TAMED TO LOVE

Chapter Six: The Space Between Us

Chapter Six: The Space Between Us

The morning sun was merciless too bright, too honest. I pulled the covers higher over my chest and blinked at the carved ceiling, its quiet elegance feeling suddenly oppressive.

There was a weight pressing against my ribcage, a heaviness that hadn’t lifted since yesterday.

Ronan had surfaced. Like a ghost I hadn’t finished mourning or burying.

And I had let him.

I hadn’t told Damien. Not because I was hiding it but because I didn’t know how to say your fake girlfriend’s ex showed up and tried to save her from you.

It sounded ridiculous. Even worse it sounded like I might’ve invited it.

I rolled out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen, finding a note on the counter in Ava’s careful handwriting:

"Damien is back. He’s in his office downstairs. Coffee is brewing. Also… he asked to see you."

Of course he did.

I grabbed a mug with shaking hands and tried to breathe. But I could already feel it. The tension humming in the air like a silent storm about to break.

This wasn’t just coffee.

This was going to be something else entirely.

The study was dim, the blinds partially drawn, city light carving harsh lines across Damien’s back as he stood by the windows, hands in his pockets. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up like they always were when he was trying not to lose control.

He didn’t turn when I stepped inside.

Didn’t speak right away.

Just let the silence stretch.

“Morning,” I offered, forcing a small smile. “Ava said you wanted to see me.”

He turned, slow and deliberate. His eyes met mine, darker than usual.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

The mug in my hand suddenly felt too heavy.

“I’m guessing this isn’t about me forgetting to rinse the wine glasses,” I said, trying for humor.

Wrong move.

He stepped toward me, jaw tight. “Ronan Blackwell was in my building yesterday. You met with him.”

He didn’t say it as a question. He said it like a man who already knew the answer and hated it.

I set my mug down carefully, then crossed my arms. “I didn’t invite him.”

“But you saw him.”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“And you didn’t think that was something I deserved to know?”

I straightened my spine. “You were out of town. I wasn’t exactly waiting by the door for your permission.”

His brow arched, a flicker of irritation sparking beneath the surface. “This isn’t about permission, Isla. It’s about trust.”

I laughed once. “Funny, considering this whole thing is built on the opposite.”

That hit him. I saw it.

His lips parted like he wanted to argue but he didn’t.

He just looked at me, and this time… I saw it.

The flicker of something real beneath the anger.

Not just jealousy.

Not just possessiveness.

Worry.

“Why was he here?” he asked finally, voice low.

I hesitated.

“He said he saw the photos. That he wanted to warn me about you.”

Damien’s jaw clenched.

I added, “He said you’re dangerous. That you ruin people.”

A tense silence filled the space between us.

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him to leave.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “Did you believe him?”

I looked away, suddenly unsure. Not of Damien but of myself. Of how easily Ronan’s presence had shaken the foundation I’d worked so hard to rebuild.

“No,” I whispered. “Not completely.”

Another silence.

Then he moved. Closer. Closer than I expected, standing just a breath away.

“You said you weren’t mine,” he said, voice rough. “And I agreed. But don’t think for a second that means I’m okay watching someone else try to take you.”

I swallowed hard, my chest aching. “This isn’t real, Damien.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth. “Then why does it feel like it is?”

I stepped back. Not because I wanted to but because I needed to.

“I’m not ready for this conversation,” I said. “Especially not when I can’t even trust myself to know what’s real anymore.”

His jaw flexed again, but he nodded once. “Fine.”

But his eyes said not fine at all.

“You’re not a temporary fix for me, Isla” He said and honestly, it got to me

Later that morning, Ava found me sitting by the edge of the rooftop garden, knees tucked to my chest. She handed me a blanket and a quiet look.

“I heard about the visitor,” she said.

I didn’t respond.

“I’ve worked for Damien a long time,” she added softly. “I’ve seen women come and go. Models, actresses, CEOs’ daughters. None of them lasted longer than a few weeks.”

“And you think I’m different?” I asked bitterly.

She shrugged. “I think you make him hesitate. That’s more than anyone else has ever done.”

I stayed silent, unsure whether that was a warning or a compliment.

That night, Damien didn’t join me for dinner.

I sat alone at the long, gleaming dining table, pushing roasted vegetables around my plate, my thoughts louder than the silence.

He was avoiding me. Or maybe I was avoiding him.

Either way, something between us had cracked open.

And whether it led to something beautiful or something broken I didn’t know yet.

All I knew was that the next time our eyes met, it wouldn’t be with distance.

It would be with fire.

I told myself it didn’t matter. That it was better this way. That distance was the safest option for both of us.

But when I passed his closed study door, I paused.

And then, against every shred of self-preservation, I lifted my hand and knocked once.

No answer.

So I whispered, “Goodnight,” and walked away.

But long after I went to bed, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

Wondering if he was doing the same.