Sienna stood frozen at the doorway of Damien's massive bedroom, staring at the enormous king-sized bed like it was a trap.
This was not happening.
She had agreed to play fiancée. She had agreed to move in. But now she was expected to share a bed with Damien Blackwood?
Nope.
Absolutely not.
"You're overthinking," Damien said, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt like he hadn't just turned her entire world upside down.
Sienna scoffed. "Overthinking? Damien, we barely know each other. And now you expect me to just—just crawl into bed next to you?"
He smirked, kicking off his shoes. "It's not like I bite."
Sienna shot him a glare. "I'd rather sleep on the floor."
Damien arched a brow, clearly amused. "Suit yourself." He walked toward the bed, pulling back the covers as if this was just another normal night for him.
Sienna turned away before she saw too much. He had already unbuttoned more of his shirt, and if she caught even a glimpse of his bare chest, she might actually combust.
Focus.
With a huff, she grabbed a pillow and a spare blanket from the neatly arranged set on the bed and dropped them onto the plush carpeted floor. "I'll sleep here."
Damien sighed, rubbing his temple. "You're being dramatic."
"No, I'm being reasonable," she shot back. "You do realize what people would say if they found out we weren't actually sleeping together, right?"
Damien's gaze darkened. "No one will find out."
Sienna narrowed her eyes. "You can't guarantee that."
Damien exhaled slowly, then climbed into bed. "Fine. Stay on the floor if it makes you feel better. But if you wake up sore and miserable, that's on you."
Sienna rolled her eyes and flopped down onto the makeshift bed. She turned her back to him, pulling the blanket over her body, and closed her eyes.
This was fine. Totally fine.
She could ignore the fact that Damien was right there, a few feet away, his presence filling the entire room.
She could ignore the scent of his cologne—dark, expensive, and far too intoxicating.
She could ignore the silence, thick with tension neither of them wanted to acknowledge.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Then—
"Are you really going to sleep on the floor all night?" Damien's voice was low, rough with exhaustion.
Sienna clenched her jaw. "Yes."
A beat of silence.
"Suit yourself."
She squeezed her eyes shut, determined to sleep.
Thirty minutes later, her back was killing her.
The carpet was soft, but not soft enough. And the air-conditioning? Too damn cold.
She groaned, curling into a tighter ball.
And then—
The bed shifted.
A second later, warmth surrounded her as something heavy draped over her.
Sienna's eyes flew open.
Damien was crouched beside her, his expression unreadable, as he pulled the thick duvet over her body.
Her breath caught. "What—"
"If you insist on sleeping down here, at least stay warm," he muttered.
Sienna stared at him, her heart pounding.
This was not the same smug billionaire she had been arguing with hours ago.
This Damien was softer, quieter.
Dangerous in a completely different way.
She swallowed hard. "I thought you didn't care."
His lips twitched. "I don't. I just don't need my fake fiancée getting sick."
Liar.
But she didn't argue.
Instead, she let the warmth of the blanket—and the heat of his presence—settle over her.
Damien lingered for a moment longer, his gaze locked onto hers. Then, without another word, he rose and returned to bed.
Sienna exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.
This arrangement was going to be so much harder than she thought.