---
The table was set near a window, shielded slightly from the rest of the guests for privacy. There were ten place settings, but Damian, Emily, and Alex were the only ones seated so far.
"Miss Johnson," Alex said with a wide grin as she approached. "Well, damn. If I'd known we were dressing to kill, I would've worn a better tie."
Emily smiled, slipping into the seat beside Damian without looking at him. "You clean up well enough."
"Don't let him fool you," Damian said quietly, tone unreadable. "He's been fishing for compliments since we left the suite."
Alex laughed. "That's because your silence is deafening, brother. And our Emily here? She looks like she belongs on the cover of something dangerously expensive."
Emily flushed lightly but held her smile. She felt Damian's body stiffen beside her.
It was the smallest shift — a tightening of posture, a slight inhale — but she noticed.
Because her senses were tuned to him like a whisper in a quiet room.
Every time his arm shifted beside hers, her skin came alive.
Every word he said to anyone else made her wonder what he wasn't saying to her.
---
The first course was served — seared scallops over lemon butter risotto. Emily picked at it delicately, unsure what she was tasting. Her attention was caught in the back-and-forth rhythm of the evening — polite laughter, business chatter, the usual careful introductions.
But underneath it all, she was aware of Damian.
Every second.
He hadn't complimented her.
He hadn't said a word about the dress.
But his silence felt like heat against her skin.
And every time she laughed at one of Alex's jokes, or answered a question with her usual grace, she felt Damian's eyes on her.
Not always directly.
But present. Watching. Measuring.
And once — just once — their hands brushed when she reached for her wine glass.
His fingers grazed the back of hers.
It was nothing.
But her breath caught anyway.
---
As the main course arrived, someone asked a question about the MorTech partnership — and Damian answered with flawless confidence, as if his voice wasn't currently wrapped in silk and tension.
And still, he hadn't touched her.
Still, he hadn't looked too long.
And that, somehow, was worse than if he had.
Because she could feel everything he wasn't saying.
Everything that pulsed just beneath the surface.
And for the first time since meeting him, she realized:
Damian Walker might never say the thing she wanted to hear.
But God, he was screaming it with silence.