Chapter Seven:sparks and shadows
Now that Maya and Damian have cracked through the emotional ice, there's no denying something is building between them.
But what do you call it when a crush feels like combat and chemistry feels like chaos?
At the gym...
Their workouts get closer. More synchronized. Damian starts challenging her again pushing her limits, calling her out but this time, it feels like flirting disguised as fitness.
He smirks more often.
He touches her shoulder to correct form, and neither of them breathes for a full second.
One day, Maya makes him laugh out loud—and it's the first time she sees his dimple.
"There it is," she teases.
"What?"
"The myth. The Damian smile."
And he just stares at her, like she's the one who stole the air from the room.
Lola is onto her
"You're glowing again."
"No, I'm sweaty."
"You're sweaty and glowing. Like someone who's developing dumb feelings for a hot coach who smells like discipline and daddy issues."
Lola encourages Maya to stop hiding behind the 'coach-client' boundary and be honest about her feelings. But Maya's scared because Damian knows too much. He sees the cracks.
A Not-Date Dinner
After a canceled group training session, Damian offers Maya a ride. It's raining. One thing leads to another and Maya ask them to go for a dinner,and they end up grabbing dinner at a tiny Lebanese spot.
It's casual. Definitely not a date.
Except... it feels like one.
They talk for hours. Maya learns Damian used to be a trauma recovery specialist before opening Elevate Lab. He doesn't go into detail, but mentions needing a fresh start. A different kind of healing.
"You save people, Damian."
I teach people to save themselves.
Same thing.
There's a pause.
"You've changed," he says.
"No," Maya replies. "I'm just finally becoming myself."
DAMIAN
I wasn't supposed to say yes.
She asked me to dinner like it was nothing. Like we hadn't been dancing around a line for weeks. Like she didn't see the way I watched her when she wasn't looking.
But I said yes anyway.
Because when Maya speaks, I listen. Even when I shouldn't.
The Lebanese place was warm and dimly lit, the kind of cozy that made you feel safe but exposed at the same time. She kept brushing her hair behind her ear like she wasn't used to being looked at this way.
She was nervous.
So was I.
But she didn't need to know that.
The truth? I noticed her from the first session. Not because she was a client. Because she was real. Raw. Honest in ways most people weren't. She wasn't trying to impress anyone. Not even herself.
Her defense mechanism was humor. Her armor was sarcasm. Her pain ran deep but it spoke in silences, not sob stories.
And now she was here. Across from me. Laughing through bites of garlic chicken, rolling her eyes when I said something too intense.
"You're terrifyingly handsome for no reason."
That one hit me like a jab to the chest.
People talk about my looks. The magazines, the articles, the online gossip. But she wasn't flattering me.
She sounded like someone annoyed that I made her feel something she didn't want to feel.
She asked about the gym. I gave her the surface-level version philosophy, techniques, Elevate's mission. But I didn't tell her what Elevate Lab really was:
A carefully built illusion.
Or maybe a refuge. A safehouse I carved out of concrete and sweat, away from the marble towers of Voltaire Holdings.
My family's company. My legacy. The health-tech empire they expected me to inherit. The empire I quietly ran from.
I didn't tell her that I was Damian Voltaire the only son of the chairman, the golden boy of the elite who walked out on his destiny to build something real.
Because Maya was real. And real people didn't belong in my other world.
Then her phone rang.
Her entire expression changed. Laughter vanished. Her posture stiffened. I watched her mask slide into place like a reflex.
She mouthed, "Sorry," and stepped outside. But I couldn't tear my eyes away from the window.
She was pacing. Shoulders tense. One hand on her hip, the other pressed to her temple. Her jaw was clenched so tightly, I could almost feel it.
She looked… alone.
When she came back, she forced a laugh. But her energy was different now. Duller. Sharper around the edges.
"Everything okay?" I asked gently.
"Just work," she said too quickly. "A client bailed on a major campaign. My boss is flipping. You know. The usual panic."
Except it wasn't. Something about the call had shaken her.
She didn't want me to see it, but I did. I saw everything. I just wasn't sure if I had the right to ask.
After we paid, I offered to walk her to her car.
"You always this gentlemanly?" she asked, tilting her head with a teasing smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Only when I'm with someone who doesn't need it," I replied.
That made her pause. Then she laughed softly the kind of laugh that lingers even after the sound fades.
For a second, things felt simple.
But nothing about this was simple.
As she drove away, I stood in the parking lot, replaying the evening like a scene from a film I didn't want to end.
Then came the sleek silver car.
Windows tinted. Tires quiet on the asphalt. It pulled up beside me like a ghost I'd tried too hard to forget.
The window rolled down.
Cass.
My cousin. My handler. My reminder that I wasn't just Damian the trainer. I was Damian the Voltaire heir.
"Seriously, D?" he said, not even trying to hide the smirk. "You're getting attached again."
I didn't respond.
He leaned over, tossed a black folder onto the passenger seat. "Board meeting's moved up. Friday. Don't screw it up by being human."
Then he peeled away, leave me in silence.
I stood there, alone.
The breeze picked up.
Maya didn't know who I really was.
And every time I looked at her, I hated how much I wanted her to.