Last night's memory crossed my mind, and I suddenly turned to him.
"Did you come to my room last night?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He froze, stepping back, his hands falling away from the bookshelf. My chest tightened. There it is—he was definitely in my room. I can tell from his reaction, the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his eyes flickered away.
"No… I didn't," he replied, turning his back, pretending to search for a book.
My lips parted. My voice betrayed me before my brain could catch it.
"Hmm… if you ever come to my room at night, please knock. Don't show up like a ghost…"
The words hung in the air. My heart thudded against my ribs. Why would I say that? Why would he come to my room? Stupid, stupid mouth…
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I bit my tongue, scrambling for an explanation.
"Don't get me wrong… I'm not used to sleeping alone. I… I get scared at night."
He turned slightly, listening to me intently, as though weighing every word. His silence made my stomach churn.
"But you have your own room," he asked, his tone probing, like he was testing me.
"Yes, but it's for my work and other things. I usually sleep with Stella, or sometimes she sleeps in my room. But I never sleep alone. Last night I must have passed out because of weakness."
I tried to sound casual, but my hands were trembling slightly. He studied me, then his lips curved faintly.
"Then you can shift into my room if you have that much fear."
My breath caught. My throat went dry. His room?
"No thanks… I'll try to get used to it," I managed, forcing a smile.
But then he leaned in. Closer. So close I could feel the warmth of his breath brushing my lips. My lungs forgot how to work. If I moved even an inch, our lips would collide.
"Why? Do you think I'll do something if you're in my room?"
My eyes widened. His voice was low, teasing, but it sent shivers spiraling down my spine. I stared into his ocean-like blue eyes, hypnotic and endless.
"No…" My voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.
"Oh? Then do you think I can't do anything?"
A smirk tugged at his lips, sharp and dangerous. My stomach flipped. My palms grew sweaty. Why is he doing this to me? Why this closeness that feels both terrifying and intoxicating?
"No… no, that's not what I meant…" I stammered, breaking eye contact, my gaze dropping to the floor. His eyes burned into me, and I couldn't bear it—those eyes were doing things to me I couldn't control.
Suddenly, he leaned back, his expression unreadable.
"I'm just kidding. Help yourself."
Relief and disappointment tangled in my chest as he sat down with his laptop, his attention shifting away.
I sat on the couch, forcing myself to read a book, but my mind wasn't in the pages. Hours slipped by until my eyes grew heavy. At some point, I must have dozed off.
Warmth enveloped me, and I stirred. Strong arms lifted me effortlessly. My eyes fluttered open—it was Damon.
I was too tired to protest. Instead, I let my arms curl around his neck, resting my head against his solid chest. I could hear the steady thump of his heart beneath the fabric. Safe… terrifyingly safe.
He carried me into my room, gently lowering me onto the bed. His voice was soft, almost careful.
"Emily?"
"Hmmmm…" I mumbled, half-asleep.
"Dinner?"
"Nooo… I'm sleepy," I murmured, my voice fading as I drifted into darkness.
Thunder shattered my dreams. I bolted upright. The room was pitch black. My pulse raced.
I reached for the lamp, but it slipped, crashing to the floor. Panic clawed at my chest. The storm outside roared—the wind howled, lightning flashed, thunder boomed so loud it rattled the windows.
Tears welled, blurring my vision. Memories clawed their way back—the ones I buried so deep.
My grandfather's death. My mother's punishments. The day she locked me in the storeroom for days after I fought with the neighbor's daughter. The storm that night. The suffocating darkness. My own screams for forgiveness.
That fear never left me. The storm always drags me back to that room. To the little girl crying in the dark, begging for love.
My knees shook as I tiptoed to the door. What if it's locked? My trembling hand turned the knob. Relief hit me when it opened.
But the house was no comfort. The living room was engulfed in darkness. No light, no sound—just the storm.
My lips whispered his name. Damon.
He was the only one who could help me. Not Ava. I couldn't let her see me like this. Weak. Broken.
But what if he mocked me? What if he thought I was pathetic—in love, in family, in everything?
Before I knew it, I was at his door. My hand shook as I raised it. I knocked. Once. Then again.
The door opened before my knuckles landed the second time. Damon stood there, his expression puzzled, his eyes narrowing when he saw my tears.
"What happened? Why are you crying?"
"I… that… there were sounds in my room, and… and I broke the lamp. I'm scared of the darkness…" My voice cracked with hiccups.
"And there are no lights in the house either," I added, desperate.
"Yes, I know. I'm the one who told them to switch everything off at night," he replied coolly.
My heart stuttered. He did this?
"Why? Why would you tell them that?"
"Because I like darkness." His lips curved into a smirk, and it chilled me more than the thunder.
"But…" My voice faded. I had no right to argue.
"Wait here. Two minutes. I'll be back."
He shut the door in my face.
I clutched the knob, twisting it up and down, as if reminding him I was still there. My tears slid down my cheeks, mixing with the storm's echo.
Exactly two minutes later, the door opened. His eyes flicked toward the room, then back to me, signaling me in.
His room was unlike the others—grand, elegant, almost like it belonged to someone else entirely. My gaze lingered on the large frames along the wall, hidden behind curtains. Why cover them? Pictures? Memories? Secrets?
I glanced back. Damon's eyes were already on me, unreadable.
"Sorry to disturb you… I'll sleep on the couch. You don't need to worry."
"No need for that."
He picked up a remote and pressed a button. The wall beside the bed slid open, revealing another hidden room.
"You can sleep there. Shift your things if you want. I'll keep this wall open at night. You don't have to be scared."
The thought of sharing even a connected room with him made my pulse race. Neither of us looked happy about the arrangement.
"I will manage—"
"Shhh… not another word. Go and sleep. Tomorrow we have a lot to do."
His tone left no space for argument. He tossed his coat aside and walked into the bathroom, still in his office clothes.
Yes, tomorrow. We have to play the perfect couple. A happy-ever-after lie.
I went into the hidden room and lay on the bed, but sleep didn't come. My mind replayed his smirk, his closeness, the storm. Almost an hour passed before the sound of the bathroom door opening reached my ears. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to sleep, until exhaustion finally claimed me.
The Next Morning
Sunlight seeped in. I woke, but Damon's bed was empty. On my way out, my gaze lingered again on the covered frames. Curiosity burned inside me, but I held back. No. Don't provoke him.
Downstairs, Natasha was with a group of women. She introduced them as the team who would help with my dressing and makeup. I smiled faintly and asked them to wait while I freshened up.
…
Later, Alex escorted me to the hotel where the press conference was being held. Damon was already there, commanding the room with sharp answers to the media.
His eyes found mine. He stretched out his arm.
I walked toward him, slid my hand into his, and stood close. Cameras clicked wildly, capturing our illusion of perfection.