Isla hadn't slept a wink.
She'd tossed and turned half the night, her mind replaying every detail from their dinner conversation—the pause before he answered her questions, the quiet authority in his voice, the way his eyes lingered on her just a second too long.
It was maddening, intoxicating.
By morning, she'd given up on pretending she could rest.
She slipped into a soft, fitted dress that brushed her thighs, subtle yet flattering.
Her reflection stared back at her in the mirror: messy waves of hair, flushed cheeks, and a spark of anticipation she couldn't hide.
When she walked into the kitchen, Damian was already there, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands steady as he poured steaming coffee into two mugs.
He looked calm, as if he hadn't spent hours last night alone in that study with his whiskey glass, lost in thought.
"Morning," he said, his voice smooth, low, controlled.
"Morning," she murmured, trying to match his composure while her pulse kicked hard against her ribs.
He reached for the second cup and handed it to her.
Their fingers brushed—just for a moment—but it was enough to send a shiver down her spine.
"You didn't sleep," he said, almost like an observation, his attention on the cream he was pouring into his own mug.
"Neither did you," she countered, though her voice came out softer than she meant.
He glanced at her briefly, eyes sharp and unreadable. "Long night."
She sipped her coffee to keep from blurting something stupid.
Damian was maddeningly calm, standing there in his open-collar shirt and perfectly pressed slacks, as if he wasn't aware of the effect he had on her.
"You've been restless," he added, his voice quiet now, almost thoughtful. "Something on your mind?"
Isla hesitated. "Just… adjusting. It's a lot, being here. Different."
He leaned back against the counter, arms folding across his chest. "Different how?"
She lowered her eyes to her cup, heart hammering. "Closer." The word slipped out in a whisper.
Damian stilled.
He repeated it like he was tasting it on his tongue. "Closer."
His gaze sharpened slightly, but his face stayed composed.
"Being in this house… around you," she said, forcing herself to look up. "It feels closer."
His jaw flexed, and she couldn't tell if it was discomfort or something else simmering beneath his calm exterior.
"You should be careful with words like that," he said finally, his voice even.
She tilted her head. "Why?"
He gave her a look that made her stomach tighten, his voice dipping low.
"Because closeness changes things. It shifts… boundaries."
A thrill shot through her. That word.
Boundaries. It was the first time he'd acknowledged the invisible line between them, and Isla felt an intoxicating need to see just how far she could push it.
She smiled faintly, feigning innocence. "I understand."
Damian's eyes flicked over her, and for a split second, she thought she saw something flicker there—something unspoken.
Then, he straightened and set his mug down. "Good. Keep that in mind."
{ Mid-Morning }
Hours later, Damian was in the study, papers neatly spread across his mahogany desk, his attention focused yet his presence filling the room effortlessly.
Isla lingered in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe with a book she wasn't really reading.
She watched him quietly, tracing the strong line of his jaw, the way he rolled up his sleeves, the slight furrow between his brows as he scanned a document.
He was elegance and power personified, every movement calm and precise.
He glanced up suddenly, his gaze catching hers.
A spark of amusement—or was it irritation?—flitted across his face. "You're not reading," he said simply.
She bit back a smile. "I am."
"Then what's on page forty-seven?"
Her lips parted, caught. She laughed softly, stepping inside. "Fine. You got me."
He leaned back, watching her approach with a guarded expression. "You seem… distracted."
She perched herself on the edge of the couch near his desk, tucking her legs under her.
"Just thinking."
"About what?"
She hesitated for a beat. "You," she said softly, as if testing him.
His gaze sharpened, his pen stilled mid-note.
"Isla," he said quietly, his voice low but steady. "You know that's not a good idea."
She shrugged, playing with the edge of her dress. "Curiosity isn't a crime."
He tilted his head, giving her a look that sent a shiver down her spine. "Curiosity has a price."
Her lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "Some things are worth it."
Damian didn't answer.
He simply picked up his pen again, though she noticed the faint tension in his shoulders, the way his hand hovered over the page a second too long.
{ Lunch }
At lunch, the quiet between them was charged.
Damian ate with the same deliberate precision he did everything else, while Isla stirred her pasta idly, more focused on watching him than eating.
"You seem distracted today," she said, her voice teasing.
He raised a brow, glancing at her. "Do I?"
She nodded, leaning forward slightly. "Maybe you're thinking about me."
His fork paused midair.
The flicker of something—amusement? Frustration?—crossed his face before he set it down and leaned back in his chair. "That's a dangerous assumption."
"Is it?" she asked softly, her lips curving into a faint smirk.
For a long moment, Damian said nothing.
His gaze swept over her, slow and deliberate, like he was measuring every word she'd said.
Then, without warning, he chuckled lowly and shook his head. "You don't know when to quit, do you?"
"Not really," she admitted, her tone light but her pulse quickening.
He took another bite of his food, but she could see the faint tension in his jaw. She'd gotten under his skin. And she loved it.
The Phone CallThat evening, Damian excused himself to take a call.
Isla sat curled up on the sofa, pretending to scroll through her phone, though every nerve in her body was tuned to the sound of his voice in the other room.
His tone was low, calm, but laced with a sharp edge she hadn't heard before.
"…I told you not tonight… This isn't a good time… No, I don't want to talk about that right now…"
She bit her lip, straining to catch more.
His voice was quiet, controlled, but there was irritation there.
A woman, clearly. An ex? The idea sent a strange thrill through her chest.
"…I said no. This conversation is over."
She quickly looked down at her phone when he walked back in. He moved with the same calm composure, but his eyes were darker now, sharper.
"Everything okay?" she asked, feigning nonchalance.
"Fine," he said shortly, pouring himself a glass of water. "Just business."
She didn't believe him. Not for a second. And that secret edge to him only made her want him more.
{ Evening }
The house felt quieter than usual that night, as if even the walls were aware of the tension crackling between them.
Damian retreated to his study with a drink, while Isla stayed in the living room, her legs curled under her, pretending to watch TV.
She could feel him even when she couldn't see him—his presence heavy in the air, his quiet dominance filling the space.
She traced the edge of the sofa cushion with her fingertips, her mind replaying every fleeting touch, every glance that lingered too long.
She didn't want safe. She didn't want distance. She wanted him.
And she was willing to see how far she could push before those carefully drawn boundaries he clung to so tightly began to crack.
****
just as isla was lost in thought, she heard damian's voice behind her, soft but deliberate.
"isla… i need to speak with you."
her heart stopped.
he never calls me here… not alone. not like this…