Isla's alarm rang far too early, dragging her from dreams that had been drenched in Damian's voice and presence—the soft murmur of his words, the restrained heat in his eyes, the brush of his hand that lingered in her memory like a brand.
She woke breathless, her heart pounding as if he were in the room.
She moved quickly, slipping into her neatly pressed school uniform.
Her hands worked on autopilot, tucking in her blouse, fastening the buttons, tying her hair back into a sleek ponytail.
The house around her was silent, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the window.
Even in its stillness, Damian's presence clung to the walls.
She could smell him in the air—a subtle, masculine cologne that clung to the hallway like an unspoken reminder of his closeness.
The banister was cool beneath her fingertips as she descended the sweeping staircase.
She half-expected to find him standing at the base, one hand in his pocket, eyes lingering on her with that unreadable expression he wore so well. Instead, the main hall was empty.
Damian was gone.
Of course, she thought with a faint smile.
He had meetings. Calls.
Deals that stretched across continents.
He wasn't a man who sat still.
Even when he wasn't here, his presence was felt—the sharp scent of his cologne, the glint of his cufflinks on the side table, the faint trace of freshly ground coffee from the kitchen.
She grabbed her bag and headed out, her heart carrying the same restless energy it had carried since yesterday.
-----
The day at school moved slowly, dragging Isla through a series of monotonous lectures and restless stares at the clock.
She sat at her desk, pen tapping absently as her thoughts wandered.
Her classmates chattered around her—about last night's reality show, upcoming tests, or who was dating who—but none of it stuck.
She was somewhere else entirely.
She was thinking of Damian.
Every word he'd said yesterday replayed in her mind.
His voice—deep, smooth, threaded with restraint—echoed through her thoughts.
She could picture him so vividly: leaning back in his chair in the study, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, his eyes dark and unreadable as he tried to keep control.
A thrill ran down her spine at the memory. She wasn't naïve.
She knew that something had shifted between them.
She was also aware of the .
They came in soft, teasing tones from across the classroom.
A pair of girls exchanged glances when she passed them in the hallway, their hushes sharp and curious.
Isla didn't care. Let them talk.
What caught her attention instead was Adrian.
Adrian had been a classmate for years, the kind of guy girls noticed because of his easy smile and too-casual charm.
Today, he watched her differently.
She caught his gaze once, then twice, until he finally smirked across the hall, eyebrows raised like he'd caught onto something she didn't want him to know.
"New perfume?" he teased when she passed him by the lockers.
She shrugged with a small smile. "Maybe."
His grin widened, playful and knowing, but Isla's mind was already drifting back to Damian.
------
Miles away, Damian sat in his office—a sleek corner suite high above the city.
The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline, a mosaic of glass towers and glinting sunlight.
His desk was organized with military precision: a black leather planner, a crystal decanter of whiskey he rarely touched before sunset, and an array of contracts he needed to sign before noon.
He should have been focused. He wasn't.
He leaned back in his leather chair, his hand brushing along the edge of his jaw as his mind wandered.
Isla.
Her name alone was enough to draw a slow exhale from him.
The girl was bold—reckless even.
He'd seen it in her eyes yesterday when she teased him, her voice a mixture of innocence and temptation.
She was playing with fire, though he couldn't deny he was feeding the flame.
A knock on his door pulled him back to reality.
"Mr. Vale," his assistant said softly, stepping in. "I confirmed your dinner meeting with the Rossi Group for Friday evening. They're expecting you at seven."
Damian nodded, scanning the schedule she handed him. "And the other calls?"
"All arranged. Mr. Laurent is asking if you've made a decision on the Monaco property deal. He sounded… impatient."
"Tell him I'll call him personally by the end of the day," Damian replied, voice calm but firm.
The assistant nodded, slipping out quietly.
Damian turned back to the view, but his thoughts strayed again—not to real estate deals or boardroom negotiations, but to Isla's curious gaze yesterday as she lingered near his study.
She's trouble, he told himself. Beautiful, headstrong trouble.
His phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced at it briefly, irritation flashing across his features.
A name appeared on the screen—a woman from his past, one he'd stopped answering months ago.
He ignored the call.
------
When Isla returned home, she tossed her bag onto the sofa and sank into the cushions, pretending to read.
Her book lay open on her lap, but she couldn't focus on a single page.
Every creak of the floorboards, every faint sound from outside had her glancing toward the door.
When Damian finally arrived, the entire atmosphere of the house shifted.
He moved with quiet authority, his tailored suit impeccable, his tie loosened just slightly as if he'd been through a long day.
His gaze landed on her immediately, lingering for a fraction too long.
"How was school?" he asked, voice neutral but warm.
"Fine," Isla replied, her tone casual but her heartbeat loud in her ears.
She tilted her head and added with a teasing edge, "Alex seems… particularly attentive lately."
His expression tightened almost imperceptibly, his jaw flexing as he adjusted his cufflink.
"Careful," he said finally, his tone calm but with an undertone of warning. "Attention from others isn't always what it seems."
Isla smiled faintly, leaning back against the sofa.
"Dangerous attention?" she asked softly.
"Potentially."
"I like danger."
He froze for a split second, then turned toward the kitchen, his composure slipping for just a moment.
Isla watched him, her pulse racing. She'd gotten to him.
She could feel it.
------
Dinner was a quiet affair, though every glance, every subtle brush of Damian's hand against hers as he passed her a dish sent sparks through her.
He was calm, collected, but there was a heaviness in his eyes tonight, something deeper than usual.
After the meal, he excused himself to take a call.
Isla pretended not to listen, but his voice carried down the hall, low and tense.
"No, I'm not interested," he said sharply. "We had an agreement… No. Not anymore."
A pause. Isla strained to hear, curiosity flaring.
"I'm not in the habit of revisiting mistakes,"
Damian said, his voice cool and dismissive.
When he hung up, the silence that followed was thick.
Mistakes. Lovers, maybe.
A past filled with beautiful women who wanted more from him than he was willing to give.
Isla's heart raced with a strange mix of jealousy and fascination.
Damian wasn't just a billionaire with a sharp mind and a polished exterior—he was a man with a past, and she wanted to know every detail.
****
Later that night, Isla wandered into the study, drawn by the faint glow of his desk lamp.
Damian was there, leaning over a stack of files, his tie now discarded, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows.
He looked devastatingly composed, his expression unreadable as he signed a document with a flourish of his pen.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he said without looking up.
"Couldn't sleep."
He glanced at her, his gaze softening. "You shouldn't sneak around like this."
"Maybe I like sneaking around," she said, voice low and playful.
Damian exhaled slowly, setting down his pen.
"You don't know what you're playing with, Isla."
She stepped closer, her pulse hammering.
"Then tell me."
His eyes darkened as he looked at her, his restraint visible in every muscle of his body.
"If I did… you'd run."
"Maybe I wouldn't."
The tension between them thickened, pulling tighter with every second.
Damian pushed his chair back, standing slowly, his height and presence overwhelming in the quiet room.
"Go to bed, Isla," he said finally, his voice low and steady.
But his eyes… they betrayed him.
Isla turned to leave, her heart racing, but as she reached the doorway, his voice stopped her.
"Isla," he said softly, almost like a warning—or a promise. She froze, looking back at him.
"Don't test me."
She smiled faintly. "Maybe I already am."
His lips twitched like he wanted to say more, but he didn't.
He only watched her go, his jaw tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides.
And Isla knew, as she climbed the stairs with her pulse pounding, that the line between them was fraying.
Soon, it would snap.