CHAPTER 3
1256 Words
The streets leading to her house were lit with colorful LED lights like it was a walkway to paradise. I stared out the window, soaking in the scent of old money and expensive perfume drifting from the mansion.
As we arrived, the usual crowd gathered outside. Paparazzi lights flared, each flash trying to blind us all. Suits, gowns, camera flashes.
He took my hand, and I stiffened. I glanced down at our joined hands.
“Should I be concerned or flattered that you’re using me as your human shield?”
“Depends,” he smirked. “Are you armed?”
“Always.”
“Brilliant. I feel safer already.” He flashed the fakest smile to the cameras.
I turned to him, dryly. “Careful, Mr. Pearce. Hold my hand too long and someone might think you’re capable of feelings.”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty. I just outsource them to people like you—cold, efficient, and charmingly terrifying.”
“Sounds like love.”
He grinned. “Don’t tempt me, Fox.”
Inside, he let go and got dragged away by relatives and business partners. I looked around—no words could describe the sheer magnificence. From the architecture to the sculptures to the damn furniture, everything screamed heaven-on-earth.
I was so caught up, I didn’t hear the footsteps until he was right beside me.
“Miss Fox, wasn’t it?” Callum said, offering a handshake.
“Can I just call you Callum? 'Cause it’s gonna be confusing calling both of you Mr. Pearce,” I said, meeting his hand halfway with a firm shake.
“Callum it is,” he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets.
“Let me guess—Damien dragged you out here?”
“That obvious?” I smiled for real this time.
“Not really. But I doubt you came to work with a dress stuffed in your bag.”
Laughing, “Right, caught me. Your cousin forgot to mention impromptu dinner parties during the interview.”
“Well, glad you’re here. Finally, someone normal—no offense.” His eyes wandered.
“Looks like I’m not the only one you’re excited to talk to,” I said, following his gaze.
It landed stiffly on Jasmine. Of course. I wasn’t the only one dragged here. But the way he stared... hmm.
Just then, Damien reappeared, walking towards me. I noticed the way people turned as he passed.
“Looks like you're having fun,” I teased.
“Ugh, everyone’s asking the same damn thing,” he muttered.
“The same thing?”
“Damien, when are you getting married? Do you have a girlfriend? When are you bringing her home?” he said, mocking their voices and facial expressions so dramatically, I nearly doubled over.
I couldn’t stop laughing, trying to cover my mouth with my palm but failing.
“That was hilarious, Mr. Pearce.”
“Yeah, I can tell from your outburst.”
“What did you tell them?” I asked.
“I just laughed it off.”
“Mmm, not good, Mr. CEO.”
“Mr. CEO?”
“What? You don’t like it?”
“No—it’s just—” he cut off as his mother appeared.
Her aura silenced the room instantly. Her steps calculated, skin flawless, eyes sharp. She walked in like a queen whose crown had never slipped.
This… is what power looks like.
Standing next to Damien, who now wore a blank expression, I didn’t look away.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” her voice echoed. The crowd practically parted for her. Smiles, giggles, greetings. To outsiders, the Pearces looked perfect.
I took a sip of champagne and looked back at him.
“So… are you gonna say hi or…?”
“No. I—actually, I feel stuffy. Want to step outside?” he asked, already loosening his tie.
“Lead the way.”
We walked side by side in silence. I could feel the questions bubbling up, but I kept them in check.
“Ahem,” I cleared my throat. “Why’d you want to come out? Thought that scene in there was your thing.”
He looked confused.
“You know, rich people, suits, expectations. You’re the CEO after all.”
“It’s not the people. It’s her. My mom’s presence can be… suffocating. Her expectations aren’t high—they’re limitless.”
It was the first time he ever said something personal. And it was nice hearing him speak freely.
“I can’t relate, but I imagine that’s not the easiest place to be.”
He nodded. We walked a bit further until he stopped, glancing down a lit pathway.
“Can I show you something?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I followed him quietly. When I looked up, my eyes widened. The garden glowed—tiny lights everywhere, soft and beautiful.
“This is beautiful, Damien,” I said, still staring.
“Damien?” he said, a little surprised.
“Mr. Pearce,” I corrected quickly. “Sorry, got carried away.”
“You know, it doesn’t sound too bad when you say it.”
I smiled awkwardly and walked through the garden.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said.
Calmly, “It’s actual heaven on earth.”
He gestured to the couch and poured us both wine from the table beside it. I took mine, legs crossed, and sipped slowly.
We sat in silence, tangled in thoughts and half-memories. Mine drifted to a childhood I never really had—dreams thrown out of windows, dolls replaced with knives.
By the time I realized it, I was on glass five. I turned to look at Damien. He was out.
“Damien,” I whispered, nudging him. Nothing.
“Damien, wake up.”
His eyes opened lazily, and he smiled—really smiled. Drunk, yes, but it was genuine.
I looked away, trying to calm the sudden rush in my chest.
“Hey Fox, is it time to go?” he slurred.
“If you get your ass up, sure.”
I pulled him up, struggling. Turns out, I was tipsy too.
“Oh fuck.”
I slung his arm over my shoulder and started our wobbly journey to the car. He kept trying to talk to the bushes. Cute, but not the time.
“This man will be the death of me.”
At the car, I propped him up and searched for the keys. When I reached his chest pocket, his hand covered mine.
“Ahem,” I cleared my throat. He didn’t move.
“Damien, let go.”
Still nothing.
“Damien.” My tone is sharper.
He opened his eyes, confused. “Are you always this loud, Fox?”
He groaned, grabbing his head. Then I noticed our hands were still together and pulled away quickly.
We drove in silence. He laid in the back like the spoiled man-child he is.
“Mind telling me your address, Mr. Pearce? 'Cause you’re not crashing at mine.”
No answer. He was out again.
I hit the quick dial. Callum picked up.
“Where’d you run off to?”
“It’s Evelyn.”
“Evelyn?”
“Your cousin passed out in the back seat. I need his address.”
“I’ll text it. Let me know when he’s home.”
The line cut.
Getting him to the parking lot was hard. Getting him into his penthouse? God help me.
The elevator dinged, and I braced myself. Let’s do this.
- Writer
