The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting golden streaks across Eleanor's bedroom floor. She sat at the edge of the grand bed, still in her satin nightgown, staring at the reflection of her own worried face in the mirror.
She was Mrs. Damian Blackwood now. The title should have made her feel powerful, maybe even untouchable, but instead, it felt like a fragile mask—one that could shatter if anyone discovered the truth.
A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
"Come in," she said, straightening quickly.
The door opened, and a young maid stepped inside, bowing politely. "Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood. Mr. Blackwood asked me to inform you that breakfast will be served in fifteen minutes."
"Thank you," Eleanor replied with a smile, and the maid quietly exited.
She took a deep breath before slipping into a pale-blue dress, something modest but elegant enough for breakfast in a house like this. She brushed her hair quickly, tying it loosely at the back, and forced herself to look calm. No matter how nervous she felt, she couldn't show it—not here, not in front of him.
---
The dining room was quiet when she arrived. Damian was already seated, his usual black suit perfectly in place, a newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He glanced up as she approached, his sharp gray eyes briefly softening.
"You're up early," he remarked, folding the paper neatly. "I thought you might sleep in."
"I didn't want to," she said, sitting across from him. "I don't want to feel like a guest in my own… home."
At her words, one of his brows lifted slightly, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw amusement flicker in his gaze.
"This is your home now," he said firmly, as if reminding her again. "You don't have to ask permission to feel comfortable here."
Eleanor offered him a small smile, though deep inside, she wondered how long it would take before she truly believed that.
They ate mostly in silence, the only sound the soft clinking of cutlery against plates. But midway through breakfast, Damian spoke again.
"I have to leave for the office today. A meeting I can't avoid."
Eleanor nodded, sipping her tea. "Of course."
"You'll stay here. Don't leave the house without telling me."
Her head lifted slightly, curiosity flashing in her eyes. "You're still worried someone might come after me?"
Damian's jaw tightened subtly. "Until I know for sure that threat is gone, I won't take chances."
Something in the way he said it—so protective, so absolute—made her chest tighten. She nodded obediently. "I understand."
He studied her for a long moment, as though searching her face for something unspoken, then nodded once. "Good."
---
The day stretched quietly after Damian left. Eleanor wandered through the vast mansion, exploring its many rooms. The library became her favorite almost instantly—rows upon rows of books neatly arranged, with soft leather chairs and a large window overlooking the gardens.
She sank into one of the chairs, running her fingers across the smooth wooden armrest, and for the first time since she'd entered this house, she felt almost at peace.
But as peaceful as the house seemed, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched—not by danger, but by the walls themselves. Everything here reminded her that this was Damian's world, not hers.
Hours passed, and by evening, she found herself pacing near the large windows, waiting for the sound of his car in the driveway. She told herself she wasn't waiting for him out of longing, only out of habit—he was her husband now, even if only in name.
When the familiar hum of the engine finally reached her ears, she felt her heart inexplicably quicken.
---
Damian walked in, removing his jacket as he entered the living room. He looked tired, but his presence remained commanding, every step purposeful.
"You waited for me," he observed, his voice carrying a hint of something she couldn't quite name.
Eleanor flushed slightly. "I just… wanted to know if everything went well at work."
His gaze softened almost imperceptibly, but his tone remained even. "Everything's fine."
There was a pause, then he added, "Have you eaten?"
She shook her head. "I thought we could have dinner together."
That earned her a look—one that lingered longer than usual, as if he was seeing her differently. Slowly, he nodded. "All right."
---
Dinner was quieter than she expected, but it was different from the silence of yesterday. There was a strange tension in the air, not hostile but heavy with something unspoken. She caught him watching her more than once, and every time their eyes met, he looked away a second too late.
After dinner, she excused herself to the garden again. The cool night breeze calmed her, but she didn't have long to herself before Damian appeared at the doorway.
"You like it out here," he said, stepping closer.
Eleanor nodded. "It's peaceful. It feels… safe."
Damian stopped just a few steps away from her, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. "You are safe, Eleanor. I meant what I said—no one can touch you while you're with me."
She turned to face him fully, her heart pounding at the intensity in his eyes. "I believe you," she said softly.
They stood there, the silence stretching between them, filled with something neither of them dared to name. The soft breeze played with the loose strands of her hair, and without thinking, Damian reached forward, gently tucking a strand behind her ear.
Eleanor froze, her breath caught in her throat as his fingers lingered just a second too long against her skin. His touch was warm, careful, almost reverent.
"Damian…" she whispered, not knowing what she wanted to say.
His gray eyes locked onto hers, searching, conflicted. For a moment, it felt as though the entire world had narrowed to just the two of them, the air charged with an undeniable pull.
But then, just as quickly, Damian stepped back, his expression shifting back to its usual composed mask.
"It's late," he said, his tone now firm, almost cold. "You should rest."
Eleanor swallowed, her heart still racing, but she nodded. "Goodnight, Damian."
"Goodnight, Eleanor."
He turned and walked back inside, leaving her standing alone in the garden. But even as the cool night air wrapped around her, she could still feel the warmth of his touch lingering against her cheek.
And deep down, Eleanor knew one thing for certain—no matter how hard they tried to keep their distance, they were crossing lines neither of them could ever take back.