Chapter 2: Under the Same Roof
787 Words
The penthouse was silent. Too silent.
Aria stood in the middle of the living room, suitcase at her feet, staring at a view that cost more than her mom’s entire treatment. Floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights stretching endlessly below. The kind of place you only saw in magazines.
“Your room is down the hall,” Damien said, dropping his keys on the marble counter. “Second door on the left. Don’t go in the third door. That’s my office.”
She didn’t miss the way.
Like this place, like her now, belonged to him.
“You expect me to live here?” Aria asked, setting the contract down on the counter. The ink on her signature was barely dry. “With you?”
“For the next year, yes,” Damien replied, loosening his tie. “We need to be seen together. Publicly. If the paparazzi catch us living separately, the deal falls apart.”
“So this is all for show?” She laughed, but it came out brittle. “You couldn’t even give me a separate bedroom?”
“I gave you the guest suite,” he said, eyes dark. “With a lock.”
Aria opened her mouth, then shut it. Arguing with him was exhausting, and she’d already used up all her energy signing away a year of her life.
Damien seemed to sense it. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Look, Aria. I know this is weird. But we can make it easy. No drama. We keep to our sides of the apartment. Show up to events together. Smile for the cameras. That’s it.”
Easy.
He said it like three years of silence and a broken engagement could be wiped clean with a few rules.
“Fine,” she said. “Easy.”
An hour later, she regretted agreeing to anything.
The guest suite was massive, but it felt empty. Sterile. Like it hadn’t been lived in for years. Aria unpacked slowly, trying not to think about the fact that Damien was just down the hall.
A knock at the door made her jump.
“Room service,” his voice came through, muffled. “Dinner.”
She opened the door a crack. He stood there with a tray, wearing only a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His forearms were unfair.
“I didn’t order anything,” she said.
“You didn’t eat all day,” he replied. “Eat.”
Aria hesitated, then took the tray. The smell of truffle pasta hit her instantly. Her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl.
Damien’s lips quirked.
“See? Practical.”
She stepped aside to let him in, immediately regretting it. The suite felt smaller with him inside. His presence filled the space, like it always had.
He set the tray on the coffee table, then turned to face her.
“How’s your mom?”
Aria froze.
“What?”
“I had them transfer her to a private room this afternoon,” Damien said casually, like he was talking about the weather. “Better care. Better staff.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered.
“I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “But I wanted to.”
The room went quiet. Too quiet again. Aria could hear her own heartbeat, loud and traitorous.
Damien stepped closer. Not too close. But close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. The same eyes that had looked at her like she was the only person in the world once.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Aria,” he said softly. “We’re stuck with each other for a year. Might as well not hate each other the whole time.”
Aria swallowed.
“And if I can’t do that?”
“Then fake it,” he said. “For the cameras. For your mom. For me.”
His thumb brushed against her wrist as he reached past her to adjust the tray. It was accidental. Barely a touch.
But it sent a spark up her arm anyway.
Aria pulled back like she’d been burned.
“Don’t touch me, Damien.”
His expression flickered. Hurt? She couldn’t tell before it was gone, replaced by that cold, controlled mask he always wore.
“Noted,” he said. He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
“We have a gala on Saturday. Be ready by seven. And Aria…”
She looked up.
“Try not to hate me too much before then.”
The door closed behind him, leaving her alone with the pasta, the contract, and the memory of his touch.
- Writer
