Layla walked into the office like nothing happened.
Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor. Her face calm, composed. Lip gloss in place. Not a single crack showing.
She was used to it—his mood swings, his silence, his sudden coldness. But last night had confused her. Humanly, it hurt.
Still, she wasn't going to show it.
He stepped into the building at 7:58 a.m., as usual—sharp suit, unreadable face.
She was already waiting with his coffee. Hot. Black. No sugar. Just how he liked it.
She handed it to him wordlessly and started walking away from the door.
"Morning," she muttered under her breath.
"Layla," his voice called out just as her hand brushed the doorknob.
She froze.
"Yes, sir?"
He didn't even look up. "Get ready. You're flying to San Diego with me this weekend. Client meeting."
She blinked. "Sir? That's not on the schedule—"
His eyes shot up—cold, dark, warning.
The kind of look that emptied your lungs.
She shut her mouth immediately and nodded.
"Understood."
She walked out.
Calm face. Fast steps. Straight to the staircase. Not the elevator.
She needed a second. Just one.
She sat on the steps halfway down, head buried in her hands, phone already ringing.
"Love" answered on the second ring.
Her voice cracked the moment she spoke. "Mama…"
Tears escaped before she could stop them.
"No, I— I can't make it this weekend. He's sending me on a trip. I know it's Daddy's memorial, Mama. I know… Please, don't cry. I'll be there Sunday, I promise."
She wiped her tears quickly, glancing around to be sure no one was listening.
"I didn't plan this. I didn't even get the chance to say no."
Layla entered Damian's office with her usual calm, clipboard in hand.
But Maya was already there. Sitting on the edge of his desk like she belonged.
Her smile turned sharp the moment she saw Layla.
"Oh," Maya said, flipping her hair. "You're here early. How cute."
Layla ignored her and walked to the other side of the room.
Maya stood, heels clicking. "I just told Damian I might be traveling with him instead. You know, keep him focused. He likes my presence." She gave a fake laugh. "He's always said I have a calming energy. You're a bit… tense."
Layla swallowed. "It's a business trip."
Maya stepped closer, eyes cold. "Everything with you is business. You should try being… softer. Maybe then someone would want you around for real."
Layla blinked.
That shouldn't have hurt.
But something about it cracked her chest.
The door opened behind them. Damian walked in, eyes flicking from one woman to the other.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Maya immediately stepped into character. Sweet smile. Innocent eyes. "Nothing. We were just talking. I think Layla misunderstood something I said."
Layla didn't speak.
Damian sighed. "Layla, please step out."
Her throat tightened. She nodded, turned quietly, and walked out.
She didn't make it to her desk before the tears slipped.
Scene: Damian's Fortress
Damian's house wasn't a home. It was a kingdom.
Tucked into the hills of Seattle, the glass estate overlooked the city like a throne. Infinity pools. Heated marble floors. An indoor garden on the third level. A sleek black staircase spiraled up through five levels of luxury.
The staff didn't live in. Just cleaners, chefs, security on shifts. No noise. No mess. No company.
He sat alone on a velvet couch in the penthouse lounge. The city glittered below.
He hated silence.
But he hated himself more tonight.
He could still hear her voice. That soft, broken one from the staircase.
"I didn't plan this… I'll be there Sunday, I promise."
He ran a hand through his hair. "Damn it."
He didn't even need to go on that trip. He created it. Just to be close to her. Just to spend time with her without anyone else around.
And now he'd made her cry twice in two days.
He turned in bed. Once. Twice. Again.
Restless.
By 1 a.m., he stood up and walked to the upstairs kitchen. Grabbed a glass. Opened the bar cabinet and poured himself a neat drink.
Took a sip.
Swiped his phone open. Searched her name on Instagram.
Found her.
Private account.
But the profile picture was her laughing, curls in her face, sunlight behind her.
He stared.
He didn't even follow her. Told himself it wasn't appropriate.
He scrolled through her tagged photos. Her with friends. Her in California. One with her dad. That one got him.
He smiled.
Then he caught himself and shut the phone.
Back to the room.
He tossed once more, then finally, sleep came.
Scene: Thursday Morning
Layla stepped into his office, quiet as usual. Coffee in hand. No eye contact.
She set it down like always.
He barely glanced up.
"The trip's cancelled," he said casually, eyes on his laptop.
She paused. "Sir?"
"No meeting. It's off."
Her voice stayed neutral. "Understood."
She turned to leave.
But just as she reached the door, her lips curved—just slightly.
He looked up. Watched her walk away.
Then smiled to himself.
A real one.