The car ride home was silent.
Damien sat on one side of the backseat, gazing out the tinted window as if the city beyond it mattered more than the woman sitting a few feet away. Lena didn't bother trying to make conversation. Every attempt would just bounce off the invisible wall he'd built around himself.
She stared down at the ring on her finger again. It still felt foreign.
When they arrived at the penthouse, Damien stepped out first and didn't wait for her.
Lena followed in silence, her heels echoing against the marble floor as they entered the living room.
He tossed his keys on the table and finally spoke. "You handled yourself well tonight."
She blinked. "That almost sounded like a compliment."
He turned, his expression unreadable. "Don't let it go to your head. We still have eleven months and twenty-seven days left."
Lena crossed her arms. "I'm counting down too, trust me."
Something in his jaw flexed, but he said nothing. He simply walked past her and disappeared down the hallway to his room, the door clicking shut behind him like a punctuation mark to their conversation.
Alone again.
Lena sighed and moved to the guest room. But sleep didn't come easily. Her thoughts raced.
Why did he keep everyone at arm's length? Why did he speak like he had no heart?
And why, despite everything, did she feel a flicker of curiosity whenever he looked at her with those cold, storm-gray eyes?
The Next Morning
Lena woke to the scent of coffee and soft footsteps.
She padded out of her room and found Damien already in the kitchen, dressed in yet another tailored suit, reading something on a tablet.
He glanced up. "Coffee?"
She blinked. "You made coffee?"
"No," he said flatly. "Tessa did. I just poured it."
Lena rolled her eyes and poured a cup for herself. "Such a romantic husband."
He didn't reply.
She sipped her coffee in silence, then asked, "Do we have any appearances today?"
He nodded. "Dinner with my father tonight. Private, but important."
"Your father?" she echoed, startled.
Damien's eyes darkened slightly. "He's the chairman of the board. This marriage was his idea."
Lena frowned. "So he thinks I'll... stabilize you?"
He set the tablet down. "He thinks I've lost control since my brother died. He wants to see me 'settle down.' You're the image of that."
There was a pause.
"I'm sorry," Lena said softly. "About your brother."
Damien's expression shuttered. "Don't be. He's been dead for five years. Sympathy won't change that."
But Lena saw the flicker of grief beneath the surface. Quick. Sharp. Real.
She didn't push further. Not yet.
"Do I need to prepare anything for this dinner?" she asked.
"Just don't speak unless asked to," he said coldly, walking past her.
But just before he disappeared into his office, he added over his shoulder, "You look better without makeup."
Then he was gone.
Lena stood there, stunned.
It wasn't exactly sweet.
It wasn't warm.
But it was something.
And in a marriage built on ice, even a flicker of warmth could burn.