My Father’s Best Friend Wants Me

Chapter 2: House Rules

I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Damian standing in the hallway looking at me with those dark gray eyes.

Welcome home, little troublemaker.

The way he said it sounded dangerous. Too personal. Too familiar. I turned over in the massive bed with frustration and checked my phone. Six thirty in the morning. Great. I groaned softly and sat up. The guest room was bigger than my entire apartment back in college. Soft cream walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive furniture, and a private balcony overlooking the city. Everything about Damian’s mansion screamed money and control. Just like him.

I walked into the bathroom, washed my face, and stared at myself in the mirror. "You need to get yourself together," I muttered. This situation was already becoming risky. I had only spent one night under Damian’s roof, and my feelings were already completely out of control again. Pathetic.

After changing into black leggings and an oversized sweater, I walked downstairs quietly. The mansion felt strangely peaceful in the morning. Warm sunlight entered through the large windows while the smell of coffee filled the air. I followed the scent toward the kitchen and immediately stopped walking.

Damian stood near the counter with his back to me. He wore gray sweatpants and a fitted black shirt that stretched across his shoulders. One tattoo disappeared beneath the sleeve near his forearm, while another dark mark was visible at the back of his neck. I had never seen him dressed this casually before. It should not affect me this much, but it did. Very badly.

He turned slightly, noticing me instantly. "Morning."

That deep, sleepy voice nearly destroyed my remaining sanity. "Morning," I replied carefully. His eyes moved slowly over me. Not in a vulgar way. Almost worse—like he noticed every detail without even trying.

"You sleep badly in new places," he said.

I frowned. "How do you know I slept badly?"

"You have dark circles under your eyes."

I crossed my arms immediately. "Wow. Thank you."

A small smile touched the corner of his mouth. Damian making jokes before eight in the morning felt illegal somehow. "There’s coffee," he said, turning back toward the machine.

I moved beside him carefully, trying not to react to how good he smelled. Coffee, soap, expensive cologne. Pure temptation. "You still take your coffee with too much sugar?" he asked.

I blinked in surprise. "You remember that too?"

Without answering, Damian handed me a cup already prepared exactly the way I liked it. My chest tightened unexpectedly. It was such a small thing, but it felt intimate. "Thank you," I said softly.

He nodded once before taking a sip from his own cup. The silence between us was not awkward, which was the dangerous part. It felt natural. Comfortable. Like we had been living together for years. I leaned against the counter casually. "So, do you always wake up this early?"

"Every day."

"That sounds miserable."

"It’s productive."

I laughed quietly. Damian looked at me again, and for a second his expression softened. Then his phone rang. The warmth disappeared immediately. He answered the call calmly. "What is it?"

I watched him while pretending not to. His entire presence changed during business calls. He became colder, sharper, completely unreadable. "Yes," he continued. "Move the meeting to eleven." Silence. "No. I said eleven, not twelve." Another pause. "Fix it."

He hung up without another word. Scary. Very scary. "You terrify your employees, don't you?" I asked.

"They are paid to work."

"You sound like a villain."

"I probably am."

The honesty in his voice surprised me. Before I could answer, a housekeeper entered quietly. "Mr. Cross, your driver is ready."

Damian nodded once, then he looked at me. "There’s a gym downstairs. Pool area is on the west side. Movie room upstairs. The chef arrives at noon."

I stared at him. "Are you giving me a tour schedule?"

"I’m telling you where things are."

"You make it sound like I’m trapped here."

His jaw tightened slightly. "You are not trapped."

The answer came too quickly. Interesting. I took another sip of coffee slowly. "What exactly am I supposed to do here all day?"

"Relax."

"That sounds boring."

"You complained about being exhausted yesterday."

"That doesn't mean I want to become a prisoner."

A shadow crossed his face. "Aurora."

"What?"

"You’re staying here because your parents trust me."

Something about his tone annoyed me instantly. "Right. Because you’re the responsible adult."

"I am the responsible adult."

I rolled my eyes. "You’re only seventeen years older than me, Damian. Not fifty."

His expression darkened immediately. The air shifted. That dangerous tension from last night returned instantly. I noticed the exact moment he stopped seeing me as just Ethan Hayes’ daughter. Suddenly I could not breathe properly. Damian stepped closer slowly. Too close. My heartbeat became uneven.

"You think age is the problem here?" he asked quietly.

I swallowed hard. "I did not say that."

"But you were thinking it."

His voice was lower now, rougher. Every nerve in my body felt awake. I should move away, but I did not. The kitchen suddenly felt very small and very warm. Damian stared down at me with an expression I could not fully understand. Frustration. Desire. Restraint. All mixed together.

"You are not a child anymore, Aurora," he said softly. My pulse jumped painfully. "That is exactly the problem."

The words hit me like fire. For one second neither of us moved. I could hear my own heartbeat; I could feel his breathing. And the terrifying part? I knew he felt this too. Then, footsteps echoed somewhere nearby. Damian stepped back immediately like he had touched something dangerous. The cold mask returned to his face so fast it felt unreal.

"Eat breakfast," he said calmly. "You barely ate yesterday."

And just like that, he walked away. I stood frozen in the kitchen long after he disappeared. My hands trembled slightly around the coffee cup. Oh God. This was bad. Very bad. Because Damian Cross wanted me. Maybe not openly, maybe not willingly, but I saw it in his eyes. And now I would never be able to pretend otherwise.

Around noon, I decided I hated being alone in the mansion. The place was beautiful, but too quiet, too empty. I wandered into the library upstairs and nearly lost my mind. Books covered the walls from floor to ceiling. Dark wood shelves, leather chairs, soft lighting. It smelled exactly like Damian.

I walked slowly through the room, running my fingers across the shelves. Business, history, architecture, psychology. The man literally collected books about controlling people. Not surprising. Then I noticed a framed photo near the desk. My father and Damian, much younger, laughing together with drinks in their hands. I stared at the picture quietly. Their friendship was real, deep, which made everything worse. Guilt twisted inside my chest. I should not want Damian. I definitely should not enjoy the fact that he clearly wanted me too. But feelings were not logical. Mine never had been.

I picked up another photo nearby and froze. It was me at sixteen, smiling brightly while Damian looked down at me with amusement in his eyes. Why would he keep this? A strange warmth spread through my chest. Before I could think further, a deep voice spoke behind me.

"You found that quickly."

I turned too fast. Damian stood near the doorway, watching me carefully. Heat rushed into my face immediately. "You kept this?"

His eyes moved toward the photo. "Yes."

"Why?"

For a moment he said nothing. Then he walked toward me slowly. "You were important to me."

My heart nearly stopped. The silence between us stretched painfully. Damian’s gaze dropped briefly to my lips, and that single look changed everything. Because this was no longer just my secret anymore.