The villa felt too big for people like me.
Every step I took echoed. Every polished tile seemed to whisper don't touch that, don't breathe there, don't exist too loudly.
It was the kind of place where rich people laughed and clinked wine glasses and pretended they didn't secretly hate each other.
Meanwhile, I just stood near the staircase clutching my tiny bag of clothes, still buzzing from my mother's hug.
Lola had already sauntered off with Jallen, dragging her arrogance behind her like a designer train. Mother was in the kitchen speaking with staff. The soft glow of chandelier light made everything look gold… and made me painfully aware that I did not belong here.
I was about to slip upstairs when a shadow moved in the hallway.
Damien.
Of course.
He leaned against the wall like he owned the marble it was built from — tall, lean muscle under a black shirt he must've bought with spare pocket change. His gray eyes flicked from my cheap bag to my face, slow, calculating, leaving this static hum under my skin.
"Mother's not done talking to you," he said.
His voice was like cold glass. Smooth. Sharp. A little too close.
I hugged my arms around myself. "I just want to put my things away."
"You'll talk to her first."
It wasn't a request.
I bristled, but before I could snap back, he pushed off the wall and walked past me, brushing my shoulder lightly — too lightly — like he did it by accident.
Yeah. Sure.
My pulse kicked embarrassingly hard. I hated that he could do this to me. Hated that one brush of contact could turn my lungs into origami.
I forced myself toward the kitchen where Mother waited.
She pulled me into another warm hug, her hands stroking my arms.
"Sweetheart, you must be exhausted. Dinner is almost ready. After you eat, we'll talk about your room."
My stomach growled so loudly I wanted to bury myself under the marble floor.
Mother smiled softly, pretending she didn't hear it.
But Damien…
He definitely heard.
He stood behind her, arms folded, face unreadable but eyes speaking in a language I couldn't translate. Guilt? Anger? Possessiveness? I didn't know.
I looked away.
I always looked away.
---
DINNER WAS BEAUTIFUL — UNTIL IT WASN'T
They served roasted chicken, creamy pasta, warm bread, fresh salad — all the things I'd stopped dreaming about because dreams felt childish.
Lola sat across from me, eating like a princess giving a charity performance.
Jallen kept whispering in her ear, making her giggle.
Mother asked me gentle questions while Damien watched in silence, fork turning slowly in his fingers.
At one point she said, "You've gotten too thin, Daisy."
Lola's hand froze mid-air.
Damien's jaw ticked.
And I nearly sank through my chair.
"It's nothing," I mumbled. "Just stress."
Mother frowned at that. Damien's gaze darkened at that. Lola smirked at that.
Dinner ended with awkward silence.
Mother kissed my forehead and said she'd check on me later.
Lola and Jallen vanished to explore "their side" of the villa.
Which left me… alone.
Or so I thought.
---
THE HALLWAY ENCOUNTER
I went up the stairs quietly, carrying my small bag, hoping to slip into the room Mother assigned me before anyone saw me again.
But halfway down the hallway, a voice caught me.
"You didn't eat enough."
I flinched and turned.
Damien stood in the shadows near the balcony, the moonlight hitting the sharp angles of his face. His eyes looked colder in the blue glow, like frozen steel.
"I ate plenty," I lied.
He stepped closer — one slow, intentional stride at a time.
"You ate like you were scared to take too much."
My throat tightened.
His gaze dipped to my hands — the faint red marks still there.
I quickly hid them behind my back.
Damien exhaled through his nose, frustrated.
"Why won't you just—"
He broke off.
Shook his head.
Looked away like the words were too dangerous to release.
"Just what?" I asked softly, though my heart hammered like I was asking for a death wish.
"Nothing," he muttered.
But there was something in the air. Thick. Uneasy. Magnetic.
Like he wanted to pull me close and push me away at the same time.
Like he hated what he felt.
Like I hated how much I understood it.
---
THE ROOM
Mother had given me a small guest room.
Cute, soft bedding. Warm lights. A view of the garden lit with tiny lanterns.
I put my bag on the bed and sank onto the mattress, letting my bones melt a little.
I thought I was alone.
I thought I could breathe for once.
Until—
A quiet knock.
Soft. Controlled.
Too familiar.
My chest squeezed.
"Daisy."
His voice, low, right outside my door.
My fingers tightened in the blanket.
"Yeah?" I whispered.
There was a pause.
A long pause.
Like he was fighting himself.
Then—
"Lock your door tonight," Damien said.
Not cruel.
Not mocking.
Not brotherly.
Protective.
Possessive.
Wrong.
Before I could ask what he meant, his footsteps faded down the hall.
I sat there, pulse fluttering, breath tangled in my throat, mind spinning with questions I shouldn't want answered.
Why did he care?
Why did I care?
Why did his voice make my spine feel like a live wire?
I stood, crossed the room, and turned the lock with trembling fingers.
Click.
The sound echoed.
Like the start of a secret I shouldn't be part of.