Chapter Four: Unwanted Attention

The gala had ended, but the whispers hadn't.

Two days after the dazzling event, Lia still found herself caught between silence and memory. The way Damien's hand had settled on her lower back. The way his jaw tightened when Vanessa walked in. And the way his fingers brushed hers in the car ride home, not accidentally, but like he needed to touch something real.

Now, sitting alone at the breakfast nook with a cup of chamomile tea, Lia couldn't get the feel of his warmth out of her head. She barely touched her toast. Something about that night had changed things. It wasn't love, not even close. But it wasn't indifference anymore.

Gloria entered with her usual flair, humming a familiar jazz tune and wiping her hands on her apron.

"You're quiet today," she said.

Lia gave a lazy shrug. "Trying to recover from the high heels and forced smiles."

"You looked stunning in that dress. He noticed, you know."

"Did he?" Lia took a sip of tea. "He said I looked 'presentable.' That's basically a declaration of passion from Damien Cross."

Gloria chuckled. "He also stared. Longer than a man does when he doesn't care."

Lia opened her mouth to respond when her phone buzzed. A message from Damien:

Be ready by 6. Company dinner. Formal. Don't be late.

No greeting. No please. Just commands, as always.

At 5:55 PM, Lia descended the stairs in an emerald-green dress that hugged her in all the right places. Her makeup was soft but sharp, the kind that made people look twice. When she entered the foyer, Damien looked up from his phone and his expression faltered.

"You clean up well," he said, adjusting the cufflinks on his black tuxedo.

"You too. For a robot."

He didn't smile, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Annoyance? Amusement? Attraction? She couldn't tell.

The ride to the hotel was quiet, though not entirely uncomfortable. Damien tapped through emails while Lia stared out the window, mentally preparing for another night of mask

The company dinner was held in one of the city's elite rooftop lounges, glowing with chandeliers and buzzing with the subtle chaos of expensive wine and fake laughter. Damien led her in, hand resting gently at the small of her back.

His grip tightened the moment a junior executive named Colin approached, clearly smitten.

"Mrs. Cross," he said, eyes never leaving hers, "I must say, Damien is a lucky man."

Lia smiled politely. "That's very kind of you, Mr...?"

"Call me Colin. Damien never mentioned how beautiful his wife is."

Damien cut in smoothly. "Colin, I thought you had a report due Monday. Might be wise to focus on that instead of complimenting someone else's wife."

Colin chuckled awkwardly and disappeared into the crowd.

Lia turned to Damien, eyebrow raised. "Territorial much?"

"Just observant," he said, leading her toward their table.

As the night wore on, Damien remained perfectly composed, but Lia noticed the pattern. Every time someone tried to talk to her for more than a few seconds, especially if they were male, he would step in. Politely, firmly, and unmistakably.

Possessively.

The final straw came when a venture capitalist named Gregory leaned in too close, brushing a stray curl from her shoulder without permission.

Before Lia could even recoil, Damien stood. "Gregory, don't touch my wife."

The room went quiet. All eyes turned.

Gregory raised both hands. "Relax. Just being friendly."

"Be friendly with someone else," Damien snapped.

Lia placed a hand on his arm. "It's fine."

But Damien shook his head. "No. It's not."

They left early.

In the elevator, the silence stretched until Lia broke it.

"That was... intense."

Damien didn't respond.

"Were you trying to make a point?" she pressed.

He looked down at her, jaw tight. "He touched you."

"And?"

"And I didn't like it."

There it was. Raw. Unfiltered. Human.

Back in the car, she turned to him. "You said this marriage was for show. That it doesn't mean anything."

"I did."

"Then why act like you care?"

Damien looked out the window. "Because maybe I do."

Lia felt her heart stutter.

They pulled up to the penthouse. Neither moved.

"You confuse me, Damien," she whispered.

He finally turned to her, eyes burning with something fierce. "You confuse me too, Lia."

That night, neither of them slept much.

Damien paced his room, bothered by his own reactions. He wasn't supposed to care. This was a contract. A performance.

But when Gregory touched her, something primal snapped inside him.

Meanwhile, Lia lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

She had agreed to this marriage for survival. For her mother. For the chance to restart her life. But now, something unexpected was beginning to unfold.

She was no longer just playing a role.

And neither was he.