Chapter 7 – Playing Husband
1855 Words
The morning after the chaos at the police station was painfully awkward. Sophia had barely slept a wink, her mind stuck in a loop, replaying the cold warning Damien had given her before they went to bed:
“If the board finds out you’ve reopened Alex’s case, they’ll make your life difficult.”
She tossed and turned, the exact phrasing tearing at her mind more than the threat itself. He hadn't said if they find out. He had said when. How did he know that? Was he monitoring her every move, or was he just that deeply entrenched in the board's secrets?
Neither of them mentioned the police station, the shattered glass, or the terrifying silence that had ended the gala when they sat down the next morning.
Maria noticed the shift immediately. As she set down a platter of fresh fruit and a carafe of coffee, her eyes darted between the two of them. The atmosphere in the dining room was thick, heavy, and completely tense.
Sophia picked at her food, watching Damien seamlessly slice through his omelet. She finally broke the silence. “So… is threatening people just part of your morning routine?”
Damien didn't look up from his coffee immediately. He took a slow sip, set the cup down, and then met her gaze. “Only when necessary.”
Sophia rolled her eyes, letting out a sharp breath. “You really think you’re always right, don't you?”
“No.” A brief, heavy pause hung in the air. “I just happen to be right more often than most people.”
She scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “You sound absolutely insufferable.”
“And yet,” Damien noted smoothly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction, “you’re still sitting here.”
Sophia bit the inside of her cheek to hide a sudden impulse. She almost smiled. Almost.
An hour later, Damien walked back into the room, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. He didn't ask; he informed her. “We have somewhere to be.”
Sophia instantly grew guarded. “Not another gala. I'm not doing that again.”
“A foundation event,” Damien corrected calmly. “Harrington Global funds a children’s hospital every year. Alex used to attend. Now, I have to.”
He paused, looking at her with a completely unreadable expression. “The board specifically requested that Mr. and Mrs. Harrington appear together.”
Sophia’s walls went right back up. She stood up from the table, her jaw set. “I’m not your trophy wife, Damien.”
“No,” Damien replied, his voice entirely level. “You’re my biggest shareholder reassurance.”
Sophia blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“The market is a fragile thing,” Damien explained, his tone strictly professional. “The market believes a stable family means a stable company. Right now, they need to see stability.”
“I absolutely hate corporate people,” she muttered, crossing her arms.
“I know,” Damien said quietly. “Get ready.”
When Sophia came downstairs twenty minutes later, she was wearing a simple, no-nonsense navy dress. It was elegant but modest, a far cry from the extravagant gowns of the night before.
Damien was waiting by the front door. He looked her up and down, his forehead creasing. “You’ll freeze.”
“I’m fine,” Sophia said, brushing past him toward the door.
“You’ll freeze.”
“I’m still fine.”
Without another word, Damien turned around and walked back into the house. Sophia stood by the open door, watching his retreating back. “Unbelievable,” she muttered to herself.
Thirty seconds later, he returned. He wasn't carrying a coat from her closet. Instead, he was holding his own heavy, structured suit jacket. Without a word of warning, he stepped close and placed it gently over her shoulders.
There was no flirting. No lingering touch. No cheesy lines. Just a simple, practical gesture.
“There,” he said shortly, turning to walk toward the car.
Sophia’s hand flew to the lapel of the jacket. It was warm, and it smelled faintly of his distinct cedar cologne. She wanted to take it off and hand it right back to him out of pure stubbornness.
Instead, she pulled it a little tighter around herself and followed him outside.
Unlike the suffocating opulence of the gala, the atmosphere at the children's hospital was entirely different. It was daytime. The halls were bright, filled with the sounds of laughter, running feet, and the gentle chatter of doctors, journalists, and hospital donors. It felt softer. More personal.
And very quickly, Sophia noticed something completely unexpected.
Damien was actually good with kids.
As they walked into the main recreational ward, a little girl with a bright pink head wrapper recognized him. “Mr. Harrington!” she squealed, dropping her toys and running over as fast as her small legs could carry her.
Sophia watched, astonished, as the ruthless billionaire instantly dropped to one knee on the hard floor, bringing himself right down to her level.
“Hey, Lily,” Damien said, a genuine, soft smile breaking through his usual stern mask.
“You came back!” she beamed.
“I said I would.”
Lily pouted, crossing her tiny arms. “You missed my birthday.”
“I know,” Damien said, looking genuinely remorseful. “I'm sorry.”
“You owe me ice cream.”
Damien let out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh that made the little girl giggle. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”
“I never forget!” Lily declared proudly.
Sophia watched the interaction from across the room, completely frozen. She had never imagined Damien like this. The cold, calculating corporate king had vanished entirely. In his place was just a tired, human man keeping a promise to a child.
A few minutes later, a little boy walked over to where Sophia and Damien were standing, clutching a box of blunt crayons in his small hands. He looked up at them with wide, curious eyes.
“Are you two married?” he asked loudly.
Sophia froze, her throat suddenly dry. Before she could stumble through an explanation, Damien answered for them.
“Unfortunately,” he said dryly.
The little boy frowned, deeply unamused. “You’re supposed to say yes.”
Sophia let out a genuine laugh before she could stop herself, the sound drawing Damien’s eyes right to her.
The boy looked between them, entirely serious. “So, are you happy?”
Neither of them answered. The silence stretched for a beat too long.
The boy let out a dramatic, heavy sigh, shaking his head. “My mommy says married people are supposed to hold hands.”
Another awkward silence descended. Sophia felt her cheeks warming up. Finally, Damien broke the tension. Without looking at Sophia, he quietly offered his open hand to her.
“Happy?” Damien asked the boy, his eyes finally shifting to meet Sophia’s.
Sophia glared at him, a silent warning in her eyes, but she slowly slipped her fingers into his. Just for the child, she told herself. Just to keep up appearances.
The little boy beamed, completely satisfied. “I knew it!” He spun around and skipped back to his drawing table.
After he left, the ward remained noisy, but the space between Sophia and Damien felt utterly silent. Neither of them let go immediately. Their skin felt warm against each other, a strange, grounding weight in the middle of a chaotic room.
The moment they both realized they were still holding on, they pulled their hands away at the exact same fraction of a second.
Sophia cleared her throat quickly, looking away. “That meant nothing.”
“I know,” Damien replied, his voice slipping back into its neutral tone.
“...”
“...”
“It was just for the child,” she emphasized.
“Obviously,” he muttered.
While Damien was pulled away by a group of chief physicians and wealthy donors, Sophia wandered down a quieter, administrative hallway of the hospital.
Her eyes caught on a long wall lined with framed historical photographs. She stepped closer, scanning the history of the foundation. She stopped in front of an old, slightly faded photo taken exactly ten years ago at an early hospital fundraiser.
Standing proudly beside Damien’s late grandfather was a younger, sharp-eyed Charles Whitmore.
Sophia frowned, leaning in closer. She already knew Charles worked for the Harrington company, but what surprised her was the timeline. Charles had been embedded in the family business much longer than Damien had ever admitted to her.
“Oh, that's a classic,” a soft voice spoke up.
Sophia turned to see an older nurse walking by, carrying a clipboard. The nurse smiled warmly at the photograph. “Mr. Whitmore practically built this hospital wing with old Mr. Harrington. He’s been the backbone of their charitable trust since the very beginning.”
“Is that so?” Sophia murmured, her mind instantly spinning with new questions. “Thank you.”
The nurse nodded and walked away, leaving Sophia alone with her thoughts. This was interesting. Very interesting. Charles wasn't just a corporate executive; he was part of the foundation's very bedrock.
The drive home was quiet. The city lights flickered across the interior of the luxury sedan. Sophia stared out the window for a long time before she finally voiced the question burning in her mind.
“How long has Charles worked for your family?”
Damien didn't look at her. He kept his eyes fixed strictly on the dark road ahead. “Too long.”
“And do you trust him?” Sophia pressed, turning her head to watch his profile.
A long, suffocating silence filled the car. The tension returned, thick and unyielding. Finally, Damien spoke, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly pitch.
“I trust almost no one.”
Sophia turned her gaze back out the window, watching the blurred lines of the highway. For some completely unknown reason… she actually believed him.
Late that night, the mansion was dead silent. Sophia paced around her room, unable to shake the image of the old photograph out of her head.
Suddenly, a faint sound caught her attention.
She opened her bedroom door a crack. Down the dimly lit hallway, the heavy, locked door to Damien's private study was slightly ajar. A sliver of light spilled out onto the hardwood floor.
Sophia crept closer, her bare feet making no sound against the rugs.
This time, she could hear him speaking. He wasn't barking orders on the phone, and he wasn't pacing. He was speaking directly to someone who was inside the room with him.
She pressed her back against the wall just outside the frame of the door, holding her breath. She couldn't make out the muffled responses, nor could she catch every detail of what Damien was saying.
She only managed to catch one clear, desperate sentence before the voices dropped to an impossible whisper.
“I’m running out of time.”
Then, absolute silence.
- Writer
