Punishing Eva.
Eva woke the next morning like a princess roused from a dream. A soft yawn escaped her lips as she stretched, her arms reaching out to embrace the glow of a morning that felt impossibly perfect, too beautiful, almost, to belong to reality. For a fleeting moment, she believed nothing could ruin it.
She turned her head to the other side of the bed. Empty. Damien was gone. A small smile tugged at her lips, of course, he must have left early for work. That thought should have comforted her, yet an odd ache lingered in her chest.
Her throat felt dry, so she slipped out of bed, the hem of her flowery knee-length gown swaying gently with her movements. She padded toward the kitchen in search of water, the house unusually quiet. But as she reached for a bottle, faint voices drifted from downstairs, low, heated, unmistakably tense.
A prickle of unease coursed through her. Bottle in hand, she moved to the staircase, each step cautious. When she finally peeked down, her breath caught in her throat.
There was Damien. Not at the office, not gone, but seated casually in the living room, opposite Eric. Both men leaned forward, their voices sharp, their expressions taut, clearly in the middle of an argument.
Eva froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. She instinctively thought to retreat, before they noticed her. But it was too late.
Damien's gaze lifted, and locked on her.
His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening, the faintest gasp escaping him before his expression hardened into something between anger and irritation. With a sharp flick of his hand, he signaled her to come down.
Her breath stilled. That simple gesture felt like a command, one she couldn't ignore. Like a reluctant princess summoned by fate, Eva descended the spiral staircase, her hand gliding nervously along the golden rail. The soft sway of her floral gown, paired with the careless mess of her ponytail, gave her the fragile charm of a fairy-tale beauty who didn't even realize she'd stolen the room's breath.
Eric's eyes widened as he looked up at her. Good heavens... she really is beautiful, he thought, unable to stop the sharp gasp that left him. He forced himself to mask it, but the admission was sealed inside him, unshakable.
Eva's steps were slow, deliberate, yet her gaze never strayed from Damien. His eyes, sharp as blades, were locked on her, unyielding. She tried to read him, anger, irritation, something darker brewing, but it was impossible to tell which emotion truly ruled his expression.
Then, just as her slipper touched the last step, a strike of memory hit her like lightning. Yesterday's event. Everything that had happened, the drunken chaos, the mistakes, the vulnerability she had shown. From the pole dancing , to hitting Damien across the face.The blood drained from her face, and she faltered, instinct screaming at her to retreat back up the stairs.
But Damien's piercing stare rooted her to the ground. One sharp look from him, and she felt trapped, caged. She looked away, her fingers fumbling awkwardly to scratch at her neck, trying to mask her unease.
Damien caught the gesture. His jaw flexed, and a bitter sound escaped him, half gasp, half laugh, as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Oh, so you finally remember," he bit out, his voice low, mocking. "For a second, I thought perhaps the drunkenness had left you with amnesia."
Eva's lips parted, desperate for a way out of the suffocating air. A nervous smile flickered across her face as she blurted, "Good morning, hubby."
The word tasted fragile, almost pleading.
But Damien's expression didn't soften. If anything, his eyes darkened, his tone colder.
"What's good about this morning, Eva?" he asked, his voice a blade cloaked in velvet. "And don't think, not even for a moment, that I'll let yesterday's little incident vanish, hell no Eva."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged, broken only by Eric's shifting in his chair. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling like an intruder caught in the private storm of a couple he barely understood.
Eva tiptoed quickly toward Damien, her little steps almost childlike, while Damien narrowed his eyes, already wondering what game she was trying to play this time.
When she finally reached him, she leaned in close and whispered nervously into his ear, "Hubby, can you please not discredit me in front of Mr. Eric?"
Damien arched a brow, his lips curving in something between amusement and annoyance.
"You're worried about what Eric thinks? Eva, you should be more worried about all the employees you embarrassed yourself in front of yesterday."
Eric, catching the tension, cleared his throat awkwardly. With quiet tact, he pushed back his chair and rose, excusing himself with a polite nod before stepping a few paces away to give the couple privacy.
Damien turned back to her, folding his arms. "Now...woman, what do you have to say?"
Eva blinked rapidly, her hands fidgeting. "Hubby, that wasn't me."
He let out a dark chuckle. "Oh, I see. Then I guess it was me, huh? Eva, you drank like a fish and turned into a spectacle. Do you even realize it was me you embarrassed?"
"But hubby, no one knows I'm married to you," she shot back quickly, biting her lip like a child caught sneaking candy.
His jaw tightened. "And what happens when the news gets out tomorrow? What then? It's only temporary, unannounced now. What happened when it is eventually announced? Then people will refer to what you did. My own wife! Men was ogling at you. And needless to mention everything you put me through!" He said with a gnashing of his teeth.
His words cut like a whip, but Eva, refusing to let him finish his tirade, suddenly lunged forward. She clapped her small hand over his mouth, silencing him. Her wide eyes pleaded up at him.
"Okay, okay, don't say it... I get it!" she hissed, then softened her tone, her pout almost comical. "I'm sorry, hubby..."
Damian froze, staring at her in disbelief, her hand warm against his lips, her messy ponytail making her look more mischievous than apologetic. He let out a muffled groan against her palm, his eyes narrowing in warning.
Eric, watching from the corner, nearly choked on his own suppressed laugh. This wasn't just an argument; this was chaos disguised as a marriage.
"No, Eva. I'm not falling for your little theatrics this time, no! I'm not buying it." His voice was low but cutting, the kind of tone that made her toes curl with guilt. "How many times have I told you it's not just about your image anymore? Yet you go and embarrass me like that."
Eva's head drooped, her lashes fluttering as she tried to soften him with a timid voice.
"I'm sorry, hubby. I thought it was just fruit wine. I didn't know."
Damian let out a sharp laugh that wasn't at all amused.
"You didn't bother to check? Eva, are you aware that before you put anything into your little mouth, you're supposed to check what it is? What if it was poisoned? What if it wasn't safe?" His voice rose with each word, though his eyes betrayed something warmer, worry, almost fear. "This isn't just about being sorry. It's about learning to behave. Honestly, you need training. You need to learn how to be a proper wife. My Lopez wife!"
Then, with an authoritative snap of his head, he barked:
"Eric!"
Eric, who had been pretending to admire a random painting on the wall, instantly strode over in long, cautious steps, like a soldier awaiting orders.
"I want Eva to undergo training! Marital Lopez training" Damian declared.
Eric froze mid-step, his expression a perfect mix of Are you serious, boss? and I really don't want to be part of this domestic drama.
"Erh... are you sure about that sir? I mean, that means Mrs Eleanor would be involved. Is that okay?"
At the mention of his mother, Damian's jaw tightened. He glanced at Eva, who was biting her lip like a child caught stealing cookies. Weighing his options, he concluded that Eva should still be hided away from his mom for the time being.
He exhaled, then said firmly, "Eva, you are grounded."
Eva blinked and thought within her. Grounded? As in... a teenager sneaking out of prom grounded?
Eric nearly choked on air, scratching his head with a look of pure disbelief.
"Uh... sir, I'm not entirely sure it's... okay to ground your wife."
"Stay out of this, Eric!" Damian snapped, though the corners of his lips twitched, betraying his struggle not to laugh. "You weren't the one cleaning up all the mess she caused yesterday. So, yes, there will be consequences."
Despite his stern voice, Eva caught it, the glimmer of tenderness in his eyes, like he couldn't decide whether to strangle her or pull her into his arms.
"Where did you even get that damn wine?" Damien's voice sharpened suddenly, cutting through the air like a whip.
Eric, who had been pretending to blend into the furniture, nearly jumped out of his skin. His Adam's apple bobbed nervously as Damien's eyes slid toward him.
Eric, catching on, widened his eyes at Eva, silently pleading not to be exposed.
"Erh... I just randomly took it," Eva muttered, scratching the back of her neck.
Damien's brows shot up. "No, you didn't. That wasn't just some cheap bottle off the shelf. That was an imported fruit wine with alcohol content strong enough to take down a grown man. So tell me, Eva, where. Did. You. Get it?"
Before Eva could blink, Eric suddenly found his courage, by running away. "Ah! My phone! Important call!" he announced and vanished down the hall like a man escaping a burning building.
Eva's lips wobbled as she clasped her hands together like a guilty child. "Hubby, I know I messed up, and you have every reason to be mad at me, but then, remember that one time you were drunk? And everything that happened after? Maybe we can just... cross it out, and call it even?"
Damien blinked, utterly thrown. "What?" His gasp was almost comical. He had been rehearsing his scolding all morning, yet here she was, tossing him a curveball with the innocence of a sly fox.
"Yes!" she pressed on eagerly, her voice trembling just enough to sound pitiful. "In your time, I went through hell too! I piggybacked you from your office to the garage, you were so heavy my back still aches from the thought alone. Also I made you hangover soup, helped you change your clothes, and_" she paused dramatically, lowering her voice to a whisper, "you even... did that to me, a-and took my virginity. Clearly, you did worse to me in your time. So I was thinking... maybe we can just get even now?"
Her big eyes blinked up at him like a lost butterfly, and Damien felt his jaw slacken.
"...." He gasped again, speechless this time.
Eva pouted and turned her face away, already feeling victorious. Inside, she was practically dancing, she had outwitted him, the great Damien Lopez!
Damien let out a breathy laugh, rubbing his temple. "Nice one, Eva. Smart move. But get this straight_" his voice dropped dangerously low_"I wasn't drunk that day. And it's stupid of you to think a little wine could ever get me drunk. If it weren't for you assaulting and invading me that night, I wouldn't have done half the things I did."
Eva's eyes flew open, her jaw dropping. "Assaulting you?!"
And Eva gasped, narrowing her eyes. Was he seriously trying to dubiously free himself now? Oh, no. No way. Not after all that.
"I get it, you were clearly drunk that day, so of course you don't remember a thing. And like I already said, I didn't even hold it against you..."
Damien's lips curved into that maddening, arrogant smirk that made her want to throw something at his head. "Believe what you want," he drawled, voice low and infuriatingly calm. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Eva standing there with her mouth hanging open.
Meanwhile, Eric was sitting at the far end, trying to look invisible. He silently thanked all his ancestors that Eva hadn't mentioned his name when Damien had interrogated her earlier about the drink. Because if she had, oh boy, he'd probably be serving coffee in the afterlife by now.
Sitting across from Damien while pretending to discuss business felt like perching on hot coal, he could hardly breathe. He'd witnessed every single stunt Eva pulled yesterday, and the Damien he knew never let such things slide. He half-expected the mansion to explode with shouting the moment he stepped out to give them space. But instead? Nothing. Damien had simply walked away, and Eva too.
But Eric wasn't fooled. Oh no, he thought Surely, round two was coming. Yet, while he was bracing himself for drama, Eva's next move nearly knocked him off his chair.
Eva was in the kitchen cooking, but as she stirred the soup. Her mind replayed Damian's earlier outburst, and her heart squeezed. She must have really pissed him this time. She covered her face with both palms. "Oh God, what have I done?!" she groaned, peeking through her fingers.
Images of yesterday's madness flashed through her mind like a horror movie. She remembered how she had torn down his wardrobe, scattering his military-precision folded clothes like confetti. Not stopping there, she had dared... oh Lord, why would she even do that?... to wear his boxers on her head like some kind of victory crown.
"Dear lord," she muttered, covering her face with both palms. Just remembering it made her want to evaporate into thin air. If shame could kill, she'd already be six feet under.
Eva stood anxiously, staring at the steaming pot. "Maybe I should just serve him burnt food so he'll be too mad at the food to remember yesterday" she muttered, then slapped her cheeks. "No, no! That's suicide. It has to be an apology meal, perfect in all way." she concluded
And when she remembered how she made him piggyback her, she gasped. Oh God. She really made him walk in circles for almost an hour, ordering him not to dare get tired. She only stopped when beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. what was she even thinking?
Oh wow. Just... wow.
And then oh heavens above she had slapped him. Not lightly. Not playfully. But a proper, resounding smack across his perfect, chiseled face. Eva clutched her head. "What in the world possessed me? she muttered, horrified at her own audacity.
And then the ice cream scene. Oh Lord, take me now. She had smeared cream on her nose, giggling, and demanded he lick it off. Lick it off! As if that weren't humiliating enough, she made him do it again with chocolate. She groaned, covering her eyes. "Oh God, I'm a disgrace. He hates sweets. HATES them. And I...
She gave herself a little smack on the arm as punishment.
Determined to atone, she had picked up a knife and an onion, deciding to cook him a heartfelt apology meal. But now that she thought about it, compared to everything she'd done, a mere plate of food seemed laughably, it felt like trying to patch a bullet wound with a band-aid.
What if he never forgives me?What if he sends me packing? What if.... What meal in the world could erase piggyback torture, a violent slap, and ice cream nose-kisses? She sighed dramatically.
Shaking her head, Eva picked up a knife and an onion. She was really starting to love this perfect house, a husband like Damien and this perfect life, now shes messed it all up.
Her spiraling thoughts were cut short when the knife slipped and sliced her finger. "Ouch!" She yelped, dropping the knife. Tears welled as she bolted out of the kitchen, clutching her finger like it was about to fall off.
Damien was in the living room, sitting with Eric. He wore a casual black shirt with the top two buttons undone, paired with dark trousers. The glimpse of his neckline made him look unfairly handsome, like a Greek god in disguise. He was calm, relaxed, casually discussing business when Eva dashed down the stairs. His head jerked up instantly, eyes narrowing in alert.
But instead of disaster, she appeared before him with her finger held out dramatically. "Hubby, I cut my hand," she whimpered, tears shimmering in her doe-like eyes, lips pouting like a child.
Eric almost choked on his breath. Did she just_ hubby?
Damien's reaction floored him even more. Instead of scolding, Damien's expression softened with concern. He pulled Eva closer and inspected her tiny cut as if it were a mortal wound. "How can you be so careless?" he murmured, his voice low and tender.
And then, Eric nearly fell off his seat when, Damien brought her bloody finger to his lips and gently sucked at the wound.
Eric's eyes bulged. The Damien Lopez he knew would never, ever do such a thing. This wasn't just concern; this was, intimacy. Dangerous intimacy.
Eva blinked, stunned, her heart flipping in her chest. She hadn't expected that either.
Just like that, Damien's anger seemed to dissolve. He pulled her against him, holding her like she was the most precious, fragile thing in the world. "Don't go back to the kitchen. Let Gina handle the rest."
Eva pouted. "But you don't like Gina's cooking."
"It's fine. I'll manage," he said, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear with surprising gentleness. Then he settled her on his lap, stroking her back in slow, steady circles, while casually resuming his business conversation with Eric, as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
Eric sat frozen, his gaze shifted back and forth between the couple. He caught exactly what Eva had just done, and it hit him, she wasn't just clever, she was damn wise. Either she'd grown wise enough to read Damien like a book, or she already understood him so deeply that she could bend situations in her favor. Eric exhaled slowly, a sigh heavy with resignation. Especially because it was painfully clear by how utterly captivated his boss was by her.
Eric sighed deeply. His boss, the man who ruled entire boardrooms with icy glares, was completely and utterly wrapped like a spell under Eva's finger.