Dominic's Chronicles
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By the time the workday wound down, Damien was already fidgeting with his keys. "You know what? I'm not riding with you today," he said, tossing me a cocky grin. "I'm taking my own car. You want to race to the house?"
I didn't respond verbally. Instead, I let the faintest smirk tug at the corner of my lips. Bring it on, I thought.
We exited the building, engines roaring almost simultaneously. Damien was all over the place with exaggerated gear shifts, laughing at the thought of beating me.
I kept my focus, driving with the precision he'd expect, ignoring his antics but secretly enjoying the challenge.
Minutes later, I pulled into the driveway, Damien's car skidding slightly to a stop beside mine. He leaped out, chest puffed, laughing like he had conquered the world. "Ha! Beat you again, big bro!"
I raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the car. "You sure about that?" I said, my voice still carrying that icy calm. He just waved a dismissive hand, laughing. Damien and I were about to step inside when it hit me—she's in the house.
For a fraction of a second, I paused at the doorway, the thought momentarily throwing me off my rhythm. How had I forgotten that? I had been so caught up in the race, the drive, the banter with Damien, that the fact she was now under my roof had slipped my mind.
Damien, noticing the pause, cocked an eyebrow at me. "What's wrong big bro?? I didn't look at him, my gaze fixed on the lights glowing in the house. "She's inside."
His brow arched. "Who's inside?"
I turned my head just slightly, enough to make my words sharp and deliberate. "Aurora. She's inside the house."
"Wait… hold on. When did… how? How come she's in the house? Since when?" His voice carried that mix of amusement and incredulity that only he could get away with.
I kept my expression neutral, letting the corner of my mouth twitch ever so slightly—the closest I allowed to acknowledge the irony of his curiosity.
"She's staying here," I said flatly, voice calm, almost disinterested, though every muscle in me was alert, calculating. "Nothing to fuss over."
Damien's jaw dropped, and he opened his mouth, likely to launch into a dozen questions, but I cut him off with a single look, sharp and precise. "Later."
He huffed but didn't argue, clearly understanding that any further probing would be pointless.
I moved forward, my gaze briefly scanning the house, noting the subtle changes—flowers in new places, furniture slightly shifted, her art frames hanging on some certain parts of the house.
Everything was… hers now. Yet, I reminded myself, it was still my house.
Finally, I found her. Aurora. Seated quietly, absorbed in her meal, unaware of my approach. The faint clink of cutlery against her plate punctuated the silence.
I stopped a few steps away, observing her with the same detached scrutiny I carried into every room, every meeting, every interaction. And yet, there was something in the ease of her posture, the calm in her presence, that slightly unsettled me.
I cleared my throat. Her head lifted, eyes meeting mine. She froze for a heartbeat, and then, as if remembering the world she usually kept at bay, she nodded. A polite, small acknowledgment.
I didn't smile. Didn't soften. Didn't give away a hint of warmth. Cold, precise, controlled—that was my approach.
"You're settled in, I assume?" I asked, voice smooth but firm, letting my tone carry authority rather than curiosity.
She typed quickly on her phone, and I read the words: Yes. Thank you.
I nodded once, sharp, before retreating down the hall to my own quarters, leaving her to her space. Damien followed, muttering under his breath about the unexpected turn of events, but I ignored it.
I had no intention of revealing more tonight. Observation first, interference later. That was how I operated.
I leaned against the railing of the balcony, the city skyline stretching out before us, cool air brushing against my face. Damien joined me, hands shoved in his pockets, shaking his head like he couldn't quite believe the situation.
"So… she's really here?" he asked, his tone half amused, half exasperated.
"Yes," I said simply, keeping my voice flat, deliberate. "She's staying here. It's been arranged."
He snorted. "Arranged. Of course. You just… moved her in, like it's nothing. And didn't even tell me?"
"I didn't forget you exist, Damien," I replied, arms crossed. "But this isn't a matter for discussion. Accept it and move on."
"Move on?" he laughed softly, shaking his head. "Dom, it's not normal to just… have someone living in your place. Even if it's arranged."
"I'm not interested in normal," I said evenly. "I'm interested in control. You should try it sometime."
He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, but there was a grudging smirk in his eyes. "Unbelievable. You're impossible. But… fine. I'll let it slide for now. Just… don't mess things up."
I didn't respond, letting the words hang in the air. My expression stayed neutral, detached. Damien didn't push. Not yet.
After a few moments of silence, he straightened, tossing his head. "Alright… enough balcony diplomacy. I'm going to go meet her properly."
I arched an eyebrow, amused by his determination. "Do what you must. But stay in line."
He grinned, shaking his head as he turned to leave, muttering, "Line or no line, I'm going to say hi."
I watched him go, letting the faintest smirk touch my lips, before turning back to the city lights, already returning to my own controlled rhythm. I was perched on the edge of the balcony, glass in hand, the dark liquid reflecting the faint city lights.
The quiet had been comforting—my own space, my own thoughts—but then, faint laughter drifted up from below.
I frowned. Laughter. Here. At this hour. My instinct told me to ignore it, to keep to my solitude, but curiosity, that damn trait I never liked admitting I had, nudged me toward the source.
I moved to the stairwell, pausing at the top. From here, I could see without being seen. The sound of her laugh—light, genuine—cut through the evening air.
And there he was. Damien, completely relaxed, pointing toward the television as if sharing some private joke, and she… she was responding, her smile wide, eyes bright.
I let the moment linger. Observing them, measuring it, knowing I didn't belong here, yet unwilling to step away.
She was… animated. Free. Something I hadn't expected, and I didn't like how it drew my attention.
My glass remained untouched in my hand as I watched them. Every gesture she made, every laugh that slipped from her, set the room—and my patience—on a subtle edge.
Damien was clearly enjoying himself, teasing her, making her laugh, pointing at the screen as if she had to understand some private code.
I stayed there for a long moment, silent, cold, calculating. Then, slowly, deliberately, I stepped forward, the faintest creak of the stair marking my presence.
My eyes flicked to them, to her, to Damien, taking in every detail: the way she leaned slightly toward him, the way her hair fell, the quiet rhythm of her laughter.
I didn't announce myself. Not yet. I lingered near the top of the stairs, glass still in hand, watching them.
Damien hadn't noticed me yet, or maybe he had—either way, he leaned back, grinning, and said, loud enough for me to catch, "You know, she's actually fun to be around. Makes life less… serious."
I hummed, noncommittal, keeping my gaze on them. No reaction. That was all I allowed.
Damien chuckled at my silence, probably thinking I was still brooding or plotting some imaginary reprimand. I didn't bother to correct him. My presence was obvious enough; he didn't need reminders.
After a few more moments, I turned and walked toward my room, careful to keep my composure. Yet even as my back was turned, faint laughter drifted up the hall—light, musical, and entirely hers.
And then Damien's voice reached me again, softer this time, almost teasing her, almost defensive: "Don't mind my brother. He's always been like that."
I paused mid-step. That statement could have been meant for her, but I let it slide. Coldly, deliberately, I continued to my room, letting the echo of their laughter follow me.
I reached my room and closed the door behind me, the soft click echoing in the otherwise quiet space.
I set the glass down on the table, deliberately placing it out of easy reach—no reason to linger on comfort or indulgence tonight.
Yet even with the door between us, their laughter seeped through, carried lightly on the air vents and wooden floorboards.
Aurora's voice was quieter now, softer, mingling with Damien's teasing. I didn't need to turn back to know it.
I sat at my desk, rifling through papers, contracts, emails—anything to anchor my mind. But the sound kept threading through, persistent, alive. My fingers paused on the pen; my jaw tensed slightly. Not because I envied it, not because I longed for it—but because I couldn't deny its effect. Attention, joy, ease… all things I had long refused, or at least tried to.
I let the pen fall. My gaze lifted to the window, the faint glow of the city outside muted by the curtains.
And still, I heard them—laughter and conversation, unguarded, free. Damien talking, Aurora responding, the odd exclamation from her. I stayed seated, cold, impassive, a glassy observer of a life I wasn't meant to partake in.
Then, finally, silence began to settle. I exhaled, slow, deliberate, letting the remnants of their presence fade. No emotion. No intrusion into the part of me I kept locked and untouchable.
Just a night, just a house, and the quiet knowledge that they existed somewhere below, alive and unbothered by me.