Under the Same Roof
1159 Words
Aria had expected Damian’s home to be cold.
Impersonal. Sterile. Something that matched his ruthless, calculating nature.
What she hadn’t expected was… this.
The moment she stepped inside, she was hit with the scent of polished wood and something darker—leather, smoke, and a faint hint of sandalwood that was unmistakably him. The house itself was vast, all glass walls and high ceilings, the kind of place that screamed wealth without needing to try. Yet it wasn’t empty. No, it was lived in. Books stacked neatly on a shelf. A jacket tossed carelessly over the arm of a chair. A half-finished glass of whiskey resting on the counter.
It was a contradiction, much like the man himself.
“Pick your jaw up, Carter,” Damian’s voice drawled from behind her. “You’re drooling on my floor.”
Her spine snapped straight. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just trying to figure out how many companies you crushed to pay for this palace.”
He smirked, loosening his tie as he stepped past her. “Two, maybe three. Depends on how you count.”
She scowled. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable,” he shot back easily.
Her hands curled around the handle of her suitcase. “Where’s this so-called spare room?”
He gestured lazily to the sweeping staircase. “Upstairs. Second door on the left. Try not to snoop through the rest of the house on your way.”
She gritted her teeth, dragging her bags up the steps. Every part of her screamed to turn around, to throw his offer back in his face, but reality clung to her like chains. She had nowhere else to go.
The room was beautiful, of course. Large bed, pale curtains, a view of the glittering city skyline. She hated it instantly. Hated that it was perfect. Hated that it belonged to him.
Dropping her suitcase on the floor, Aria sat on the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands. What had she done? How had she allowed herself to end up here, in his house, at his mercy?
Her phone buzzed, dragging her back to reality. A message from her best friend, Sophie:
How’d it go? Did you get the promotion?
Aria’s chest tightened. She typed back with trembling fingers: No. Hale got it. Again.
A pause, then another message: I’m so sorry, babe. Want me to come over with wine and ice cream?
Aria stared at the glowing screen. How could she explain? Actually, I’m living in his house now. I have no choice. Sophie would lose her mind.
She locked her phone and shoved it aside, collapsing backward onto the mattress. Maybe if she closed her eyes, the world would reset. Maybe when she woke, this would all be a nightmare.
But no such mercy came.
A knock on the door jolted her upright. “What?”
The door creaked open, and Damian leaned against the frame, one brow arched. He had changed into a simple black T-shirt and sweatpants, his damp hair pushed back casually, and somehow he looked even more annoyingly irresistible like this—relaxed, at home, in his element.
“I thought you’d want dinner,” he said. “Or do you plan on sulking on an empty stomach?”
Aria crossed her arms. “I’ll order takeout.”
“You won’t need to.” He jerked his head toward the hallway. “Come downstairs.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Since when do you cook?”
“I don’t.” His smirk deepened. “But my chef does.”
Of course. Because Damian Hale wasn’t the type of man to wield a frying pan when he could hire someone else to do it better.
Still, her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Damian chuckled, low and satisfied. “Thought so. Let’s go, princess.”
Dinner was torture. Not because of the food—it was exquisite, every bite melting on her tongue—but because of him. Damian sat across the long dining table, watching her with sharp eyes that saw too much. He didn’t talk much, only made occasional comments that were half-tease, half-truth.
“You eat like you’re preparing for battle,” he said at one point.
She glared at him over her fork. “That’s because sitting across from you is a battle.”
His lips curved. “Then I hope you lose. I like watching you surrender.”
Her fork clattered against the plate. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you’re still here.”
Aria pushed her plate away, appetite gone. “Don’t mistake necessity for desire. The only reason I’m under this roof is because I had no other option.”
Damian leaned back, swirling the wine in his glass. His gaze locked on hers, unwavering. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Her pulse stuttered. She hated that his words slipped under her skin, leaving traces of something she couldn’t shake.
After dinner, she fled back to her room, closing the door firmly behind her. But sleep wouldn’t come. Not with the weight of him pressing against her thoughts.
Why had he done it? Why had Damian Hale, her sworn rival, decided to save her from eviction? What did he want in return?
The answer, she suspected, would destroy her.
---
Hours later, long after midnight, Aria crept out of her room in search of water. The house was quiet, shadows stretching across marble floors. She tiptoed through the kitchen, reaching for a glass—
“Couldn’t sleep?”
She nearly dropped it. Spinning around, she found Damian leaning against the counter, a glass of whiskey in hand, his eyes glinting in the dim light.
“What is wrong with you?” she hissed. “Do you lurk in the dark just to scare people?”
He smirked. “Maybe I was waiting for you.”
Her throat tightened. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Not flattery. Fact.” He took a slow sip, his gaze never leaving hers. “You’re restless, Carter. I could hear you pacing from down the hall.”
Heat crept up her neck. “Maybe I’m restless because I’m stuck living with the last person on earth I’d ever want to see.”
“Funny,” Damian murmured, stepping closer, his voice low and dangerous. “Because I don’t mind seeing you at all.”
Her breath caught. He was too close, the faint scent of whiskey and sandalwood wrapping around her. She took a step back, heart hammering. “Stay away from me.”
He tilted his head, studying her with a predator’s patience. “If that’s what you really want.”
It wasn’t. God help her, it wasn’t.
Aria turned sharply, clutching her glass of water like a lifeline. “Goodnight, Hale.”
And she fled, before the walls she had built around herself could crumble any further.
- Writer
