Chapter 5: Silent Wars

Chapter 5: Silent Wars

I got home utterly exhausted, my shoulders heavy with the weight of the day. Frustration simmered inside me like a storm I couldn't calm. Why was Damien treating me like some obedient pet? What the hell did that man think I was?

I was still lost in my thoughts when my mother's voice broke through.

"Zara, dear, you're back! How was work? Did the talk with the investors go well?"

"Yes, Mum," I said, forcing a small smile. "They won't be pulling out their shares anymore."

Of course, I wasn't about to tell her that my fake boyfriend had stepped in and handled it for me.

"Ohhh! That's wonderful, my dear!" Her face lit up like the morning sun. "I'm so glad they finally came to their senses."

I nodded and tried to return her excitement with a smile, though all I wanted was to collapse into bed.

"I know you must be hungry," she continued. "I'll tell Celine to get you some food."

I wasn't even sure I wanted to eat. My stomach felt tight, my mind too cluttered to care about food.

"No, Mum… don't bother. I still need to finish up the drafts for my new collection. Maybe I'll eat later."

"That's what you said the last time, and you ended up skipping dinner!" she said, her tone sharp with concern. "You're getting too skinny, Zara. You need your strength. I don't want you collapsing from exhaustion."

I sighed, the corner of my lips tugging up. "Alright, Mum. I'll eat."

"That's my girl!" she said with satisfaction. Then she raised her voice. "Celine! Bring Zara some food she's starving!"

I rolled my eyes. I didn't remember saying I was starving, but fine.

"By the way," my mum added, her voice casual but laced with warmth, "your brother is coming next week. He heard about what happened, and he's been worried."

I paused mid-motion, my brow arched. My brother? Worried? That was new.

"If he's so worried, why didn't he call me?" I asked, the skepticism in my tone obvious.

"He said he wants to see you in person. That he doesn't want to talk over the phone."

"Hmm… okay then. Till next week," I said with a shrug.

Celine returned with my meal, and the moment the aroma hit my nose, I realized how hungry I actually was. I didn't just eat I devoured it.

My mum's satisfied gaze stayed glued to me, her expression saying I told you so.

After a few minutes of silence, she spoke up.

"Zara… is Damien treating you well?"

"Yes, Mother," I said quickly, not even hesitating—though every word was a lie. The last thing I wanted tonight was to hear Damien's name.

"Have you met his family?" she asked suddenly.

I dropped my fork, the clatter echoing across the table.

"Mother," I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "We just started dating. It's not like we're planning to get married tomorrow. We're taking things step by step."

She leaned back in her chair, but her eyes were still sharp. "I really hope he prioritizes your relationship and doesn't play any funny games with you. Because I swear, Zara, if he hurts you—" her voice rose, fierce and protective, "—I will kick him right in the groin."

I almost choked on my food, laughter spilling out before I could stop it.

My mum… she was a lioness, through and through.

Damien's sleek black SUV slid into the garage of his penthouse apartment, the hum of the engine echoing briefly before the silence swallowed it whole. He had been bouncing between his apartment and his family home all week—a place he despised visiting. But for the sake of family tradition, and the few people there he still gave a damn about, he forced himself to endure it.

Inside, Damien tossed his keys onto the marble counter and sank into the leather couch. He pulled out a cigar, lit it with a flick of his lighter, and let the smoke curl lazily into the air. A glass of whiskey sat within reach, amber liquid catching the dim light as he took a slow sip.

His eyes fell to the other copy of the contract lying on the table. He picked it up, flipping through the pages with an amused smirk. The memory of Zara's shocked expression when she discovered the hidden terms made the corner of his lips curl higher.

He set the file down and leaned back, preparing to unwind. But then it hit him—a sharp, splitting pain tore through his head like a lightning strike.

"Ahh… fuck…" Damien groaned, gripping his temples. His vision blurred, the edges of the room spinning. He forced himself to stand, staggering toward the cabinet where he kept his medication.

Except it wasn't there.

His chest tightened with frustration. He slammed his fist against the wall, the impact echoing through the quiet room. "Damn it!"

Just then, his housekeeper an older man who had been tidying up rushed out from the kitchen, startled by Damien's groan.

"Sir! What's wrong? Is it your head again?"

"Where the hell are my drugs?!" Damien snarled, his voice rough with pain.

The housekeeper froze, his hands trembling. He knew Damien hated when anyone touched his things—he was obsessive about order. "S-sir, I… I might've moved them while cleaning. Let me check the drawers!"

He scrambled to search every surface, drawers banging open and shut, panic etched into every movement as Damien's groans deepened. The air was thick with tension and the sharp scent of tobacco.

Finally, the housekeeper spotted the small bottle lying across the ottoman. Relief flooded his face. "Here, sir! I found it!"

Damien snatched the bottle and dry-swallowed two pills, chasing them with a hard gulp of whiskey. He didn't have the patience to wait for water.

Minutes passed. Slowly, the pain began to dull, his breaths evening out. His knuckles, still red from punching the wall, flexed as he exhaled a heavy sigh.

"Don't ever touch my things without my permission again," Damien said, his voice low, lethal. The warning in his tone was enough to send a chill down the housekeeper's spine.

"Y-yes, sir. I'm sorry… it won't happen again," the man stammered before scurrying into the kitchen, desperate to get out of his sight.

Damien ran a hand through his hair, the exhaustion weighing on him like lead. For a moment, he simply sat there, his gaze drifting to the contract again.

As Damien sat on the couch, his gaze lingered on the contract lying open on the table. His thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of his phone. He picked it up and glanced at the screen.

"Hey Damien, how've you been? Hope you missed me, because I for sure missed you like crazy. Guess what? I'll be back next week!!! I can't wait to see you, Mom, Dad, and Grandfather. I'm so excited! Love you!!

Xoxo, Pearl."

Damien stared at the message for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint scoff, he locked the screen and tossed the phone onto the other couch without a second thought.

He reached for his whiskey, drained what was left in the glass, and grabbed his cigar. With slow, deliberate steps, he headed upstairs.

He'd had more than enough for one night.