The night stretched on quietly after Damian carried Alessia upstairs. The house had fallen into a deep calm, the kind that only came after laughter and warmth faded into silence.
Hours passed.
Alessia stirred in her sleep, turning slightly as if chasing a dreamHalf-dreaming, her hand brushing against something warm. Without thinking, she moved closer, her fingers curling lightly against Damian's shirt.
It wasn't until she felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm that her eyes fluttered open.
Her breath caught. She blinked once, twice, and then realized she was clinging to him.
She jerked back instantly, sitting upright. "What—?!"
Damian stirred, his voice low and calm.
"What's going on?"
Her heart was racing. "You— you were here?"
He rubbed his eyes, still half-asleep. "You fell asleep downstairs. I brought you up. Go back to sleep."
She hesitated, still flustered. "You could've told me."
He gave a faint, sleepy smile. "You were already asleep. I didn't want to wake you."
She exhaled, her pulse slowly settling. "You scared me."
"Didn't mean to," he murmured, his voice soft. "Go back to sleep, Alessia."
For a moment, she just looked at him — the calm in his tone, the warmth in his eyes even through the haze of sleep. Then she lay back down, turning away but still aware of his presence beside her.
Within minutes, she drifted off again, her breathing steady, the faintest trace of comfort settling over her.
When she woke again, sunlight streamed through the curtains. The space beside her was empty, the sheets cool. She blinked, sitting up slowly, her hair falling over her face.
The clock on the nightstand read nearly noon.
Damian was gone.
She rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. The memory of the night before came back in flashes — the warmth, the closeness, the way her heart had raced when she realized he was beside her.
She sighed, pushing the thought aside as she got out of bed.
Downstairs, the house was unusually lively. Voices echoed faintly from the foyer. She slipped on a robe and made her way down the staircase, her steps slow and curious.
At the bottom of the stairs stood a woman –tall, striking, with dark hair that framed her face perfectly. She was speaking to one of the staff, her tone confident, her presence commanding.
When she turned, Alessia looked surprised.
The woman smiled, her eyes sharp with amusement. "You must be Alessia."
"Yes," Alessia said cautiously. "And you are?"
The woman's smile deepened, her tone light but teasing. "Oh, he didn't tell you about me?"
Alessia frowned slightly. "Should he have?"
The woman gave a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Maybe. I'm someone who knows him very well."
Alessia's stomach tightened. "Clearly."
The woman's gaze swept over her, not unkindly, but with a quiet confidence that made Alessia's chest tighten.
"You're prettier than I imagined," she said, almost thoughtfully. "He always did have good taste."
Alessia's lips parted, but no words came out.
The woman smiled again, almost playfully. "Don't look so tense. I'm not here to steal him away."
"I'm not tense," Alessia said quickly, though her voice betrayed her.
"Of course not," the woman said, her tone smooth. "You just look… surprised."
Before Alessia could respond, the woman turned toward the staircase.
And with that, she walked off, leaving Alessia standing in the foyer, her pulse racing and her thoughts tangled.
A few hours later, Alessia went upstairs, she walked past Damian's room, and the door was half open. She pushed it gently — and stopped.
The same woman was there, lounging on Damian's bed, wearing one of his shirts, sunglasses perched on her head. She looked perfectly at ease, scrolling through her phone.
Alessia's voice came out sharper than she intended. "What are you doing in here?"
She looked up, feigning surprise. "Oh, Alessia. I didn't hear you come in."
"I was waiting for Damian."
"In his room?" Alessia asked, her tone firm.
"He's not here, You could've waited downstairs."
"I know," the woman said, sitting gracefully. "But I like this room. It smells like him."
Alessia's breath hitched. "You're very comfortable here."
The woman smiled, her tone soft but deliberate. "Old habits."
She stood, walking toward her with deliberate grace. "You're tense. You don't have to be. Damian and I are… close."
Alessia's stomach tightened. "Close?"
Her smirk deepened. "I've known him longer than you've even been in his life."
She walked past Alessia, Damian's perfume lingering faintly in the air. "You don't have to be mad – I'm not your enemy"
Alessia's voice trembled slightly. "Then what are you?"
The woman smiled, standing and walking past her. "Someone who knows him, maybe better than you do. That's all."
Her words were calm, not cruel — but they stung all the same.
When she left the room, Alessia stood frozen, her pulse racing. She didn't know why her chest felt so tight, why her throat burned with something that felt dangerously close to jealousy.
Why am I angry? she thought bitterly. It's just an arrangement. It shouldn't matter.
But it did.
She went back to her room, closing the door quietly behind her. The silence pressed in, heavy and restless. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
She told herself she wasn't waiting — but she was.
Waiting for the sound of his car in the driveway. Waiting for his footsteps in the hall. Waiting for him to walk in and make sense of the unease twisting in her chest.
Because if he didn't come back soon, she wasn't sure what she'd do — or what she'd say when he finally did.