Sunlight spilled through the tall glass windows, glinting off marble floors that looked too perfect to belong to a real home. Everything here was curated — from the silent housekeepers to the scent of lilies lingering in the air.
Mrs. Vernes stood at the doorway, bouquet in hand, her eyes sweeping across the elegant space that now belonged to her daughter. "It's beautiful," she said softly.
Damien Hale appeared at the top of the staircase, his smile charming enough to melt through glass. "Mrs. Vernes, what a pleasure. We've been waiting for you."
Ayla followed behind him, moving quietly, almost cautiously.
Damien gestured toward the dining room. "Lunch is ready. I thought it would be nice to have a family meal."
Mrs. Vernes smiled. "How thoughtful of you."
But her gaze lingered on Ayla — the way her daughter's fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress, how her smile was quick and practiced, not warm.
The table looked like something out of a magazine spread — gleaming silverware, expensive china, crystal glasses filled to the brim.
Damien played the perfect host. He poured the wine, made jokes about business and travel, complimented Ayla every few minutes.
But Mrs. Vernes noticed the way Ayla flinched when he placed a hand on her shoulder. She noticed how Ayla waited — always waited — before answering, as if permission lived in his eyes.
When Mrs. Vernes asked, "Do you still paint, sweetheart?"
Ayla hesitated. "No… I've been busy managing the house."
Damien smiled. "She's learning to prioritize what matters most."
Mrs. Vernes returned a polite smile, but her stomach turned.
Later, when Damien excused himself to take a call, the room exhaled.
Mrs. Vernes reached across the table, covering Ayla's trembling hand.
"You seem different," she said quietly. "Is everything alright?"
Ayla forced a small laugh. "Of course. He's… just protective sometimes."
Her mother's lips tightened. "Protective or possessive?"
Ayla froze. "Mama—"
Before she could finish, Damien's smooth voice cut in from behind them.
"Everything okay here?"
Mrs. Vernes smiled sweetly, her tone dripping honey. "Perfectly. We were just talking about how lucky Ayla is to have you."
His eyes lingered on her — sharp, knowing before he smiled again.
"She is."
The air turned heavy.
That night, in the guest room, Mrs. Vernes couldn't sleep.
She replayed every word, every glance.
The charm. The control. The silence in her daughter's voice.
When the clock struck midnight, she heard a faint sound a soft sob from the other side of the hallway, quickly stifled.
Her heart clenched.
Something was wrong here. Terribly wrong.
And as she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts hardened into a vow.
You might fool the world, Damien Hale.
But you won't fool me.