Chapter 17 – Stay the Night
The room was far too quiet once the door clicked shut behind Damian.
Elara stood frozen, his final words echoing in her ears: "If you're going to lie to me again, at least have the courage to look me in the eyes while you do it."
She clenched her fists, her chest burning with a dozen unspoken truths. It wasn't the accusation that stung—it was the disappointment in his voice. As if part of him had wanted to believe she was different. That she wasn't using him.
But she was—wasn't she?
Elara paced the suite, restless. The file she'd found in Juliette's locked drawer earlier that day—it had Gregory Vale's name on it. And a copy of a sealed testimony. Something big. Something buried.
She hadn't read it. Not yet. Damian had walked in before she could. And now, he was gone.
For how long, she didn't know.
A soft knock startled her.
She turned. The door opened—and Damian stepped in again, soaking wet from the rain.
"Forgot my phone," he said curtly, walking past her to the bedroom.
Elara crossed her arms. "You could've knocked harder. I thought you were done with me for the night."
He ignored the jab, grabbed his phone from the nightstand, then paused. "You really don't want to explain?"
"I don't owe you explanations," she said. "We have a contract, not a marriage."
"That's the line you're still hiding behind?" he asked, turning to face her, eyes sharp.
She hated how good he looked—wet hair tousled, shirt sticking to his chest, shadows in his jawline deepened by the light.
"I'm not hiding behind anything," she snapped. "I'm surviving, Damian. Something you probably wouldn't understand."
"I understand more than you think," he said, voice low. "But surviving and scheming are different things."
Her temper snapped.
"I found a file, okay? I wasn't going through your drawers to ruin you—I wanted to find something about my father. About why he was destroyed, about why I've had to claw my way out of the gutter while men like you played god with the rest of us."
Damian flinched, just slightly.
Elara stepped closer, her voice trembling. "If you want to call that scheming, fine. But don't act like you're the victim."
He stared at her, rain still dripping from his hair.
Finally, he said quietly, "The file's real. But it's incomplete. If you had read it, you'd have only seen half the story. That's why I didn't give it to you."
"Then why keep it at all?"
"Because I didn't know who I could trust—not even you."
Her breath caught. There was something fragile in his expression. Something almost like regret.
Damian looked away. "Do you think it's easy for me to let anyone close? People have used me since I was fifteen. Family. Partners. Lovers."
"I'm not like them," she said, softer now.
He met her eyes. "Aren't you?"
Elara hesitated. "Maybe I was… at the start. But now I don't know anymore."
He stepped forward slowly, the air between them tightening.
"I don't want to fight tonight," he said.
"Then don't," she whispered.
Something in him shifted.
In a single breath, he reached out—tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her cheek. She didn't pull away.
"Elara…"
His voice said her name like it meant something.
She stepped into him, her hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath the soaked fabric. For once, she didn't want to calculate. Didn't want to think about her father or the files or the contract.
She just wanted to feel.
When he kissed her, it was like a dam breaking—slow, heated, inevitable.
His arms wrapped around her, grounding her as she let herself fall into the storm of him. His mouth moved against hers, urgent yet unsure, like he didn't trust the moment was real.
They stumbled back toward the couch, tangled in each other, the tension that had been simmering for weeks finally erupting. She felt his desperation, the hunger in the way he gripped her waist, the restraint barely hanging on.
But then—he pulled back.
"Elara," he said, breathless. "If we cross this line… there's no going back."
She looked up at him, heart pounding.
"I crossed the line the moment I married you," she said. "Everything after that is just… truth."
His eyes darkened. "You're sure?"
"I've never been more sure."
Damian scooped her into his arms without another word and carried her to the bedroom, the tension between them melting into something deeper—something real.
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains. Elara stirred to the unfamiliar sensation of warmth—Damian's arms still wrapped around her.
She blinked.
He was awake, watching her, hair tousled on the pillow, expression unreadable.
"Did you sleep at all?" she asked.
"Some," he said. "You?"
"Enough to remember everything."
He studied her. "Regrets?"
She considered lying. But last night had changed something.
"No. You?"
He smiled faintly. "Only that it didn't happen sooner."
She shifted to face him. "This doesn't fix everything."
"I know. But maybe it's a start."
There was a knock at the door.
Damian sighed and slipped out of bed, wrapping a robe around himself as he opened it. Juliette stood outside, holding a folder.
Her eyes flicked briefly to Elara before settling on Damian.
"You need to see this," she said. "Monroe just announced a press conference. They're about to leak something—something big."
Damian's face hardened. "About VossTech?"
"About both of you."
Elara sat up, pulse racing. "Me?"
Juliette nodded. "They claim you're a corporate spy. And they say they have proof."
Elara's blood turned to ice.
She looked at Damian.
He didn't say a word.
Not yet.
But she could see it in his eyes—the return of that cold CEO mask.
It was no longer just about contracts or passion.
War had begun.