Chapter Nine: The New Routine

Lia had expected awkwardness after the kiss.

The kind of silence that stretched into avoidance, and eyes that darted away the moment they met. But instead, something else bloomed. Not comfort, exactly, but a quiet shift. A charged awareness in the air that made breathing feel heavier.

The morning after, Damien didn't mention it. Neither did she. But something had changed.

The way his eyes lingered a fraction too long when she walked into the room. The way her skin warmed when his hand brushed hers while reaching for the coffee pot. Their exchanges were still curt, their banter sharp but the edge had dulled.

They were acting like a couple. Not just in front of the world, but when no one was watching.

The public appearances increased.

Damien's PR team was pushing a new narrative; the cold billionaire and his mysterious, graceful wife. Suddenly, Lia found herself on the covers of society magazines, her smile rehearsed, her dresses custom-fitted.

At a charity auction, a reporter asked her, "How does it feel being the woman who tamed Damien Cross?"

Lia's laugh was polite, her reply smooth. "I didn't tame anyone. He just lets me in."

Damien's gaze snapped to hers, something unreadable in his expression. He didn't correct her. Didn't scoff. Just took her hand in his as if he meant it.

Back at the penthouse, the air was different.

Gloria had noticed it too.

"You two are starting to move in rhythm," she said one evening as she arranged a bouquet on the dining table.

Lia blinked. "What does that mean?"

"It means you don't flinch around each other anymore. He watches you like you matter now."

Lia shrugged, but her stomach flipped. "It's just practice."

"Maybe. Or maybe the practice is becoming real."

One evening, Lia walked into the library, surprised to find Damien there, not buried in emails or pacing with a phone glued to his ear, but sitting in the armchair, a book open in his lap.

"Did the world end?" she teased.

He looked up, that rare half-smile forming. "I do read, you know."

"Contracts and financial forecasts don't count."

"This one has dragons."

She blinked. "You're reading fantasy?"

He shrugged. "Gloria said I needed 'imagination.'"

Lia laughed and curled up on the opposite armchair with a book of her own. For the first time, they read in silence, not as strangers occupying the same space, but like people who had nothing to prove.

And when she fell asleep on the couch with her book on her chest, Damien covered her with a blanket before turning off the light.

The lines continued to blur.

Their routine settled; breakfast together if they woke up at the same time, silent companionship in the evenings, the occasional accidental brush of hands, shoulders, knees.

One night, during a storm, the power flickered out. Gloria had gone home, and the generator was delayed.

Lia lit candles in the kitchen while Damien rummaged for wine.

"This feels weirdly romantic," she said, handing him a match.

"Don't say that," he replied, but his smirk betrayed him.

They ended up on the balcony, drinking wine under the thunderclouds.

She turned to him. "Do you ever think about how this ends?"

Damien looked at her, really looked. "All the time."

She nodded slowly. "Me too."

Neither asked what the other meant.

Two days later, Vanessa returned.

Not with drama, but with a press release. She was opening an art gallery downtown, and her new relationship with a European designer was suddenly the talk of the town.

"Do you believe it?" Lia asked Damien as they read the news at breakfast.

"No. But I don't care."

"Not even a little?"

He shook his head. "The past is the past. She doesn't get to live rent-free in my head."

Lia's smile was faint. "Good."

She didn't say it aloud, but jealousy had begun to lose its sting. Because, for once, she didn't feel like the outsider in his life.

She was becoming part of it.

That weekend, Mrs. Morgan visited.

She'd been wary of Damien, but now, seeing them together, how he poured her daughter's tea without being asked, how Lia corrected his tie with a light touch, she seemed to relax.

After dinner, she pulled Lia aside.

"He's not what I expected."

Lia chuckled. "Neither was he."

Her mother looked at her closely. "But he makes you feel safe, doesn't he?"

Lia didn't answer immediately. But then she nodded. "Yes. He does."

That night, Lia stepped out onto the balcony again.

Damien was already there, staring at the city skyline.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. Just thinking."

"About us?"

He didn't respond, but she didn't need him to.

She stood beside him, their shoulders brushing.

No kiss. No declaration. Just quiet presence.

But somehow, it felt more intimate than anything else.

Because this was their new routine.

And it was starting to feel like home.