Chapter Eight: The First Real Kiss

The tension had been building for days.

Ever since Vanessa's unexpected return and the emotional chaos she brought with her, Lia had been more on edge than ever. Damien had become distant, unreadable. He didn't speak much during meals, and when he did, it was clipped and cautious, as if afraid of saying the wrong thing. And Lia hated how much it affected her.

She wasn't supposed to care.

Not about his moods. Not about his past. Not about him.

But she did.

So when Gloria casually mentioned Damien would be late again that night, Lia had had enough.

"Is he always this... inconsistent?" she asked sharply, folding her arms as she stood in the kitchen.

Gloria paused mid-slice of a lemon tart. "In work, yes. In emotions... more than he admits."

Lia sighed, walking toward the window where dusk settled like a secret over the city skyline. "He treats me like a glass he doesn't know how to hold. One second warm, the next freezing cold."

"Maybe he's scared he'll drop you," Gloria said softly.

That silenced her.

Damien arrived later that night, his jacket slung over one shoulder and his expression carved from stone. Lia didn't greet him. She didn't even look up from the book she wasn't reading.

He paused by the door, as if sensing the storm in the air.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Depends," Lia said, eyes still fixed on the page. "Are we still pretending this marriage is just a business arrangement?"

Damien blinked. "It is. Isn't it?"

She slammed the book shut. "You don't get to act jealous of my every interaction, then retreat behind your cold wall and pretend none of it matters. It's exhausting."

He stepped forward. "I never pretended not to care."

"No?" she asked, rising to her feet. "Then what would you call how you've been acting since Vanessa showed up? You shut me out. You won't talk. You're hiding something, Damien. And I'm tired of guessing what it is."

His jaw ticked. "She doesn't matter anymore."

"You say that, but every time she's around, I feel like I disappear. Like I'm back to being just a name on a contract."

There was a pause.

And then he moved.

Quickly. Desperately.

He crossed the room and gripped her by the arms, not roughly, but firmly, like he needed to anchor himself.

"You never disappeared," he said, voice rough. "You started showing up everywhere, here, in my house, in my head and I haven't figured out how to handle it."

Her breath caught.

"I don't want to be handled, Damien," she whispered.

His eyes dropped to her lips.

Neither of them moved.

The space between them sizzled.

Then, suddenly, their mouths met.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't polite. It was fire and frustration, longing and confusion, all rolled into one breathless collision. Damien's hands slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him. Lia's fingers tangled in his shirt, as if holding on for balance while the world tilted.

His mouth was warm and desperate.

Hers was searching and furious.

And for a moment, everything else, Vanessa, the contract, the pretending, faded.

It was just them.

Only them.

Until it wasn't.

Damien pulled back first, breathing hard. "I..."

Lia stepped away, eyes wide. "We can't."

"I didn't plan to..."

"It was a mistake," she said, too quickly.

They stared at each other, hearts pounding.

Silence.

Then Damien gave a stiff nod. "Right. A mistake."

And he turned, walking away like nothing had happened.

But that night, neither of them slept.

Lia lay in bed, lips still tingling, mind replaying every second of that kiss.

Damien stood by the window in his

room, staring out into the darkness with clenched fists.

The mask had cracked.

And they both knew it.