LIVING WITH MR.VALE

CHAPTER 5: THE DRESS

I almost wore something else.

I had bought this dress on a whim, and now it was just hanging in my closet, making me wonder why I'd even gotten it in the first place. The color was a rich burgundy, and it fit pretty well, nipping in at the waist and hitting just above my knees. But the back was really low, and every time I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt a little unsure - I'd told myself it was classy, but a part of me thought it might be a bit too much. I'd tried it on a couple of times before the party, but I just couldn't seem to commit, and I'd ended up taking it off again, feeling uncertain.

I slipped it on for the third time that evening, just as the gala was getting underway, and then forced myself to walk away before I could talk myself out of it.

Damien stood patiently at the foot of the stairs, waiting.

He was dressed in a sharp black suit that seemed tailored to fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His phone was clutched in his hand, and his face wore a look of annoyance, like he'd been waiting for what felt like an eternity. As I made my way down the stairs, he glanced up, his eyes locking onto mine with a hint of impatience.

He didn't say anything.

I caught him looking at me, just for a moment, before he turned away. His jaw tightened, and I could see the tension in his face. He shoved his phone into his pocket, his movements sharp and abrupt.

"Ready?" he said.

He spoke in a totally flat tone, no emotion whatsoever. If I hadn't seen his face, I wouldn't have had a clue what he was really thinking.

"Ready," I said.

The fancy party was held in a big hotel room that was made to impress. It had fancy lights, nice tables with white tablecloths, and a group of musicians playing music that nobody was really listening to. The room was filled with people who go to these kinds of events all the time, so they were all good at looking calm and cool while still keeping an eye on everyone else. They were like pros at being social, but you could tell they were all still trying to figure out who was who and what was going on. It was one of those events where everyone looks happy and relaxed, but really they're all just trying to make a good impression.

Damien walked through the place like he was the boss, and in a way, he kind of was. After all, he had given a lot of money to get his name on the program. Everyone he met was really friendly, shaking his hand and laughing at his jokes. But you could tell they were all trying to get on his good side, because they wanted something from him. Damien was being his usual polite and calm self, not giving away anything about what he was really thinking. He was good at putting on a show in public, and he wasn't about to let his guard down now.

I sat with him for a while, about an hour, and tried to look calm. I sipped my champagne slowly, not wanting to do anything that might seem out of place.

The flirting started during the second hour.

I met this guy, probably in his early thirties, who said he was into property development, but that's not what he really wanted to talk about. He wasn't exactly being subtle about it either. The way he looked at me, holding my gaze for just a fraction of a second too long, and flashing this charming smile - it was like he was used to getting a certain reaction from people. I played it cool, though, and was polite, even if I wasn't really feeling it.

I knew, with a sense of clarity, that Damien was aware of something. He was talking to someone just a couple of metres away, but he hadn't turned around - yet I could tell by the way he was standing, the way his shoulders had shifted, that he had noticed whatever it was. It was a subtle change, but one that I was starting to recognise, a slight tension in his posture that suggested he was paying attention to something, or someone, other than the person he was speaking to.

Another guy showed up at dinner, sitting a couple of seats down from me, and he was really charming, but in a way that made me think he was trying too hard. He asked me about my degree and actually paid attention to what I had to say, which was nice, and he even made me laugh a few times. By the time they were taking our plates away, Damien had hardly said a word to the person next to him, which was kind of weird.

I told myself I wasn't doing it on purpose.

I wasn't entirely sure that was true.

The dancing started after dinner, and somewhere in the loose, warm atmosphere of a room full of people who had been drinking good wine for two hours, I ended up on the floor with the man from dinner, whose name was Oliver and who was, I was privately acknowledging, objectively handsome in an entirely uncomplicated way that involved no history and no rules and no feelings I had been managing unsuccessfully for three years.

As we swayed to the rhythm, his hand rested on my waist, and I felt at ease, our movements fluid and natural. He whispered something in my ear, and I couldn't help but smile, feeling carefree, like everything was okay. But then, my gaze drifted across the room, and my eyes landed on Damien, standing there, watching me, and suddenly, the moment wasn't so fine anymore.

He just stood there, frozen in a sea of moving bodies, his glass hovering in his hand, empty and forgotten. His eyes were fixed on me, not on the crowd, but on me, like he was trying to see right through me. I could feel Oliver's hand on my waist, a gentle touch, but Damien's gaze made me feel like we were doing something wrong. The tiny gap between us seemed to be bothering him, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern, like he was trying to figure out what was going on between us.

His face was calm and composed, but his eyes told a different story. They seemed to be battling between a chilly distance and a warmth that was trying to break through, creating a turbulent mix that was hard to read. It was like a storm brewing, unsure whether to unleash its fury or simmer down into a gentle rain.

I felt the heat of it from across the room.

Oliver just kept on talking, but I had totally tuned out by then. I had no idea what he was going on about anymore.

Damien put his glass down and stood up, walking across the room with a calm and deliberate air, like a man who had decided that being polite was no longer necessary. He stopped next to us, and Oliver, sensing the change in mood, took a step back, giving him some space. There was something about Damien's movement that commanded attention, a sense of purpose that was hard to ignore. As he stood there, the atmosphere in the room seemed to shift, like the air had grown heavier, and Oliver's subtle retreat was a testament to the fact that he had picked up on it right away.

"Give me a minute," Damien told him, his voice firm, leaving no room for discussion.

Oliver glanced at us, then made a swift and reasonable choice. "Alright," he said, and with that, he was off.

Damien's eyes locked onto mine, his face a picture of restraint. As he stood closer, I noticed the faintest hint of tension in the muscles around his mouth, a subtle giveaway that he was working to keep his emotions in check. His body was rigid, as if he was willfully choosing to remain still, his movements carefully controlled, one deliberate second at a time. The air seemed to vibrate with the effort he was exerting to maintain this facade of calmness, and I found myself wondering what was really going on beneath the surface.

"You were done dancing," he said.

My heart was racing, doing this weird thing that caught my attention. I wondered, was I really feeling this way?

"Yes."

I stood there, my heart racing, as he turned and walked away through the crowd. For a moment, I just froze, unsure of what to do next. But then, without really thinking about it, I decided to follow him. There was just something about the look on his face as he crossed the room that had caught my attention, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to know what was going on. It was a look that was going to stay with me for a long time, and I found myself wanting to understand what had caused it. So, I took a deep breath and followed him, weaving through the crowd as I tried to keep up with his long strides.

The drive home was silent.

It wasn't the kind of silence you'd find in a kitchen late at night, all warm and cozy. This was different, it had a sharp edge to it. Damien drove with one hand on the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, and not a word came out of his mouth for the entire forty-minute drive. The quiet between us was thick with all the things we weren't saying, and it felt like it was physically pushing against my skin, making me feel uneasy.

I kept my eyes on the window. My reflection looked back at me, faint and uncertain, and outside the city lights moved past in long streaks of gold and white.

He pulled into the driveway and cut the engine and still didn't speak. I unbuckled my seatbelt. I had my hand on the doorknob.

"Aurora."

He said my name, just like he always did, low and steady. But tonight, there was something different, something beneath the surface. It was like the usual control he had over his voice had started to unravel, just a little, in the last few hours. The edges were rough, and you could hear the strain of him trying to keep it together.

I turned to look at him.

He was staring right at me, and for a change, he didn't turn away. The dim light from the driveway highlighted the sharp lines of his face and the grey in his eyes, and what I saw there was different from the empty expression he usually wore. It was something that made the air inside the car feel thick and heavy, like it was pressing in on me. His eyes seemed to be holding a lot, and it was making me feel kind of trapped, like I couldn't look away even if I wanted to. The way he was looking at me was intense, and it was like the whole world had narrowed down to just the two of us, sitting there in the car, with only the sound of our own breathing breaking the silence.

He stared at me for what felt like an eternity, his words hanging in the air, unspoken. Then, without a word, he stepped out of the car.

As I stepped inside with him, the soft click of my heels on the floor was the only sound that broke the silence. The house seemed to wrap itself around us, quiet and still, like it always did. Damien came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, his back to me. His hand was clenched around the newel post, and I could see the tension in his shoulders, the slow, deliberate rise and fall of his chest as he took a deep breath.

Then he turned around.

His expression was like a door that had suddenly swung open, revealing everything he had been hiding behind a mask of calmness for so long. It was as if the glass wall he had built around himself had finally shattered, and all his emotions were now laid bare, stopping me dead in my tracks.

He moved a little closer, just one step, but it was enough to make the air around us feel different. I could sense the change in the space between us, even though he was still out of reach.

"Go upstairs," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Before I forget all the reasons I should be keeping my distance from you."

The hallway was completely silent.

My heart was pounding so hard I thought for sure he could hear it beating.

I went upstairs.