Chapter 25: Lines Blurred
780 Words
The office was quiet, the kind of quiet that settled in after hours when the hum of printers faded and conversations disappeared into shadows. Most of the staff had gone home hours ago. Only the sound of the rain against the windows remained, soft and steady like a lullaby.
Rhea sat at her desk, fingers brushing over the keyboard, her mind not entirely on the screen. She was meant to be reviewing numbers for a proposal due in the morning, but her focus kept drifting. She stole a glance through the glass wall that separated her from Damian's office.
He was still in there. Lights low. Jacket off. Sleeves rolled to his elbows.
She hated that her eyes lingered on him.
But he looked... different like this. Less composed. Less perfect. Human.
The door opened with a soft click. Damian stepped out, holding two mugs. He walked over and set one on her desk.
"Still here?"
She looked up, startled by the warmth in his voice.
"I could ask you the same thing."
He gave a faint smile, one that never quite reached his eyes.
"Work doesn’t sleep."
She wrapped her hands around the mug, feeling its warmth seep into her palms. She didn’t ask what was in it. Just took a sip.
Black coffee. Of course.
He leaned against her desk, watching her quietly. The silence stretched between them, but not in a heavy way. Not tonight.
"Do you ever stop?" she asked, not looking at him.
"Rarely. Do you?"
She smiled faintly, still not meeting his gaze. "Rarely."
He stayed there, not moving, as if there was nowhere else to be. It should’ve made her uncomfortable. Instead, she found herself... relaxing. The tension in her shoulders eased.
"You ever think about walking away from all of it?" she asked softly.
He tilted his head. "From the company?"
"From everything. Just... leaving."
He didn’t answer right away. Then, with a surprising honesty, he said, "Sometimes."
She looked up at him then. Really looked.
His eyes weren’t cold tonight. They were tired. Deep. Like he was carrying things no one ever asked about.
"But I don’t," he added.
"Why?"
Damian shrugged, glancing down at the floor. "Maybe because I don’t know who I am without it. Maybe because I’m afraid to find out."
The answer wasn’t what she expected. And it did something to her. Tugged at a piece of her she had locked away.
He looked up again, meeting her gaze. "You?"
She hesitated. Her first instinct was to lie. But the look on his face… it wasn’t the face of her enemy tonight.
"I used to dream about disappearing," she admitted. "Changing my name. Starting somewhere no one knew me."
"Why didn’t you?"
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Because I needed to remember."
He didn’t press her. Just nodded, as if he understood anyway.
For a while, they worked in silence. Both at their desks, both pretending to focus. Every so often, she’d glance at him, only to find him already watching her. He didn’t look away when their eyes met.
There was something terrifyingly intimate about it.
Hours passed. The rain stopped. The city outside quieted even more. And yet, neither of them moved.
When Rhea finally stood, stretching her arms above her head, she turned to find Damian already on his feet.
"Let me walk you out," he said.
She nodded, too tired to protest.
They rode the elevator in silence. The kind of silence that wasn’t awkward, but loaded. He didn’t stand too close, but she felt him anyway. The quiet hum of energy between them. The awareness.
When they reached the lobby, he stopped.
"Rhea."
She turned, surprised by the way her name sounded in his voice. Soft. Careful.
"You’re good at what you do," he said. "Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise."
She didn’t know what to say. The compliment came out of nowhere, and yet… it felt like he’d been meaning to say it for a while.
Her chest tightened. Her fingers itched to reach for something, but she didn’t know what.
Instead, she offered a small nod. "Thanks."
He didn’t say goodnight. Just stood there watching her until the doors closed behind her.
---
Back in her apartment, Rhea stood by her window, coffee still in hand. The city lights blinked below, uncaring. The file she found earlier—the one linking Damian’s father to her family's ruin—sat untouched on her dining table.
She hadn’t opened it.
Couldn’t.
Not tonight.
Because tonight, for the first time in a long time, she felt something she didn’t want to feel.
Comfort.
And she hated herself for it.
- Writer
