Chapter18
1200 Words
The sun poured through the cream-colored curtains, warming Ava’s face as she slowly opened her eyes.
For a moment, she didn’t remember where she was.
Then everything rushed back.
The party. Ethan and Lily. The way her heart shattered. Her fight with Damien. The dinner. His apron. The pasta.
And then…
“I’m sorry I made you cry.”
His voice echoed in her head like a dream.
Ava blinked up at the ceiling. The quiet of the room felt too heavy as if it held its breath alongside her.
Did he really say that? she thought.
She turned on her side, her fingers brushing the sheets. They were wrinkled with traces of her sleeping face and dark smudges.
She frowned.
There was makeup all over the pillow.
That’s when it hit her, she hadn’t showered before bed. Her mascara had probably run down her face, and now it was all over the pillow and the bed.
“Great,” she muttered, sitting up slowly.
Her head felt heavy, but not from sleep. From thinking.
Damien’s words still rang in her mind.
“I don’t even know what he’s thinking,” she mumbled under her breath. “What is he up to?”
She didn’t have the answer. But she knew one thing she needed a shower.
She slipped out of bed and dragged herself into the bathroom.
Once inside, she untied the robe she was wearing and let it fall to the floor. The tiles were cool beneath her bare feet.
She stepped into the glass shower and turned the knob.
Warm water rained down from the ceiling, hitting her shoulders first. She closed her eyes and let it wash over her. It was the kind of heat that didn’t burn but soaked into her bones, pulling out every bit of the ache she had buried.
She took her time.
She lathered her body with vanilla-scented soap, the soft foam swirling down the drain. Her fingers moved slowly over her arms, her collarbone, and her stomach, trying to wash away the weight of last night. The lies. The pain. The helplessness.
She tilted her head back, letting the water run through her hair, soaking it completely. Her hands ran through the strands as she worked the shampoo in, the scent of mint and lavender filling the space.
When she finally turned the water off, she stood there for a second, steam curling around her. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for a towel.
She dried herself and wrapped her hair in another towel before stepping out.
Back in her room, she sat in front of the mirror.
Her skin was red from the heat of the water, but it felt cleaner and lighter. She dabbed moisturizer gently onto her cheeks, then applied her toner and serum. Her hands moved on instinct, following a routine that gave her some sense of control.
She dried her hair with the warm air from the dryer, letting it fall in soft waves before twisting it up into a loose bun.
When she finally stood and opened the closet, her eyes scanned the rows of clothes.
Too fancy.
Too dressy.
Too not today.
She dug a little deeper and found a pair of jean bum shorts. She grabbed them, along with a simple black T-shirt. The shirt was soft and slightly oversized.
She slipped them on and stared at herself in the full-length mirror.
No makeup. Bare face. Just her.
Her lips were slightly swollen from the crying last night. Her eyes were still tired. But she looked… okay.
Tired, but okay.
She grabbed her phone, shoved it in her pocket, and headed for the door.
The hallway was quiet as she made her way downstairs. Her bare feet padded gently against the wooden floor. The sun had fully risen now, lighting up the elegant interior of the house.
She stepped into the kitchen.
The dining table was clean. The sink was empty. The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingered faintly in the air.
Ava walked in slowly, her eyes flicking around.
Her expression was unreadable, her lips pressed into a thin line, brows faintly furrowed. Her fingers brushed against the marble counter as she passed it like she needed to feel something solid beneath her hand. The house was too quiet, too still.
Then something caught her eye.
A small piece of paper, neatly folded, sitting right on the edge of the kitchen cabinet. She blinked and stepped closer, hesitating just for a second before picking it up.
The handwriting was bold and precise.
I ordered breakfast for you. I’m sure it will get here when you’re up. Eat it, and be a good girl. I’ll be back at six, I’m at the company. If you need anything, call me.
Damien
Number: 555-3032
Ava stared at the note.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the paper.
Be a good girl? she thought, scoffing under her breath. “Seriously?”
Still, the weight of the gesture hit her somewhere deep. A man like Damien didn’t seem like the type to write notes or order breakfast. And now he was doing both.
Her heart twisted, she was confused and guarded.
That’s when the doorbell rang.
She flinched slightly at the sound, then sighed. “The food is here,” she muttered, dropping the note on the counter.
Ava made her way to the door, her bare feet brushing softly across the cool floor.
She pulled the door open, and there stood a delivery guy, holding a neatly packed brown paper bag with the restaurant’s logo on the front.
“Good day,” he said with a polite smile. “Your boyfriend ordered this for you.”
Ava raised an eyebrow slightly at the word boyfriend but didn’t say anything.
“Thanks,” she replied, taking the food from him. “Have a good day.”
“You too,” he said, flashing her a smile before walking back to his scooter.
Ava shut the door quietly behind her and turned, carrying the warm bag toward the dining table. The smell was already wafting out something buttery and savory with a hint of fresh herbs.
She set the bag down and opened it. Inside was a full breakfast: fluffy scrambled eggs, golden brown toast, grilled mushrooms, and what looked like roasted tomatoes on the side. A cup of juice was tucked in beside it, still cold with condensation on the outside.
She stared at it for a moment before pulling out a plate and carefully serving herself.
Everything was arranged so neatly like it was meant to be comforting.
She sat down slowly and took the first bite of the egg, chewing in silence. The flavors melted on her tongue, warm and rich.
As she swallowed, she muttered to herself, “Why is he acting nice…”
She picked up a piece of toast, chewing again. “This ruthless man.”
Her eyes stared blankly at the plate, her thoughts spinning.
“Or…” she paused, narrowing her gaze. “Is he planning something?”
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
Because with Damien… nothing ever seemed simple.
- Writer
