Beneath His Sheets

Fourteen

Grace's POV

Weeks have gone by since that confrontation with Damien.

It shouldn’t have happened.

That night shouldn’t have happened.

I keep telling myself that.

I thought he didn’t know it was me. I thought… somehow… the universe would spare me that humiliation. But he knew.

He knows.

When did he even find out?

Now he’s avoiding me, or at least pretending to. But somehow we’re having more accidental encounters than ever. Every time his eyes land on me, his jaw ticks, a tiny movement he probably thinks I don’t notice.

I notice.

It annoys me—

not because he’s angry,

but because I’m the reason.

So I do what I can.

When I hear his voice in another room, I go the other way.

When I sense him nearby, I hide behind tasks or walls or anything that keeps me out of his path.

I ask Kate to handle things involving him. She’s confused, probably piecing things together, but she doesn’t push. Thank God.

Rina, on the other hand… still tries.

Still makes comments.

Still looks at Damien like he’s a prize she’s determined to win.

Not subtle at all.

College is exhausting, but in a good way. I’m learning, meeting people, adjusting. Cian makes everything easier—he’s naturally funny, effortlessly playful, flirting sometimes but not in a heavy way. He makes the days lighter.

I’ve been balancing work and school fine so far.

And Damien…

Damien has been out of my mind.

Sort of.

It’s been three days since I last saw him. I hear he comes home, but we haven’t crossed paths—not even a shadow. I thought I’d feel relieved.

But then he appeared.

A tall blonde girl clinging to his arm.

Both of them stopping when they saw me.

His eyes met mine.

I froze, holding the basket of his laundry, and in that one second I saw something on his face—something I refuse to name.

Pain?

Embarrassment?

Guilt?

No.

No, I will not recognize that.

I bowed my head and walked away quickly, swallowing the tight sting in my chest.

By the time I reached my room, tears were already threatening.

Why am I crying?

Why the hell am I crying?

I was the one who snapped at him.

He snapped back.

We both said forget it.

And I’ve been trying. God knows I’ve been trying.

And sometimes, for a few hours, I really do forget.

Until I saw that woman clinging to him like he’d disappear if she let go.

And suddenly my chest shuddered with the memory of that night—

what he did,

what he said,

what we did.

Then the ugly thought came:

Maybe that night was nothing. Just another script. Another routine. Another woman he forgot by morning.

I tried to convince myself.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Maybe he only brings it up because technically… we didn’t go all the way.

Thank God.

At least I didn’t give up something that important.

I wiped my face and forced myself back to work.

I bumped into Rina, who looked irritated.

“Did he just bring a woman in here?”

“Get used to it,” I said, emotionless.

“He hasn’t in months,” Kate chimed in, appearing suddenly. “I thought he changed. Shame.”

Her disappointment in him stung me more than I expected.

I tried to push my thoughts aside by tending the garden. I had class in two hours—perfect distraction.

Less than an hour later, the blonde girl was storming out of the mansion. Rina followed her out with a victorious smirk and slammed the car door shut.

When she reached me, she whispered proudly, “I kicked her ass out the moment I walked in.”

She looked like she’d won a trophy.

“Madam Eve?” I knocked on her open door. “I’ll be leaving for class. It ends at 8:30 p.m.”

“Sure, dear,” she smiled, eyes glued to her phone. I never know if she’s reading or texting.

I waited for the driver at the entrance when Damien walked out.

He stopped, startled when he saw me.

I bowed my head, looked away.

Paul pulled up, greeted Damien politely, and opened the door for me. I thanked him and slid inside.

I was about to ask Paul how his day went when Damien suddenly opened the driver’s door and got in.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting in my car.”

Oh.

I immediately opened my door to get out, but he shut it quickly, leaning in—close enough that I could hear his breath, close enough that our noses nearly brushed.

My heart thundered.

Could he hear it?

His lips had a faint smear of lipstick. My face fell before I could hide it.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He reached for the seatbelt, pulled it across me, and clicked it in place.

“I’ll drive you.”

I said nothing.

“I was going to my office anyway,” he added.

I scoffed—too loudly.

Office?

Is that what he calls bars now?

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said quietly, voice low, almost apologetic. His eyes stayed on the road. He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t annoyed. He… sounded tired.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Dame—Sir.”

“You can call me Dame. Or Damien. When we’re alone.”

A beat.

“…if you want.”

“I don’t want to.”

I keep telling myself I need this boundary.

He’s my boss.

I’m just a maid.

And somehow, I need that line more than anything.

He drew a deep breath—like he understood. Or like he hated it.

Probably both.

The car ride felt quick, especially with my mind spiraling. What was he doing tonight? Where was he going? Where did he take her?

Where did he take me?

We stopped at the drop-off.

“I’ll pick you up later,” he said quietly.

I shut the door.

Cian was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He smiled wide.

“You’re late.”

“No, I’m not,” I said, checking my watch.

He handed me a chocolate bar.

“Here. You look tired. This might help with Professor Snooze-Fest later.”

I laughed, pulling trail mix from my bag.

“Step ahead of you.”

He grabbed my bag (again), ignoring my attempt to take it back. I just let him.

I glanced behind me one more time.

Damien’s car was still there.

Three whole seconds.

Then he drove off.