — tall, elegant, dressed in a pale, expensive suit. Her icy gaze swept over Alina, lingering with faint disdain on where she sat in nothing but Damian's shirt.
"Oh," the woman drawled. "So it's true. He's actually keeping someone here."
Alina's stomach dropped. "Who are you?"
A cold smile curved the woman's lips. "Someone who knows Damian far better than you ever will. And if you're smart, you'll pack up your little things and leave before you get hurt."
---
The words sliced through her like thin, cruel blades. But before Alina could respond — could even form a coherent thought — the woman was already turning, her heels clicking decisively down the hall.
The echo of her departure left a strange ringing in Alina's ears.
She sat there for a long time after, hugging her knees to her chest, Damian's shirt swallowing her whole. Her heart was racing, but her thoughts were worse — spinning with ugly doubts.
Who was that woman? What did she mean by 'hurt'? Why had Damian never mentioned her?
When Damian finally returned later, she was still sitting there in a fragile coil of confusion and fear.
And as soon as he stepped into the room, Alina realized two things at once:
He knew exactly who had been there.
And he was about to lie to her.