Episode Five: Conditions
1524 Words
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The restaurant noise faded into the background until all I could hear was my own heartbeat.
Marry my brother for one year.
The sentence replayed in my head over and over like something unreal.
I stared at Vivian, waiting for her to laugh.
To say it was a joke.
Instead, she calmly adjusted the sleeve of her dress.
Completely serious.
“You’re insane.”
Vivian didn’t react.
Across the table, Damian looked furious.
“At least we agree on something,” he muttered.
I pushed the folder away from me so hard the papers nearly slid off the table.
“You investigated my family?”
Vivian’s expression remained coldly composed.
“I researched the woman my brother’s name is currently attached to.”
“I’m not attached to your brother.”
Not unless public humiliation counted.
“Right now,” Vivian replied smoothly, “your names are linked across every media platform in the country.”
I hated that she was right.
I hated it even more because people were still taking pictures through the restaurant windows.
Cameras flashed outside again.
The paparazzi had probably noticed Damian entering.
Tomorrow’s headlines practically wrote themselves.
Cold Billionaire Meets Suspended Nurse in Secret Dinner
Fantastic.
I stood abruptly.
“I’m leaving.”
“You should sit down,” Vivian said.
“No, I really shouldn’t.”
My voice shook with anger now.
And embarrassment.
And exhaustion.
I was so tired.
Tired of rich people controlling every direction of my life.
Tired of cameras.
Tired of being looked at like a criminal.
Damian suddenly stood too.
Instantly, nearby conversations quieted further.
God.
People really did react whenever he moved.
“I’ll walk her out,” he said flatly.
Vivian studied him briefly.
Then nodded once.
“Don’t take too long. The board expects an answer soon.”
My head snapped toward her.
“An answer?”
But Damian was already guiding me away from the table before I could explode again.
His hand hovered near my back without touching me.
Like he wanted to direct me but wasn’t sure I’d allow it.
Smart man.
The moment we reached the quieter hallway near the private elevators, I turned on him immediately.
“What the hell is wrong with your family?”
His jaw tightened.
“That’s a long list.”
“This marriage thing—”
“It wasn’t my idea.”
“But you knew about it.”
Silence.
That was answer enough.
Anger surged hotter.
“You let her ambush me.”
“I didn’t know she planned to involve your mother.”
Something about the way he said it sounded genuine.
Still not enough.
“She had my medical records.”
“Your mother’s,” he corrected quietly.
“Still creepy!”
For the first time since meeting him, something dangerously close to amusement flickered briefly across his face.
Tiny.
Gone in seconds.
But I saw it.
And weirdly, that irritated me more.
“You think this is funny?”
“No.”
The amusement vanished immediately.
The coldness returned.
Damian rubbed a hand across his face slowly, exhaustion pulling at his features again.
“She crossed a line.”
I crossed my arms tightly.
“You people keep saying that while continuing to cross more lines.”
That landed.
His expression hardened slightly.
“You think I wanted this?”
“I think your family always gets what it wants.”
The words hung between us.
Heavy.
Because neither of us fully believed them.
A muscle moved in Damian’s jaw.
“You should go home.”
I blinked.
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe explain why your sister thinks she can buy people?”
“She’s trying to protect the company.”
“A woman died!”
“I know that!”
The sharpness in his voice echoed down the hallway.
Both of us froze afterward.
Because beneath the anger—
There it was again.
Grief.
Raw and ugly.
Damian looked away first.
His shoulders seemed heavier somehow.
“She was twenty-four,” he said quietly.
The number hit me unexpectedly hard.
Only two years younger than me.
God.
For one painful second, I imagined Mom getting a phone call saying I died during a shift.
The thought nearly hollowed me out.
Damian leaned against the wall, loosening his tie slightly like he suddenly couldn’t breathe properly either.
“She hated hospitals,” he continued after a moment. “Always said they smelled depressing.”
Something tightened painfully in my chest.
I remembered Isabelle now.
Not clearly.
But enough.
Blonde hair.
Fear in her eyes.
Her hand gripping the stretcher rails while doctors rushed her through the ER.
“She kept apologizing,” I said softly before I could stop myself.
Damian looked up immediately.
I swallowed hard.
“She was scared.” My voice grew quieter. “But she kept apologizing to us for causing trouble.”
His entire expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Enough for me to realize nobody had told him that.
The anger between us cracked slightly.
Just slightly.
Then his phone buzzed again.
Reality returned instantly.
Damian checked the screen and cursed under his breath.
“What?”
“The press found out you’re here.”
Wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful.
Before I could respond, raised voices echoed from the restaurant entrance.
Someone shouted Damian’s name.
Another camera flash lit the hallway windows.
Panic immediately crawled up my spine.
“I’m leaving through the back.”
Damian looked toward the noise.
“No, you’re not.”
“Excuse me?”
“If they catch you alone right now, they’ll destroy you tomorrow.”
“They’re already destroying me.”
His gaze snapped back to mine.
“You have no idea how bad this can still get.”
The seriousness in his voice made me pause.
And for the first time since this nightmare began…
I believed him.
Damian pressed a button beside the elevator doors.
Private access.
Of course.
The elevator opened almost instantly.
I hesitated.
Every instinct told me not to step into enclosed spaces with powerful billionaires.
Especially ones whose families proposed fake marriages over dinner.
But shouting grew louder near the restaurant entrance.
A reporter’s voice carried faintly through the hallway.
“Elena Reyes is reportedly inside—”
Oh my God.
Mortification flooded me.
Damian looked at me once.
“Decide quickly.”
I hated that he was right.
Again.
I stepped into the elevator.
The doors closed immediately behind us.
Silence filled the small space.
Too close.
Everything about him suddenly felt too noticeable.
His height.
The expensive cologne.
The exhaustion around his eyes.
I moved slightly farther away.
Damian noticed.
Of course he did.
“You think I’m dangerous.”
I let out a short laugh.
“Your sister just offered me a business merger disguised as marriage.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I stared at the elevator numbers instead of him.
“You ruined my life.”
The honesty of it sat heavily between us.
Damian went quiet.
Then finally—
“I know.”
No defense.
No arrogance.
Just two words.
Somehow that felt worse.
The elevator doors opened into a private underground garage.
Several black vehicles waited nearby.
Security guards stood near the exits.
I stared around in disbelief.
“Do you people live inside spy movies?”
Damian ignored that.
One of the drivers approached immediately.
“Sir, reporters blocked the front entrance.”
“Expected.”
The driver glanced toward me carefully.
“They know Ms. Reyes is here.”
Fantastic.
I rubbed my forehead tiredly.
“What now?”
Damian looked at me for a long moment before answering.
And suddenly I didn’t like that look at all.
Because it was the same calculating expression he wore upstairs.
The one that meant he was solving problems in his head.
“No reporters can see us leaving separately,” he said.
Cold dread slid slowly into my stomach.
“No.”
“We’ll use one car.”
“No.”
“It’s twenty minutes.”
“I’d rather walk.”
“In heels?”
I looked down angrily.
Okay, fair point.
Damian stepped closer slightly.
Not threatening.
Not soft either.
Just certain.
“If the media photographs us fighting outside tonight, the situation worsens tomorrow.”
“And whose fault is that?”
His expression darkened.
“Right now, blame doesn’t matter.”
I hated how calm he stayed.
I hated how his world functioned like strategy instead of emotion.
But mostly—
I hated that part of me understood he was probably right again.
Damian opened the back car door himself.
The gesture surprised me.
Not because it was romantic.
Nothing about this man felt romantic.
It felt controlled.
Intentional.
Like everything else he did.
I looked at the open car door.
Then at him.
Then back at the reporters’ voices echoing faintly upstairs.
This entire situation felt impossible.
And somehow, deep down…
I had the horrible feeling it was only getting started.
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