Emma's POV
The silence in the mansion was deceptive, it was too calm, too polished like it was trying to hide the chaos beneath its marble floors.
I'd spent most of the day in the guest wing, trying to keep myself busy, but my thoughts kept wandering back to last night.
Damian's arms around me. The warmth of his voice when he said, "You're safe here."
I shouldn't have let him hold me. I shouldn't have needed it as much as I did.
By afternoon, I'd decided to do the one thing I was avoiding—talk to him. I couldn't keep living under this roof pretending nothing had changed. Pretending I didn't feel every stolen glance like a spark.
When I walked into his office, he was seated behind his desk, typing something. His tie was loosened, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, he looked less like a CEO and more like a man trying to hold himself together.
"Emma," he said, glancing up. "You should be resting."
"I'm not tired." My voice was steadier than I felt. "We need to talk."
He leaned back, studying me. "That sounds serious."
"It is," I said. "About last night."
A flicker of something crossed his face. "You don't have to apologize."
"I'm not," I replied quickly. "But I need to set things straight."
He gestured for me to continue.
"I'll stay here," I said. "Until the end of the six-month contract. After that, I'll move out."
His brow furrowed. "You don't have to decide that now."
"Yes, I do," I insisted. "This arrangement was supposed to be professional. Boundaries, remember? But lately…" I hesitated, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "It's getting complicated."
His gaze softened. "Complicated how?"
I exhaled. "You know how."
For a second, neither of us spoke. The air between us thickened, carrying the weight of everything unsaid.
Finally, he nodded slowly. "If that's what you want."
"It's what's best," I said, more for myself than for him.
He looked like he wanted to argue but didn't. Instead, he turned his attention back to the laptop, pretending to type. I knew the conversation wasn't over, it was just paused in the quiet way Damian paused things he didn't want to confront.
I lingered for a moment, then added, "Thank you… for last night."
His fingers stilled. "You don't need to thank me."
"I do," I whispered. "You didn't have to be there, but you were."
He looked up again, and for one fleeting moment, I saw something raw in his eyes, something dangerously close to emotion. "Go get some rest, Emma," he said softly.
I nodded and left before I could say something I'd regret.
By nightfall, the house was quiet again. Damian had gone to his study, and the staff had retired to their quarters. The stillness felt heavier somehow, like the calm before a storm I couldn't see.
Sleep didn't come easily. I tossed, turned, gave up, and finally decided to get some water. The corridor was dimly lit, moonlight spilling through the tall windows and stretching across the floor in silver streaks.
As I passed the stairway landing, I heard a voice. Low, tense, and unmistakably male.
It was Jim, one of Damian's security.
I paused, frowning. He was near the back hall, the one that led to the garage. His voice was sharp, hushed, the way people sound when they're trying not to be overheard.
I knew I shouldn't listen but curiosity and unease rooted me in place.
"…I told you to stay away," Jim hissed into his phone.
A pause. Then he got louder, angrier: "No, you listen to me. If you touch her, I'll kill you."
My breath caught.
He was silent for a moment, then said something lower, too soft to make out. His tone was cold.
I pressed a hand to my chest, heart pounding so hard it echoed in my ears.
Her? Who was he talking about?
The only other woman in the house was me.
He ended the call abruptly and stood there, still. I ducked behind the pillar, trying not to make a sound.
After a few seconds, he exhaled roughly and muttered, "Stupid bastard," before walking toward the garage.
The moment he disappeared, I finally breathed.
My hands were trembling. I wasn't sure if it was from fear or confusion.
I backed away quietly, heading for my room. My mind spun with questions. Who was he threatening? And why did it sound like he was protecting someone. Was he protecting me?
By the time I got to my room, my pulse hadn't slowed. I shut the door and leaned against it, trying to steady myself.
This house had too many secrets. Too many silences that whispered louder than words.
And somehow, I'd just stumbled into one of them.
I sank onto the bed, replaying Jim's words in my head. If you touch her, I'll kill you.
Was he talking about Damian? About someone outside the house?
Or was I imagining things again, seeing danger where there wasn't any?
I stared out the window, the moon bright and cold against the night sky. Somewhere in the darkness, a dog barked. The wind brushed against the glass like a warning.
For the first time since I moved in, I didn't feel safe.
Whatever was happening here, it wasn't just about emotions anymore.
Something darker was brewing.
And I had a sinking feeling I was at the center of it.
I lay awake for hours, listening to every sound in the house, the hum of the air conditioner, the creak of the old floorboards, the faint echo of footsteps that might have just been my imagination.
But I couldn't shake that voice out of my head. If you touch her, I'll kill you.
It replayed over and over until it became a heartbeat of fear pulsing through the quiet.
I wanted to believe Jim was harmless. He'd always been polite, distant, the kind of man who moved through the mansion like a shadow. But there had always been something unreadable in his eyes, something that made me wonder what he was really thinking.
And now, I wasn't sure if he was the danger or if he was trying to protect me from it.
By the time dawn began to touch the windows, I sat up, exhausted but alert.
I needed answers.
I needed to know who he was talking to.
But most of all, I needed to know what,or who, he was willing to kill for.
Because one thing was certain: whatever secrets Damian's house was hiding, I was no longer just a guest in them.
I was part of the story now.