The morning light crept through Isla's curtains, pale and hesitant, like it knew she wasn't ready to leave her dreams behind.
Dreams that had been thick with Damian's presence — his voice, low and smooth, the sharp lines of his jaw when he studied her, the memory of how close he'd been last night.
She hadn't even touched him, not really.
A brush of fingers on a table, a stolen glance, a conversation laced with tension… yet it had left her restless, like a fire humming under her skin.
She sat up, running a hand through her tousled hair.
Today, she'd see him again. The thought sent a pulse of anticipation through her chest.
She dressed slowly, smoothing her school skirt, tying her hair back neatly, but her eyes held a glimmer that betrayed her thoughts.
Downstairs, the house was still and pristine.
Damian was already gone — off to his world of power and polished boardrooms, where every detail mattered, every deal carried weight.
Even in his absence, she felt him everywhere: the faint smell of his cologne clinging to the polished banister, the subtle hum of the house staff tidying around the perfection he demanded.
The home reflected him — sleek marble floors, tasteful art pieces, furniture too elegant to sink into carelessly.
Every space whispered wealth, control, and a man who knew exactly how to bend the world to his will.
She slid her fingers along the cool banister, imagining him walking past here this morning, suit jacket over his shoulder, cufflinks glinting in the early light.
He would've left in one of his cars — the black Bentley, maybe, or that silver Maserati he drove when he wasn't in the mood for subtlety.
She pictured him behind the wheel, sunglasses shielding those sharp eyes, jaw set as he maneuvered his empire before breakfast.
"God, Damian," she murmured under her breath, "you have no idea what you do to me."
-----
School was a different universe altogether — noisy, chaotic, and utterly disconnected from the polished world she'd woken up in.
Isla moved through the halls like she was wading through fog.
Teachers droned on; her friends whispered and laughed about trivial things. None of it mattered.
She sat at her desk, phone tucked under her books, pretending to scroll.
Every buzz or notification sent her heart leaping — even though she knew Damian wouldn't text her.
He wasn't reckless like that. If anything, his silence made the tension worse.
She noticed Adrian watching her again.
He sat two rows behind, dark hair falling into his eyes, smirking every time she glanced his way.
He'd been paying attention more than usual lately, throwing in casual remarks, teasing her in that way guys at school thought was charming.
Today, he leaned back in his chair, arms folded, studying her with an expression she couldn't quite read.
"You've been quiet," Adrian said during lunch, sliding into the seat next to hers.
She forced a smile. "Just tired."
"Tired," he repeated, amused. "You're always distracted these days."
She shrugged, avoiding his eyes.
He didn't know.
He couldn't possibly understand the electricity that buzzed in her veins when Damian's name crossed her mind.
Adrian's attention felt juvenile compared to the depth of what she shared with Damian — even if that connection was mostly unspoken.
"Don't worry," Adrian said with a lazy grin, "I'm patient. You'll talk to me eventually."
She scoffed softly and turned away, already feeling Damian's shadow over her thoughts.
Adrian's interest was a distraction, but it also lit something else in her — a flicker of pride.
Damian wasn't the only one who noticed her, and she wondered if he'd feel the tiniest bit of jealousy if he knew.
------
By the time Isla arrived home that afternoon, the sunlight was streaming through the tall glass windows, painting golden streaks across the immaculate marble floors.
The house felt alive again.
She could sense him, even before she saw him.
Damian's presence was impossible to ignore — it filled every corner, commanding, magnetic, and deeply intoxicating.
She slipped off her shoes and padded quietly toward the living room, pretending to flip through a book while her ears strained for any sign of him.
Through the open doorway of his study, she caught glimpses of his world: shelves lined with rare books, dark mahogany furniture polished to a sheen, sleek technology perfectly in place.
Then he appeared.
Damian walked out of the study with effortless authority, his suit jacket draped neatly over one arm, his shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to expose strong forearms.
He moved with a calm, unhurried confidence that reminded her he wasn't like anyone else she knew.
Everything about him — the subtle cologne, the quiet elegance of his watch, the way his gaze sharpened when it landed on her — exuded power.
"Isla," he greeted, voice smooth and steady.
"You're home early."
She looked up from her book, heart hammering.
"School was… slow today."
He raised a brow, crossing the room.
"Slow. Is that your way of saying unproductive?"
She tilted her head, teasing. "Maybe."
For a moment, he studied her, eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for something beneath her words.
She felt the weight of his gaze, and it was intoxicating.
"Be mindful," he said finally, his tone soft but deliberate.
"You're under my roof now. Boundaries matter."
The word boundaries sent a thrill down her spine.
She held his gaze, letting a faint smile play on her lips. "Some boundaries feel… impossible to respect."
His jaw tightened, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of heat.
He glanced away briefly, collecting himself.
Damian was always composed, but with her, cracks appeared in that polished exterior.
"Isla," he murmured, voice low and steady, "desire can cloud judgment.
Especially yours."
She leaned forward slightly, her smile teasing.
"Then maybe… judgment isn't what I'm after."
The silence that followed was thick, charged with something neither of them dared name.
He exhaled slowly, adjusting his cufflinks, as if the action alone could ground him.
------
Dinner that evening was a quiet, intimate affair, though nothing about Damian's dining room was casual.
The long mahogany table gleamed under the soft chandelier light.
Crystal glasses reflected golden hues of wine; silver cutlery clinked softly as the staff moved with practiced elegance.
He sat across from her, composed as ever, but she caught him watching her once or twice — a glance too long, a shift of his jaw, a flicker of tension when she teased him with a comment about Adrian's attention at school.
"Careful," he said finally, his voice calm but carrying an edge.
"Not all attention is harmless."
She smirked, swirling the stem of her glass.
"And yours?"
His gaze hardened just slightly, but his lips curved faintly.
"Mine is… complicated."
Her heart skipped. That wasn't a denial.
They ate in near silence after that, every gesture laced with meaning — his deliberate way of cutting into his steak, the way she let her fingers linger on the rim of her glass, the electric hum in the air.
After dinner, Damian excused himself, retreating to his study for a call.
Isla lingered near the staircase, pretending not to listen, but his voice carried through the hall.
"—I told you, I don't have time for this drama. You made your choice years ago… No, I don't owe you anything."
Her pulse quickened.
A woman's voice, faint but sharp, echoed through the receiver.
There was tension in Damian's voice she hadn't heard before — frustration, weariness.
A flicker of curiosity and jealousy surged inside her.
Who was she? An ex? Someone who still had a claim on him?
She pressed a hand to the railing, eavesdropping shamelessly.
"Don't call me again," Damian said finally, his voice like steel.
He hung up, and for a long moment, there was silence.
Isla slipped away before he emerged, her mind spinning.
Later that evening, she found herself standing at the doorway of his study, pretending to organize some books.
He glanced up, his expression unreadable.
"Isla," he said quietly, leaning back in his chair, "do you understand what you're doing?"
Her breath hitched. "What do you mean?"
He tilted his head, studying her. "You're pushing. Testing me. Do you even know the consequences?"
Her heart thudded wildly, but she met his gaze without flinching. "I… I want this."
His eyes darkened, and for a moment, his control faltered.
He looked like a man caught between instinct and reason, between the lines he'd drawn and the temptation standing in front of him.
"Some temptations," he said finally, voice low, "can't be undone."
She stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Then maybe… I don't want to undo it."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
He didn't move, but she could feel his restraint like a wall between them, a wall she was determined to climb.
Back in her room, Isla collapsed onto her bed, heart still racing.
She unlocked her phone, expecting nothing, but there it was — a message from Adrian.
You seem distracted lately. Everything okay?
She stared at it, lips curling into a faint, knowing smile.
Adrian was curious, maybe even suspicious, but he wasn't what her heart raced for.
Not even close.
She typed nothing back.
Instead, she turned her phone face down, closed her eyes, and let herself imagine Damian.
His gaze, his voice, the restrained heat simmering beneath every word.
But just as she drifted off, her phone buzzed again — a second message, this one from an unknown number.
"Be careful who you're falling for. Some men are not who they seem."
Her breath caught. She sat up, scanning the dark corners of her room.
A chill ran through her as she reread the message.
Damian's voice, steady and smooth, echoed in her mind: Some temptations can't be undone.
Isla's fingers trembled as she locked her phone.
She didn't know who had sent it, or why… but she knew one thing for sure.
The game she'd started was about to get much, much more dangerous.