Unspoken Boundaries

The grand mansion was eerily silent when Ava and Kiara stepped inside, their heels clicking softly against the marble floor.

After nine long hours, exhaustion pressed against Ava's limbs like a weight, but there was something else too—something she couldn't quite place.

A strange sense of unease curled in her stomach, sending a faint prickle up her spine.

Maybe it was the heavy silence that felt almost unnatural. Maybe it was the dim golden lighting that cast long shadows across the walls.

Or maybe—

It was him.

Damien stood at the foot of the grand staircase, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily holding a glass of whiskey. The amber liquid swirled under the glow of the chandelier, but his expression was anything but relaxed.

Ava's steps faltered for just a second, her pulse kicking up. His gaze was on her—sharp, unreadable, dark.

He was waiting.

Beside her, Kiara exhaled slowly. "Well… this is awkward."

Ava swallowed, forcing herself to remain unfazed. "Didn't realize I had a curfew."

Damien's lips curled slightly—not a smile, not quite. "Didn't realize my wife enjoyed staying out for nine hours."

His tone was calm, almost indifferent. But something about the way he said it made the air feel heavier.

Ava blinked, her brows pulling together.

Was he upset?

No. That didn't make sense. He shouldn't care.

Should he?

Kiara, sensing the tension, cleared her throat. "Well, this seems like a married couple thing. I'll just—"

Damien's gaze flicked to her. "Go to your room."

Kiara's lips parted in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

Damien tilted his head slightly, his expression cold. "I want to talk to my wife. Alone."

Ava's fingers twitched at her sides.

Kiara glanced between them, clearly debating whether to push back. But then she sighed dramatically. "Fine, whatever. Don't strangle her or anything."

She sent Ava a pointed look before disappearing up the stairs.

Now, it was just them.

Ava inhaled slowly, crossing her arms over her chest as she met Damien's gaze.

"Alright, what is this about?"

Damien took a sip of his whiskey, his Adam's apple shifting slightly before he lowered the glass. "You seem… comfortable talking to other men."

Ava stiffened.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Wait. What?

She frowned, her stomach twisting. Did he know?

She forced herself to keep her expression neutral. "What are you talking about?"

Damien stepped closer, his slow movements calculated, his presence looming.

"You were gone for nine hours," he mused, tilting his head. "And yet, I get the feeling you weren't just with Kiara the whole time."

Her breath caught.

How much did he know?

She squared her shoulders. "I was with Kiara the entire time. You can ask her yourself."

Damien studied her for a long moment. His dark eyes roamed over her face, searching for something. Then, a ghost of a smirk played at his lips.

"You're a terrible liar."

Ava's fingers clenched at her sides.

What was his game?

Why wasn't he outright accusing her of something? Why was he playing this taunting, unreadable game?

Her frustration bubbled over, her voice sharper than intended. "And what if I did talk to someone?"

Damien's smirk didn't falter. If anything, it deepened.

Ava swallowed hard.

Why did he look like that?

Like he wasn't mad—like he had expected her to challenge him.

He leaned in slightly, his scent—a mixture of whiskey and expensive cologne—wrapping around her. "I don't recall saying you couldn't."

Ava's chest tightened.

"Then why are you bringing it up?" she shot back, tilting her chin up defiantly.

Damien didn't answer immediately. His gaze traveled to her lips for a split second before locking onto her eyes again. The movement was subtle, but she caught it.

Her stomach flipped.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"But just so we're clear, Ava…" His voice dropped an octave, smooth and laced with something unreadable. "If you think I won't notice when another man looks at you like he wants something that belongs to me…"

He paused, his breath warm against her skin.

"You're wrong."

Ava sucked in a breath.

A shiver ran down her spine, but she didn't know if it was from frustration, confusion, or—

Something else.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, slowly, Ava pulled back, composing herself. She forced out a breath, masking the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her.

"This is just a contract marriage, Damien," she said evenly. "Why do you seem to care if another man was talking to me? And what's your business about that?"

Damien's jaw ticked, but his smirk didn't fade.

His silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

And then—

He simply stepped back.

His hand lazily swirled the whiskey in his glass as he turned away.

"Go to bed, Ava."

Ava blinked. "What?"

He didn't look at her as he took another sip of his drink. "You've had a long day."

Her stomach twisted.

That was it?

No answer? No explanation?

Just a simple 'Go to bed' like nothing had happened?

Her fingers twitched with the urge to throw something at him.

But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Instead, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and turned toward the stairs. She wouldn't let him see how much he got to her.

She wouldn't let him know that his words had done something to her chest—something unfamiliar.

As she climbed the stairs, she could still feel his gaze on her back.

Still feel the weight of his presence.

And she hated how it made her heart race.