CHAPTER TWELVE: The Room He Kept For Me
1179 Words
Aria POV
The first thing I noticed about living with Damian De Luca was the silence.
Not ordinary silence.
Expensive silence.
The kind that existed in places so luxurious that every sound felt deliberate.
No traffic.
No neighbors arguing through thin apartment walls.
No television playing somewhere in the background.
Just quiet.
I stood beside the floor-to-ceiling windows in my bedroom and stared at London’s skyline.
The city stretched endlessly beneath me.
Beautiful.
Busy.
Alive.
And yet somehow, up here, everything felt disconnected from reality.
Three days ago, I had been fighting off reporters outside my apartment.
Now I was living in Damian De Luca’s penthouse.
As his wife.
Well, contractual wife.
The distinction mattered.
At least, I kept telling myself it did.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
Before I could answer, the door opened.
Of course.
I turned around.
Damian stood in the doorway.
My pulse immediately betrayed me.
The man was wearing black trousers and a fitted charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms.
Simple.
Elegant.
Dangerously attractive.
I looked away first.
Again.
It was becoming a terrible habit.
“You slept?” he asked.
His eyes swept across my face.
Observing.
Assessing.
Noticing things I wished he wouldn’t notice.
“I think so.”
One eyebrow lifted.
“You think so?”
“The mattress is probably worth more than my old apartment.”
A faint smile appeared.
Brief.
But real.
“There she is.”
I frowned.
“Who?”
“The woman who makes sarcastic comments when she’s uncomfortable.”
Heat crept into my cheeks.
I hated how accurately he read me.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet you signed the contract.”
I rolled my eyes.
His amusement deepened slightly.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The silence wasn’t awkward.
Not exactly.
Just charged.
Everything between Damian and me felt charged lately.
Like we were standing too close to something dangerous.
Finally, he pushed away from the doorframe.
“Come with me.”
I narrowed my eyes immediately.
“That sounds suspicious.”
“It isn’t.”
“It’s you.”
A small laugh escaped him.
The sound startled me.
Not because it happened.
Because I realized how much I liked hearing it.
That thought alone was concerning.
Still, curiosity won.
A few minutes later, I found myself following him through the penthouse.
The place was enormous.
I hadn’t even seen half of it yet.
Sunlight spilled through endless windows.
Modern artwork lined the walls.
Everything looked expensive without feeling excessive.
Refined.
Controlled.
Like Damian himself.
We passed several rooms before reaching a quieter section of the penthouse.
I frowned.
“I haven’t been down here.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Suspicion immediately surfaced.
“Why not?”
His expression became unreadable.
That was never a good sign.
“Because you haven’t explored yet.”
I crossed my arms.
“And what exactly am I supposed to find?”
Instead of answering, Damian stopped in front of a door.
Then opened it.
I stepped inside.
And froze.
The room was beautiful.
Not in the intimidating way the rest of the penthouse was beautiful.
Different.
Warmer.
Softer.
Bookshelves stretched across one wall.
A reading nook sat beside the window.
Fresh flowers rested on a nearby table.
The furniture looked comfortable instead of decorative.
Inviting instead of impressive.
My gaze moved slowly around the room.
Something felt familiar.
Strangely familiar.
I walked toward the bookshelves.
Then stopped completely.
My heart skipped.
I recognized the books.
Not just a few.
Most of them.
Several were my favorite novels.
Others were books I’d mentioned wanting to read.
One rare edition made my breath catch.
I remembered talking about it years ago.
At a family dinner.
A casual conversation.
One that Luca had barely listened to.
My stomach tightened.
Slowly, I turned around.
Damian was watching me.
Of course he was.
“What is this?”
His expression remained calm.
“A library.”
I stared.
“A library?”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
“Technically.”
“Damian.”
The warning in my voice made him sigh.
Very slightly.
Then he answered.
“A place I thought you’d like.”
The simplicity of the response affected me more than it should have.
I looked around again.
The books.
The flowers.
The comfortable chair beside the window.
Nothing about this room felt random.
Everything felt chosen.
Deliberately.
Carefully.
Personally.
My pulse quickened.
“When was this made?”
A pause.
Then,
“Over time.”
The answer settled heavily between us.
Over time.
Not recently.
Not after the contract.
Not after the scandal.
Over time.
Something shifted inside my chest.
I moved slowly through the room.
Running my fingers across book spines.
Recognizing title after title.
Memory after memory.
The deeper I looked, the more unsettling the realization became.
Damian knew things about me.
Small things.
Unimportant things.
The kind of things people only remembered when they paid attention.
Real attention.
The kind Luca never had.
I stopped beside one shelf.
A familiar title immediately caught my eye.
I remembered mentioning it years ago.
Years.
The word echoed through my mind.
Slowly, I looked over my shoulder.
Damian hadn’t moved.
He was still watching me.
Still silent.
Still impossible to read.
“Why?”
The question escaped before I could stop it.
His jaw tightened.
Not dramatically.
Just enough for me to notice.
“Why what?”
“Why do you know all this?”
Silence.
For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer.
Then
“I pay attention.”
The honesty stole my breath.
Because there was no arrogance in the statement.
No manipulation.
Just truth.
Simple truth.
I looked away first.
Again.
The room suddenly felt too small.
Too personal.
Too intimate.
My gaze wandered across another shelf.
Then stopped.
There.
Half-hidden behind a row of books.
A photograph.
Curiosity immediately stirred.
I stepped closer.
Something about the frame looked familiar.
Before I could think twice, I reached for it.
The reaction was instant.
Damian moved.
Fast.
His hand closed around my wrist.
Stopping me.
The contact sent awareness rushing through me.
We both froze.
My breath caught.
His hand remained around my wrist.
Warm.
Strong.
Entirely too noticeable.
Slowly, my gaze lifted to his.
For the first time since I’d known him, Damian looked genuinely uncomfortable.
Not annoyed.
Not irritated.
Uncomfortable.
The realization shocked me.
Because Damian De Luca wasn’t supposed to look uncertain.
Ever.
My pulse accelerated.
“Damian.”
His jaw flexed.
“It’s nothing.”
I glanced toward the photograph.
Then back at him.
The fact that he didn’t want me to see it only made me more determined.
A long silence stretched between us.
Then slowly,
Very slowly,
Damian released my wrist.
Neither of us spoke.
Neither of us moved.
I reached for the frame.
My fingers closed around it.
And as I pulled it free from the shelf, one thought echoed inside my head.
Whatever was hidden in this photograph…
Damian never intended me to find it.
- Writer
