Chapter Six: Her World, Not His

Damien Cross wasn't used to small houses with peeling paint and potted plants placed like proud warriors on cracked steps. But that's exactly where he found himself on a warm Saturday afternoon, standing outside the modest home Lia Morgan had grown up in.

Lia looked different here. She wasn't the polished, sharp-tongued woman he paraded to events. No, this Lia wore faded jeans, a tucked-in T-shirt, and a face free of makeup. She was radiant in a quiet, grounded way. Real.

"You're sure about this?" Damien asked as she unlocked the gate, hesitant.

Lia gave him a side glance. "Afraid of catching humility?"

His lips twitched. "More like wondering if your mother owns a shotgun."

"She owns sharper things. Like words."

Damien stepped inside after her, the scent of freshly baked bread drifting from the open windows. Everything about this place screamed warmth and survival.

Mrs. Morgan was waiting by the door. Regal despite her plain dress and graying hair pulled back into a firm bun.

"Well, well," she said with a tight smile. "The billionaire in my doorway. Wonders never cease."

Damien extended a hand. "Thank you for having me, Mrs. Morgan."

She eyed it for a beat before taking it. "I didn't have much choice. My daughter insisted. Said I should see what kind of trouble she's gotten herself into."

"Mother," Lia warned gently, leading Damien into the cozy living room.

The couches were worn but clean, a mismatched rug covered the floor, and picture frames crowded the walls. It was a home built from heart, not money.

Damien sat stiffly, unsure of where to put his hands.

"So," Mrs. Morgan began, pouring tea into floral cups. "What's it like pretending to love my daughter for money?"

Damien choked slightly on the tea.

"Mom!" Lia's voice was sharp, defensive.

Mrs. Morgan raised a brow. "What? That's the agreement, isn't it?"

Damien set the cup down, meeting her gaze. "That was the agreement. But pretending gets harder by the day."

Silence followed. Lia stared at him. Mrs. Morgan blinked once before turning away, her mouth twitching in an unreadable way.

"Good answer," she murmured. "You may just be salvageable."

They stayed longer than expected. Lia gave Damien a tour of her old room, walls painted light blue, posters still taped in uneven rows. A bookshelf sat crooked in the corner, stacked with dog-eared novels.

"You were a nerd," Damien observed, running a finger along the spines.

"I still am."

He picked up a childhood photo, Lia missing two front teeth, grinning beside a woman who looked just like her.

"That's my aunt. She raised me when Mom was sick. We didn't have much, but I had stories. Stories got me through everything."

Damien's voice softened. "You're tougher than you let on."

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "You're softer than you pretend."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Lia looked away. "Come on. You haven't met Muffin."

"Muffin?"

Five minutes later, Damien was seated on the back porch, a scruffy, one-eyed cat glaring at him from the windowsill.

"She doesn't like strangers," Lia warned.

"She doesn't like me."

"She has taste."

As they prepared to leave, Mrs. Morgan pulled Lia aside.

"He's not what I expected," she admitted quietly.

"Better or worse?"

"Different." Her eyes held something like concern. "But be careful, Lia. When you play pretend too long, sometimes your heart forgets it's just a game."

Lia nodded, unsure of what to say.

In the car ride back, the silence was thoughtful.

Damien broke it. "Your mom's scary."

Lia laughed. "She has to be. Life never gave her a choice."

He glanced at her. "She loves you. I could see it."

"She also thinks I'm an idiot for marrying you."

"Maybe she's right."

Lia turned to him. "You're different today."

He shrugged. "Maybe it's easier being myself in your world than pretending in mine."

Her heart skipped.

Maybe, just maybe, this contract was shifting into something real.