CHAPTER FOUR
729 Words
DAMIAN’S POV
The mansion was always too quiet. That’s the way I preferred it.
No footsteps where they didn’t belong. No chatter unless it was necessary. Silence was respect.
The staff knew this. They avoided me, their eyes lowered whenever I entered a room. Good. I didn’t hire them for conversation.
I sat in my study, the glow of the fireplace casting shadows across the bookshelves. My tattooed hands rested on the armchair as I scanned through the day’s reports. Numbers, contracts, strategies—things I could control. People were harder. People lied.
A faint sound broke the silence.
Tiny footsteps.
I stilled, frowning. No one dared come near this part of the house without permission.
“Hello?”
The voice was small. Sweet.
My brows knitted as I looked toward the doorway. Standing there was a little girl with wide brown eyes and messy curls. A doll dangled from her hand.
She blinked at me, tilting her head. “Are you the king of this house?”
For a moment, I said nothing. Most adults didn’t dare speak to me without stammering. And yet, this child… she looked at me without fear.
“…Something like that,” I said finally, my voice low.
Her face brightened. “I knew it! You look important. You even sit on a big chair like in the movies.”
I leaned back slightly, studying her. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I got lost,” she admitted, shuffling closer. “Your house is too big. My mama says I have to be invisible, but I’m not very good at it.”
Invisible. The word caught me off guard. My lips twitched, almost—but not quite—a smile.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Lily,” she said proudly. “What’s yours?”
The question was so direct, so innocent, that for a moment I forgot myself. No one asked me things like that. No one dared.
“…Damian.”
“Damian,” she repeated, as though testing the sound. “That’s strong. Like a superhero. Do you fight bad guys?”
A low chuckle escaped me, surprising even myself. “Something like that.”
She climbed onto the armchair opposite me, swinging her small legs. “Do you get lonely here? It’s too quiet. I don’t like quiet.”
My chest tightened in a way I couldn’t explain. “I prefer it that way.”
“But quiet means no laughter,” she argued. “I like laughter. My mama says laughter makes the heart lighter.”
Her words lingered in the air, unsettling. No one spoke to me like this—not my employees, not business partners. They only gave me fear, respect, silence.
But this child… she gave me honesty.
Before I could respond, the door burst open.
“Lily!”
A woman’s frantic voice. The little girl turned, smiling. “Mama!”
And then I saw her.
She froze in the doorway, clutching a tray of linens against her chest. Her face paled, her breath caught, and for a moment the room was utterly still.
Our eyes met—hers wide with shock, mine narrowing in recognition I couldn’t quite place.
Something about her tugged at the edge of my memory. A shadow of a night I could barely remember, a blur of warmth, of a face half-hidden in the dark. I’d dismissed it years ago, convinced it was nothing but the remnants of a drugged mistake.
But looking at her now… something felt familiar.
“Lily,” the woman whispered, her voice tight. “Come here, now.”
The girl hopped down from the chair, skipping to her mother’s side. “Mama, this is Damian. He’s the king of the house!”
Her mother’s eyes flickered to me again, quickly, before lowering to the floor. She bowed her head slightly. “I’m so sorry, sir. She wandered off. It won’t happen again.”
I studied her silently. She looked… unsettled. As if she felt it too. The pull. The ghost of recognition neither of us could place.
But she turned quickly, guiding the child out, her back straight though her steps faltered.
The door closed behind them.
And I was left alone in the silence, staring at the space where she had stood—wondering why it felt like I’d met her before.
- Writer
