The first thing Damien felt when his eyes opened was warmth. Not the impersonal heat of the hotel's heavy blankets, but the subtle weight of her head against his chest. Maya had shifted sometime during the night and curled toward him, her hair a loose tumble across his shirt. For a moment he stayed still, eyes tracing the delicate slope of her brow, the faint crease between her lashes where a dream still clung. He slid a stray strand back behind her ear with his thumb. The movement made her lips part slightly and she breathed out, soft against his throat. He smiled before he could stop himself, a soundless curl of his mouth, and let his hand rest on the pillow.
When she stirred, her lashes flickered and her body stiffened in a tiny, startled arc. Damien closed his eyes at once, feigning sleep. He felt her shift away carefully, the mattress dipping, her fingers lingering a second too long on the blanket before she pulled her hand back. For a heartbeat she didn't move at all. He could sense her eyes on him -- curious, almost tender -- before she drew a sharp breath, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and slipped from under the covers. The rustle of fabric followed her into the bathroom.
He cracked one eye open to watch her go. The corner of his mouth tilted; his chest felt tight.
By late morning the garden was alive again, sunlight glancing off the lanterns strung between the trees. Tables had been cleared for the last game, leaving an open square of grass bordered by chairs. Evelyn glided from couple to couple with her fiancé, hands linked, her hostess's smile never faltering. She caught Damien's eye once, something flickering there he couldn't name, then turned to direct a server.
Today's game was quieter than the sculptor and statue but no less revealing. Partners faced each other with a thin ribbon stretched between their palms. The task was to move together -- steps, turns, dips -- without letting the ribbon slacken or snap. It wasn't about speed but about reading each other's bodies, anticipating every shift.
Damien and Maya took their place opposite one another. She looked up at him, expression unreadable, and lifted her hands. The ribbon trembled faintly between them. He drew her a fraction closer with the tension and felt her pulse in the pads of his fingers. The first movement began, a slow pivot to the right. She followed without hesitation. Step, turn, sweep. He caught her eyes and for an instant forgot the onlookers, forgot the game, forgot everything but the way her breath rose and fell to the same rhythm as his.
When she faltered on a quick change, he steadied her by the wrist and guided her back into place. She didn't pull away. The ribbon stayed taut between them like a heartbeat. Around them applause rose for other couples, laughter, the clink of glasses. All he heard was the sound of her dress whispering against her skin and the faint hitch in her breathing.
At the edge of the garden, Logan stood with Brielle pressed against his arm. His gaze kept flicking toward the ribbon in Damien's and Maya's hands, toward the slow way Damien traced a circle against her palm to guide her. Brielle felt the shift in him like a physical thing. Her nails dug crescents into her own arm as she murmured something sharp under her breath, but Logan only smiled faintly, eyes still locked on Maya.
When the game ended, Damien held the ribbon a beat longer before letting it drop. Maya smoothed her dress and stepped back. He bent his head close enough for only her to hear. "You did well." She gave him a small nod and slipped toward the drinks table.
Evelyn intercepted her halfway. "Walk with me a moment?" she asked quietly.
They moved toward a side path lined with boxwood, out of earshot of the crowd. Evelyn's fingers brushed Maya's arm. "You know he likes you." The words were soft but steady. "Everyone can see it."
Maya's breath caught. "I..."
"Do you?" Evelyn asked.
Maya looked down, unable to answer. Silence stretched between them, heavier than any confession.
Evelyn's smile was gentle. "Don't worry. I'm rooting for you." She squeezed Maya's hand and turned back toward the garden, leaving Maya staring after her, pulse skittering in her throat.
Damien and Maya returned to their suite with the low hum of the day still on them. Their bags lay open but unpacked. Maya dropped onto the edge of the bed with a laugh she hadn't meant to let out. "We actually didn't break the ribbon," she said.
He loosened his tie, watching the way her hair slid over her shoulder as she bent to unstrap her shoes. "You were perfect," he said simply.
She looked up at him through her lashes. "It's just a game."
His fingers stilled on the knot of his tie. "Not to me."
She blinked and looked away, reaching for the hair dryer. He watched her cross to the mirror, plug it in, and start combing through the damp strands with her fingers. Warm air lifted the ends and sent them floating around her face. Every movement -- tilting her head, shaking out the sections, smoothing them down -- hit something inside him. He remembered Logan's voice low beside her at the drinks table, remembered her body pliant under his hands during the sculptor game. He hadn't realized until now how deep the ache ran.
She caught his eyes in the mirror for a heartbeat and looked away quickly. "You're staring."
"Yes," he said, no attempt at disguise.
The dryer clicked off. The room was suddenly quiet except for their breathing. She set the device down, hands flat on the dresser, then turned. "We should finish packing."
He crossed to her in three steps. His hand brushed hers when he reached for a shirt on the bed. Neither moved. They stood like that a moment, so close the warmth of her skin seemed to seep through his clothes. He wanted to pull her into him, to bury his face in the scent of her hair still warm from the dryer, but he only said, "We've got time."
She smiled faintly, almost shy, and bent to fold her dress. They moved around each other in a slow orbit, packing, brushing shoulders, trading small jokes. Each brush of contact left an aftershock he couldn't shake. When at last she straightened and met his eyes, the air between them felt weighted, as if something were about to break.
He reached out, tucked a stray strand behind her ear again. Her breath trembled. For a moment neither spoke. The urge to close the distance was so strong it felt like gravity.
She stepped back first. "Good night," she said softly, turning toward her side of the bed.
He swallowed hard and switched off the lamp. "Good night."
Darkness settled. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the space she'd left between them like a wound.
Down the hall, Helena sat in her suite long after Edward had stormed out. The argument about the company's latest acquisition still echoed in the walls -- his accusations, her cool replies -- but her mind was elsewhere. She opened the folder on her lap, scrolling through the investigator's latest report on Isla Harrington.
No discrepancies. No arrests. No aliases. Not a crack anywhere. Too perfect.
Her phone buzzed. A new message from the investigator: No advancement yet. Continuing to search.
Helena stared at it for a long time, thumb poised over the screen. "Keep looking," she typed at last. She set the phone aside and leaned back, eyes fixed on nothing.
In the next room, Damien rolled onto his side. Maya's silhouette was a soft rise and fall beside him. He reached out under the covers, stopping himself just before his fingers found her hand.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She fumbled for it, blinking at the glow. A text from Tessa: Girl, you won't believe who I met. Call me when you see this. Beneath it, a string of missed calls from her brother.
Her stomach dropped. She pressed call back.
The line clicked open and her brother's voice rushed through, tight with panic. "Maya... Mom's in the hospital..."
The room tilted. Damien sat up at once, reaching for her, as she whispered her brother's name into the phone, the sound of his fear filling the quiet between them.