Chapter 6
Morning light filtered through the curtains.
Franklin stirred, his lashes fluttering open. Warmth pressed against his side. He turned—and froze.
Damien lay beside him, one arm draped possessively around his waist. His face, usually sharp with dominance, was softened by sleep. His breathing was steady, almost gentle, and for a moment he looked harmless. Almost human.
Franklin's chest tightened. He lifted a hand, hesitating, wanting to trace the line of Damien's jaw. But at the last second, he stopped himself. With a soft sigh, he carefully slipped out from under the heavy arm and padded into the bathroom.
The moment the door clicked shut, Damien's eyes flickered open. He rolled onto his back, gaze fixed on the closed door, silent.
Inside, Franklin brushed his teeth, phone in one hand. His schedule blinked on the screen—two commercial shoots today. A busy day ahead. But then, a notification popped up.
Sophia: All your schedules have been cleared.
Franklin spat into the sink, startled. He rinsed his mouth and immediately called.
"Hello, Soph? What do you mean all my schedules have been cleared? You yourself reminded me yesterday not to be late."
"I know, sweetheart," Sophia's voice was brisk. "But everything was postponed. Go ahead and have fun today. I've got to go."
"Wait—"
But she hung up before he could finish.
Franklin lowered the phone, frowning. It wasn't that he hated the idea of rest—it was rare—but two commercial shoots rescheduled at once? That was… strange.
He brushed it off with a shake of his head and turned to gather the laundry basket. It was full, mostly Damien's clothes. He carried it to the laundry room.
As he sorted through, a white shirt caught his eye. The fabric was crisp, expensive, but a dark stain marred the front.
Franklin froze. He lifted the shirt, bringing it closer. The faint metallic tang hit him instantly.
Blood.
His first thought hit hard—Was Damien hurt? His gaze flicked toward the door, half-expecting to see Damien stride in, bleeding somewhere he hadn't noticed.
But no. Damien had looked perfectly fine this morning. Calm. Untouched. Unshaken as always.
Franklin's grip loosened on the shirt. He sighed, pushing the thought down, refusing to chase it further. Whatever it was, he didn't want to know.
With a firm motion, he shoved the shirt into the machine and turned it on. The water rushed, drowning out the silence—and the questions in his mind.
----
With his schedule cleared, Franklin decided to be productive. He vacuumed the living room, straightened the cushions, and finally set about making breakfast.
By the time the toast popped from the machine, Damien was still asleep. Normally, by this hour, Dan would have arrived with a report or a car waiting at the door for Damien. The silence felt strange.
Franklin shoved a slice of toast into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, when footsteps echoed down the hall.
Damien appeared.
He wore casual clothes—simple black trousers, a fitted gray shirt—an image Franklin wasn't used to. No suit. No armor. His expression was relaxed, even faintly amused, with no trace of discomfort or wounds.
Franklin's eyes flicked over him quickly, searching. Nothing. Not even a scratch. He looked… untouchable.
Damien sat across from him, leaning back in his chair. He said nothing, just watched.
Franklin shifted under the weight of that gaze, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous it felt to be eating toast in front of Damien Carter of all people. He tried to avoid his eyes, focusing on his plate instead.
Then Damien reached forward without warning, plucked a slice of toast from Franklin's plate, and bit into it.
Franklin froze, blinking. His mind screamed: Go make your own food! This is mine, you thief! But his lips stayed firmly shut.
Damien took another piece, unhurried, his eyes never leaving Franklin's. It felt deliberate, like he was testing him, pushing him.
By the time there was only one slice left, Franklin snapped. He snatched it up quickly before Damien's hand could reach.
Standing at once, he cleared the plate with forced calm, his back stiff.
Behind him, Damien smirked, his tone smooth.
"Get dressed. We're going somewhere."
Franklin spun halfway, surprised—but Damien was already gone, leaving only the faint trace of smoke and dominance lingering in the air.
Franklin turned back to the sink, muttering under his breath as he scrubbed the plate a little harder than necessary.
----
The car hummed steadily down the road, the silence thick between them. Damien drove himself instead of letting Dan take the wheel—something Franklin wasn't used to.
Franklin sat in the passenger seat, scrolling absently through his phone. He hadn't posted in weeks. With a sigh, he rolled the window down just a crack, lifted his phone, and recorded a short video of the sky—the soft blue streaked with clouds.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Damien glance over. A faint tug pulled at the corner of his lips before he turned back to the road.
The phone on the console vibrated. Caller ID flashed: Dan. Damien slipped in an earbud and answered with a curt, "Speak."
The call was brief. A few words, a pause, then Damien's low murmur: "Good." The line clicked dead.
Franklin stole a glance. Damien's profile was unreadable, but something about him was different these days. The Damien he knew usually came to the house for one reason—sex. He'd use Franklin, leave without a word, and reappear days later.
But lately… he had been staying. Sleeping in the same bed. Snuggling against him. Eating his toast, of all things. Driving him now to who-knew-where. Even smiling.
It unsettled Franklin more than the coldness ever had.
"We're here," Damien said.
Franklin blinked, looking out the window. They had pulled into the lot of a high-end boutique, gleaming glass and gold lettering shining above the doors.
The car eased into a reserved space. Damien unbuckled his seat belt. "Come on."
Franklin didn't move at first, staring at the building. This wasn't what he expected.
Damien circled the car, knocking lightly on Franklin's window. His gaze was calm but firm. "Come down."
Slowly, Franklin unbuckled and stepped out. Almost immediately, a group of staff hurried forward.
"This way, Mr. Carter," one said with a bow.
Damien gave a brief nod and strode ahead.
Franklin followed a few steps behind, shoulders tense, feeling every set of eyes on him.