Chapter 7: Unspoken Fires
1105 Words
Ella woke to the sound of rain pattering against the windows, soft and persistent. The city skyline, usually a display of endless lights and movement, was cloaked in gray clouds, giving the world an almost melancholic stillness.
For once, she welcomed the gloomy morning. It matched the storm swirling inside her perfectly.
Slipping out of bed, she pulled on a silk robe and padded to the living room, hoping to find some solitude. Damian was rarely awake this early; mornings were her only chance to breathe freely without his shadow looming nearby.
But when she reached the living room, there he was.
Damian stood by the window, his back to her, phone in hand, as he spoke in a clipped tone. He was dressed in one of his perfectly tailored suits, the charcoal gray fabric hugging his broad shoulders. Even from across the room, Ella could see the tension in his posture.
“Cancel the meeting,” Damian said into the phone, his voice cold. “I don’t care what they think—I’ll deal with it myself.”
He ended the call abruptly, letting out a frustrated breath before finally turning around. When he saw Ella standing there, his sharp gaze softened just slightly, though his expression remained unreadable.
“You’re up early,” he said.
Ella shrugged, moving to the kitchen to pour herself some coffee. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Why?”
She shot him a look over her shoulder. “You don’t actually care, do you?”
Damian’s jaw ticked, but he said nothing. Ella turned back to her coffee, pouring it into a white mug and cradling it in her hands as she leaned against the counter.
She could feel him watching her—studying her, the way he always did, as though trying to solve a puzzle.
“Tonight is the gala,” Damian said finally, breaking the silence. “Be ready by seven. The media will be there.”
Ella stiffened. Another event. Another night of playing pretend.
“Do you ever get tired of it?” she asked quietly, not looking at him.
“Tired of what?”
“Pretending.”
Damian didn’t answer right away. When she finally turned to face him, he was watching her with an intensity that made her stomach flutter.
“It’s necessary,” he said. “You knew what you signed up for.”
Ella let out a bitter laugh. “You keep reminding me of that.”
“Because you need to remember,” Damian replied, his voice low. He stepped closer, his presence commanding. “This arrangement isn’t about feelings, Ella. It’s about survival—for both of us.”
She tilted her chin up defiantly. “Don’t worry, Damian. I’m not about to forget.”
Their gazes clashed, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with something unspoken—something dangerous. Ella’s pulse quickened, but she refused to look away.
Damian was the first to step back, his expression once again guarded. “Don’t be late tonight,” he said, turning toward his office. “And wear the dress I sent you.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Ella standing alone in the kitchen, her coffee forgotten.
The dress Damian had chosen for her was stunning—an emerald green gown that hugged her curves perfectly, with a plunging neckline and an open back. It was bold, far more daring than anything she would have chosen for herself.
He wants me to look the part, she thought bitterly, slipping on a pair of heels.
When Ella emerged from her room, Damian was already waiting by the door, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored black suit. His eyes lifted to meet hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his gaze—surprise, admiration, maybe even approval—but it was gone just as quickly.
“You look…” He paused, his voice quieter than usual. “Appropriate.”
Ella raised an eyebrow. “That’s the best compliment you can give me?”
Damian smirked faintly. “I’m not here to flatter you.”
“Clearly.”
He held out his arm to her, his expression once again unreadable. Ella hesitated before taking it, reminding herself that this was all part of the game. The cameras would be waiting. She couldn’t afford to let her discomfort show.
They descended the elevator in silence, and when the doors slid open to the lobby, Ella’s breath caught. A small army of photographers and reporters had gathered outside, their flashing cameras already visible through the glass doors.
“Smile,” Damian murmured as they stepped toward the entrance. “You’re supposed to look happy to be with me.”
Ella shot him a look. “I’ll do my best.”
The second they stepped outside, the chaos erupted. Camera shutters clicked furiously, voices shouting questions as they pushed forward, desperate for a quote or a photo.
“Damian! Over here!”
“Who’s the lucky woman?!”
“How did you two meet?”
“Ella! Can you tell us about the wedding?”
Damian tightened his grip on Ella’s hand, guiding her through the crowd with effortless confidence. He waved off the reporters with a charming but distant smile, every inch the polished billionaire they expected him to be.
Ella played along, smiling softly and letting him lead. On the outside, they looked perfect together—a powerful, untouchable couple. But inside, Ella felt like she was drowning.
Finally, they reached the waiting car, and the chauffeur opened the door. Damian helped her in before sliding in beside her, the noise of the crowd cut off the moment the door closed.
The silence in the car was deafening.
“You’re good at that,” Ella said quietly, staring out the window.
“At what?”
“Lying.”
Damian glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “It’s not lying. It’s control.”
Ella turned to face him, her eyes searching his face. “Do you ever get tired of it? Always being in control?”
His gaze darkened. “Control is the only thing keeping the world from falling apart.”
The car rolled to a stop in front of the gala venue, and before Ella could respond, Damian stepped out, holding out his hand for her once again. She took it without a word, pasting on her practiced smile as they faced the waiting cameras together.
Control.
It was the one thing Damian clung to.
And Ella was starting to wonder what would happen if he ever lost it.
- Writer
