Alina awoke to sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains, golden and warm — a rare peace in a house that often felt too large and too cold. For a fleeting second, she forgot everything: the fake marriage, the scrutiny, the man sleeping in the room across the hall with too many shadows behind his eyes.
But reality settled in the moment she checked her phone. A dozen headlines already featured their gala appearance.
"Lancaster's Mysterious Bride Stuns at Charity Ball.""Power Couple or Power Play?""The New Queen of High Society?"
Alina scrolled, expression unreadable. The pictures were flattering, but the commentary was venom in a honeyed cup.
She tossed the phone onto the bed and padded into the bathroom. The woman in the mirror wore silk and diamonds, but Alina still saw the girl who once rationed toothpaste and taped holes in her only pair of shoes. No amount of money could scrub away the truth.
She wrapped a robe around herself and made her way downstairs. The scent of coffee greeted her—rich, dark, and surprisingly fresh.
She stopped short when she saw Damien already at the breakfast table, a steaming mug in hand and reading a thick file.
He glanced up. "You're up early."
"So are you." She crossed the room, poured herself coffee. "Couldn't sleep?"
He didn't answer immediately. "I rarely do."
She sat across from him, careful not to meet his eyes. Silence stretched between them like a taut wire.
Finally, Damien closed the file. "I have meetings today. You're free to do whatever you'd like."
Her brow lifted. "How generous."
He offered a faint smirk. "Don't spend all my money in one day."
"I'll try to resist the urge to buy another diamond chandelier."
He chuckled under his breath, the sound so rare she looked up, startled. Damien's features had softened just a bit — less CEO, more man. Human.
"What are you reading?" she asked.
He hesitated, then slid the file toward her.
She opened it — pages filled with contracts, reports, and something else. Something more personal.
"Is this…" she trailed off, heart skipping. "Your mother's case?"
He nodded once. "You offered to listen. I'm giving you the chance."
Alina's chest tightened. "I wasn't expecting that. You don't seem like the type to trust easily."
"I'm not." His eyes darkened. "But you've proven you don't flinch."
She read over the documents — witness testimonies, coroner reports, hospital notes from years ago. The official story was suicide, but Damien had marked inconsistencies in red ink. Things the police ignored. Details that didn't add up.
"This—this is a cover-up," she whispered.
"I know."
"Who would want her dead?"
He took a sip of coffee. "That's what I'm trying to find out."
Alina stared at the papers again, a pit growing in her stomach. "Do you think it was someone in your family?"
His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked haunted. "I think... my father knows more than he's admitted."
A chill ran down her spine. Damien had grown up in this mansion — behind the gates and privilege, he'd lived among whispers and threats.
Alina closed the file gently. "What do you need me to do?"
Damien's gaze met hers. "Just don't leave."
She blinked. "What?"
"I've had investigators, analysts, lawyers. They all failed. I don't need another expert. I need someone who doesn't lie to me."
"I'm not here to play detective," she said softly.
"I know." He looked tired. "But maybe, with you here, I'll be able to see what I've been missing."
It wasn't a romantic confession. It wasn't even particularly warm. But in his own guarded way, Damien was asking for her presence — maybe even her strength.
And that was enough.
Later that day, Alina sat in the greenhouse behind the estate. It was the only place that felt untouched by politics or grief. Rows of orchids bloomed in soft hues — white, purple, blush — delicate yet resilient.
She traced a petal with her fingertip, her mind spinning.
Damien's mother hadn't just died — she had been silenced. And Damien, for all his wealth and power, had been a boy left to fend for himself. His coldness wasn't cruelty; it was armor.
Alina understood armor. She'd worn it most of her life.
She heard footsteps behind her.
"I thought I'd find you here," Damien said, stepping into the glass-domed warmth.
"It's peaceful here," she murmured.
He nodded. "My mother loved this place."
She looked at him. "What was she like?"
He paused, the question catching him off guard. "Kind. Sharp. Too honest for the circles she moved in."
"And your father?"
Damien's expression darkened. "Manipulative. He used charm like a weapon. And he hated that she wouldn't play along."
Alina felt a pang of sympathy. "You think he had something to do with it."
"I think," Damien said slowly, "he loved power more than he loved her. And when she threatened that... she became expendable."
It was a heavy accusation, spoken in a tone so calm it was terrifying.
Alina stepped closer. "What if you're right? What will you do?"
Damien met her gaze, steel in his eyes. "Then I'll destroy him. Piece by piece."
A chill passed through her. Damien wasn't just angry — he was methodical. This wasn't revenge out of rage. It was justice carved into a long, slow war.
She reached out before she could stop herself, placing her hand on his chest. "Just promise me you won't lose yourself along the way."
His breath caught. "And if I already have?"
"Then I'll find you."
Silence fell again — charged and intimate.
He covered her hand with his. "You shouldn't care."
"Maybe I shouldn't." She looked up. "But I do."
And just like that, something shifted. A wall cracked.
Damien leaned down, slowly, like he was giving her the chance to pull away. But she didn't. She couldn't.
Their lips met — tentative at first, a question more than an answer.
It wasn't passionate. It wasn't rushed.
It was soft. Sincere. A connection formed in the cracks of pain and history.
When they pulled apart, Damien didn't speak. He simply pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed.
And in that moment, Alina realized she was no longer just playing a role.
She was falling.