Chapter6
787 Words
Locked In**
Damian’s place was tucked away on the outskirts of Surrey—quiet, gated, and pretty isolated. It felt like a fortress built to shut the world out. The kind of place that made you wonder what was hiding behind those tall walls, almost like it was too good to be true.
Zara was not thrilled about sticking around. She was all about the lively buzz of hotel lobbies and quick elevator rides where nobody knew anything about her past. But when a last-minute meeting with an investor got pulled, all he said was “possible threat,” and Damian wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“It’s way safer here. We’ve got private security, solid encryption, and no annoying reporters lurking outside,” he insisted, almost like a kid trying to convince his parents to let him stay up late. “Just hang out for a couple of days.”
Still, the silence inside gave her the creeps. But the world outside? Much worse.
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The house itself was stunning—maybe a bit too cold for Zara’s taste but undeniably classy. It had clean lines, dark heavy wood floors, and fireplaces in almost every room. The air felt like cedar and cinnamon, like someone was trying to transform something so powerful into comfort. It was pretty daunting.
As she unpacked in the guest room, which felt more like a luxury showroom than a cozy retreat, she tried to stay sharp, professional, and distant from all of it. That plan lasted a whopping twelve hours.
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Then came the storm. It crashed down loud and messy, just like London itself. The wind screamed through the trees, while the thunder shook the windows. The lights flickered a bit now and then before the backup generator hummed to life. The house was safe from harm, but the whole vibe set her on edge.
Zara found herself wandering out of her room, bare feet on the wooden floor, drawn to the warm glow coming from the kitchen.
“Hey there,” she saw Damian standing there. He had a hoodie pulled over his head, completely at ease, pouring hot water into mugs as if it was any normal evening. The tough exterior he usually wore seemed to have melted away.
He turned around as she entered. “Can’t sleep?”
She shrugged. “The storm’s too loud, and the quiet feels louder.”
Without waiting for her to ask, he slid a mug over. Chamomile tea.
She hesitated for a second. “You remember?”
“Yeah, I remember everything,” he replied, keeping his gaze steady on her.
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Initially, they just sat there at the kitchen island, both lost in their thoughts, two people who used to connect in ways that felt special, unheard of by anyone else. It reminded her of those late nights back in college—staying up late studying and swapping dreams while the rest of the world was asleep.
Right now, though? There was this discomfort between them—so much distance and pain from the history they shared.
Damian stirred his tea, breaking the silence. “Tari confessed.”
Zara felt her grip tighten around her mug, bracing for what was next.
“He leaked that photo. Tried to protect me from you, it seems,” he added, sounding resentful.
She let out a small breath. “Of course he did.”
“I’ve taken him off everything. He’s gone,” he said, softening his tone. “And I’m really sorry.”
Zara finally looked at him, truly looked. “I can’t handle this going sideways, Damian. Not now. Not again.”
He stood up slowly. “Then don’t hand over your heart.”
He paused for a beat. “Just give me this moment.”
She hesitated, but then—quiet and unsure, yet real—she leaned in and kissed him.
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What happened next was far from smooth or polished. It wasn’t planned, and it wasn't a strategy. It was simply two people craving something familiar amid all the chaos they had gone through.
In the kitchen, it felt raw and honest.
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The next morning, sunlight streamed through the huge windows, bathing everything in a warm glow. Zara sat at the table, wrapped in one of Damian’s shirts, sipping on black coffee and gazing out at the fog still hanging over the gardens.
He took a seat beside her. “I don’t regret last night,” he said easily.
She didn’t look his way. “Me neither.”
But inside, her heart felt like it was shifting. Because what if everything fell ap
art again? What if she couldn’t put the pieces back together this time?
- Writer
