Rina stood in the hallway outside the master bedroom, fingers clenched tightly around the doorknob.
Behind the door was the room everyone assumed she would share with her new husband.
Damien Frost.
The man who had laid out his rules with all the warmth of a legal contract.The man who hadn't touched her since the wedding ended.
"This isn't a love story."
His voice still echoed in her head like a warning. Like a curse.
But tonight wasn't about love.
It was about surviving the lie.
She turned the knob.
The room was vast and dimly lit, decorated in muted grays and sharp lines—like the man who owned it. A single lamp cast long shadows across the bed's crisp, untouched sheets.
Damien was already inside.
He stood by the window, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a glass of something dark. His suit jacket was gone, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to reveal the lines of his collarbone.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, not turning around.
Rina swallowed. "I thought this was… where I was supposed to be."
Now he turned, slowly, as if assessing a report.
His gaze swept over her—her bare shoulders in the silk nightgown, her trembling hands—and landed on her face.
"This is a contract," he said softly. "Not a performance."
Rina flushed. "I wasn't trying to—"
"Relax," he interrupted, walking past her toward the armchair. "I won't touch you."
He sat down, legs crossed, as if this were a boardroom meeting and not their wedding night.
Rina stood frozen near the door. The tension in the room pressed against her chest like a weight.
He watched her for a moment, then gestured to the bed. "You can sleep here. I'll be in the study."
She nodded, unsure why her heart was beating so fast.It wasn't fear.It was something else.
Something she didn't want to name.
As Damien left the room, the door clicked shut behind him.
Rina exhaled for the first time in minutes.
She crossed the room and sank onto the edge of the bed, the silk sheets cool beneath her palms. The scent of his cologne lingered faintly in the air—clean, crisp, dangerous.
She touched her wrist, where her pulse fluttered like wings.What is wrong with me?This wasn't love.It was proximity. Pressure. Stress.
She laid down, pulling the sheets up to her chin, staring at the ceiling.
But her mind kept returning to his voice, his eyes, the way he'd said—
"You're not what I expected."
Somewhere past midnight, a sound startled her.
Footsteps.
She sat up.
The door creaked open.
Damien stepped inside, barefoot, shirt sleeves pushed up, hair slightly tousled like he'd been running his hands through it.
For the first time, he didn't look like a CEO.He looked like a man who hadn't slept in days.
"I forgot my watch," he said, walking toward the nightstand.
Rina nodded, clutching the blanket tighter.
But as he reached for the watch, he paused.
His eyes flicked to hers. "You're still awake."
"You are too."
He studied her, then said quietly, "You don't have to be afraid of me."
"I'm not," she whispered, though her heart was thundering.
Damien leaned slightly forward, just enough for the light to catch the shadows beneath his eyes. "Good."
And then he left again.
This time, he didn't close the door all the way.
Alone again, Rina lay there, wide awake, her chest rising and falling too fast.
She hated this.Not the silence. Not even the coldness.
She hated what was happening inside her—this strange, unfamiliar flutter of something dangerously close to longing.
She was supposed to lie.Not feel.Not react.
But Damien Frost—he was starting to unravel her.And she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold herself together.