Her Secret Room

The next morning, Alina woke to the soft hush of rain tapping against the windows. The storm had passed, but the skies remained a soft gray, casting a calm stillness across the estate. For the first time in days, she felt a strange sense of serenity — though she couldn't quite understand why. Maybe it was the rain, or maybe it was the memory of Damien's arms around her last night, holding her as if she mattered.

She blinked away the thought.

She was already dressed when she stepped out of the guest wing, avoiding the main hall where Damien usually brooded over his espresso and morning silence. She needed space. Not physical, but emotional. Time to center herself and remember the promise she'd made to herself: three months. That's all this marriage was.

Down the hallway, past the east gallery, she found a corridor she hadn't noticed before. The estate was so enormous that it felt like exploring a maze every time she wandered. This part of the house seemed… different. Less pristine. Less polished.

Curious, Alina trailed her fingers along the dusted wallpaper and pushed open an old wooden door. It creaked softly, revealing a narrow staircase leading downward. Her instincts told her to turn back — but something in her heart pushed her forward.

When she reached the bottom, a musty scent filled her nose — aged paper, wood, and the faint scent of lilies.

Then she saw it.

A hidden room. Not a basement. Not a storage space. A place forgotten, yet full of memory.

Stacks of journals lined one wall. A grand piano stood in the corner, covered with a dust cloth. The walls were adorned with charcoal sketches — most of them of a woman. The same woman in each. Sometimes smiling, sometimes solemn. Sometimes holding a child.

Alina's breath caught. She didn't need to guess.

This was Damien's mother.

A soft click behind her startled her, and she turned to find Damien standing at the doorway, his shirt sleeves rolled up, a dark shadow in his eyes.

"You weren't supposed to find this room," he said quietly.

Alina's pulse quickened. "I didn't mean to intrude. I just… wandered."

Damien walked in slowly, his gaze moving from the piano to the journals, finally settling on her.

"She died when I was ten. My father locked this room after the funeral and never spoke of her again," he murmured. "I only found the key a few years ago. Since then, I come here when I want to remember her. Or when I forget who I am."

Alina's heart ached. Damien had never spoken about his mother. Not to the media. Not to anyone, as far as she knew.

"She was an artist?" she asked softly, stepping closer to the sketches.

"She was everything," he said. "Warm. Free-spirited. She made this place feel like home… before he turned it into a prison."

"He?" Alina asked, already knowing the answer.

"My father," Damien said. "He destroyed everything he couldn't control, and she was the first casualty."

Alina swallowed hard, her eyes scanning the drawing of the woman cradling a boy — Damien, no doubt. The boy had a bright smile, unguarded and open. So different from the man standing beside her now.

"I wish I'd met her," she whispered.

Damien looked at her for a long time. "She would've liked you."

Alina blinked, caught off guard. "Me?"

"She hated lies and cruelty. You're not like the world I live in, Alina. That's why I agreed to this marriage. I thought… maybe, if I brought someone kind into this house, it wouldn't feel so cold anymore."

The words struck her like lightning. So he had a reason. Something beyond business deals and power.

"Is that all I am to you?" she asked quietly. "A way to feel less alone?"

His jaw tightened. "You're not just anything. But I don't know how to give you more than that. Not yet."

Alina stepped back, the warmth she felt cracking under the weight of reality.

"I appreciate your honesty, Damien," she said. "But if we're doing this for three months, I need to know where I stand. I'm not someone who can survive on half-truths."

He looked torn — like part of him wanted to reach for her, and the other half didn't trust himself to.

"I can't promise you love, Alina," he said, voice low. "But I promise not to lie to you."

She nodded, heart heavy. "That'll do for now."

Later that evening, Alina found herself in the grand library, sipping tea and flipping through a book she couldn't focus on. Damien's words played over and over in her mind.

I can't promise you love.

Wasn't that the curse of every woman who fell for a man like him? Cold on the surface, complicated beneath. You think you're the exception. That somehow, you'll thaw his frozen heart. But most of the time, the frost wins.

She closed the book and stood, determined not to wallow.

She had plans of her own.

The next day, Alina contacted an interior designer. Not for herself, but for the orphanage she'd grown up in. Her sudden marriage to a billionaire had stunned the caretakers at Grace Haven, but they hadn't questioned her generosity when she'd started sending anonymous donations.

Now, she wanted to do more. Rebuild the cracked walls, stock the kitchen, renovate the nursery rooms. Her mother had left her there when she was only a baby. But the sisters had raised her with love — even if it was sometimes tough love.

This, she could do without Damien.

While finalizing details, a notification popped up on her phone — a calendar invite titled Charity Gala: Mandatory Appearance. The sender? Damien.

She sighed.

Back to the masquerade.

The night of the gala, Alina stepped out of the dressing room in a sleek black gown with crystal detailing around the neckline. It hugged her curves in all the right places, and the slit along her leg was just daring enough to remind the world that she was no longer the poor girl from nowhere.

Damien was already dressed — black suit, silver tie, and a look that could freeze the air in the room.

He turned, eyes trailing over her.

"You look…" He stopped, as if the words were trapped on his tongue. "Stunning."

She tilted her chin. "I know."

A small smirk tugged at the edge of his lips. "Ready to pretend we're madly in love for a room full of sharks?"

Alina's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I've been pretending all my life. Tonight will be easy."

But as his arm slid around her waist and they stepped into the flashing lights of a thousand cameras, she couldn't help but wonder—

What if one day, she wouldn't have to pretend anymore?