The morning light spilled through the curtains, warming Eleanor's cheeks as she stirred awake. Her heart skipped when she realized she wasn't alone in the moment—not physically, but emotionally. Damian's kiss from the night before lingered in her mind, his arms, the way he had held her like she was something fragile yet precious.
She sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers brushing her lips as if to confirm it had really happened. It wasn't supposed to happen. Their marriage was supposed to remain a secret arrangement, nothing more. But no matter how much she reminded herself, her heart refused to listen.
A knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts.
"Come in," she said quickly.
The door opened, and Damian stepped inside. He was dressed sharply as always, his suit perfectly pressed, but there was something different in his eyes this morning—something softer.
"Good morning," he said, his voice calm, almost careful.
"Good morning," she replied, her cheeks warming.
Damian took a step closer, his gaze searching hers. "About last night…"
Eleanor's heart raced. "Yes?"
He paused, as though choosing his words carefully. "I shouldn't have kissed you. It wasn't part of the agreement. But…" His voice dropped lower, his eyes darkening slightly. "I don't regret it."
Her breath caught, her heart thundering in her chest. "I don't either," she whispered.
For a moment, the silence between them was thick with something neither of them could deny. Damian's jaw tightened slightly, as if restraining himself.
"I have to leave for a meeting," he said finally, though his voice was quieter now. "But we'll talk more tonight."
She nodded, trying to hide her disappointment that he was leaving so soon. "All right."
The day passed in slow anticipation. Eleanor tried to distract herself by reading, wandering through the garden, and even speaking with the maids, but her mind kept drifting back to Damian. What did he mean by "we'll talk more tonight"? Did it mean he wanted to continue what had started between them—or was he trying to stop it before it went too far?
By evening, she found herself near the large windows again, waiting for his car to return. When it finally did, her heart leapt.
Damian stepped inside, his presence as commanding as ever, but his gaze softened the moment he saw her waiting. "You're making a habit of this," he said, his voice carrying a faint trace of amusement.
Eleanor smiled slightly. "Maybe I just like welcoming you home."
Something flickered in his gray eyes, something warm. "I don't mind," he said quietly.
Dinner was quieter than usual, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Instead, it felt almost… intimate. Damian's eyes lingered on her more than once, and every time their gazes met, the air seemed to grow heavier.
After dinner, Damian surprised her again. "Come with me," he said simply.
"Where?"
"You'll see."
He led her to the study, a room she hadn't been inside before. Dark wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with books and files, and a soft glow from the fireplace illuminated the space. Damian motioned for her to sit, and she settled into the chair near the fire while he stood a few feet away, his hands in his pockets.
"I've been thinking," he began, his voice calm but firm. "This marriage… it was supposed to be temporary. Just protection." His gaze locked on hers. "But things have changed."
Her breath hitched, her hands gripping the arms of the chair. "Changed?"
Damian nodded slowly, his eyes softening. "I didn't expect to feel this way about you, Eleanor. But I do. And I won't pretend otherwise anymore."
Her heart soared, but fear quickly followed. "Damian, if we let this happen, what if someone finds out? What if—"
"I won't let anyone hurt you," he interrupted firmly, stepping closer. His voice was low, protective. "I don't care what it takes, Eleanor. I'll deal with anyone who tries."
The sheer determination in his tone sent a shiver through her. She wanted to believe him—needed to believe him.
"Damian…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
He crouched slightly so that their eyes were level, his gaze intense. "Tell me you don't feel the same, and I'll stop now. But if you do…"
Her breath caught. She couldn't lie—not to him, not to herself. "I do," she said softly.
Something shifted in Damian's expression, a rare flicker of relief and desire crossing his usually composed face. Slowly, he reached for her hand, his fingers curling around hers gently.
Then, without another word, Damian leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss far deeper than the night before. This time, there was no hesitation, no restraint. His hand cupped her cheek, his other arm sliding around her waist as he pulled her closer.
Eleanor melted against him, her hands gripping his shirt tightly. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her chest.
When they finally pulled apart, Damian's forehead rested against hers, his breathing heavy.
"This changes everything," he said quietly.
Eleanor's heart pounded, but she didn't pull away. "I don't care," she whispered.
Damian's eyes darkened, his thumb brushing her cheek. "Neither do I."
Later that night, Eleanor lay awake in her room, staring at the ceiling. Her heart raced at the memory of Damian's touch, his words, the way he had looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.
But as much as her heart soared, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered a warning. Their marriage was still a secret, still dangerous. If anyone discovered how real their feelings had become, everything could fall apart.
Still, as she closed her eyes, Damian's face filled her thoughts, and for the first time in a long while, she let herself hope.