When Damien arrived back at the Sterling manor, the living room was filled with cheerful chatter. Penelope was looking at dresses in magazines with her mother. Sam stood by the window, his face a usual mask of indifference. Don and Thomas were discussing the engagement.
Penelope, with a magazine in her hand, ran toward him. "Damien, what do you think about this gown for the engagement?" she asked. "It's the latest fashion. Look, she showed him the picture explaining the fabric and the details on it: the intricate French lace, the layers of flowing organza, the subtle sparkle of beading along the sweetheart neckline. "It's been months in the making, a collaborative piece by five top European designers!" Damien murmured, his gaze sweeping over the page with a dispassionate flick, "It's fine."
She then continued, her enthusiasm undimmed by his curt response. "And this tailored suit would be a perfect match for my gown. The dark charcoal color would complement the ivory so beautifully, and the silk lapel…"
Damien's gaze remained distant, fixed on some point beyond Penelope's shoulder. He barely registered the fabric names or the excited cadence of her voice. The words engagement and gown felt like lead weights in his chest, binding him to a future he loathed. He simply said, his voice flat, "You should hire an engagement planner. I'm not good at these things." He moved toward a sofa to sit down, sinking into the plush velvet as if seeking to disappear into the cushions. The air around him seemed to thicken with his palpable reluctance.
Sam watched Damien's clear lack of interest, a cynical smirk playing on his lips. Damien didn't even try to feign politeness; his rejection was a cold, hard stone thrown at Penelope's excitement. If he's putting this much effort into the engagement, I can only imagine his effort in the marriage. He smiled internally, a dark, satisfying twist of his mouth. This alliance, this perfect corporate merger disguised as a love match, was already fraying. He then looked at his father. I wonder how long did Thomas plan this marriage alliance with the Sterlings... Sam thought, a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew his father's ambition was limitless, but this seemed like a new level of desperate folly. Does he really think a man who dislikes his daughter would help him gain control over my grandfather's company? Sam's eyes narrowed. He must be pretty delusional. Thomas looked Sam's way, and Sam just held the challenging smirk, letting his father absorb the silent contempt.
Don, seeing Penelope's quick flash of disappointment—her bright smile dimming into a hurt frown—interjected smoothly. He had a lifetime of experience managing delicate social situations and far more volatile business ones. "My dear, we men know nothing about these things. We only show up when we are told to," he chuckled, the sound carefully calibrated to be warm and dismissive. He fixed Damien with a quick, warning glance, a stern look that conveyed a world of unsaid obligations and corporate necessities. Play the part, boy, the glance commanded. At least pretend.
The group then moved to the dining room, where a meticulously set table waited. The conversation flowed from the engagement's logistics—the guest list, the venue, the expected media frenzy—and later, about the business dealings that formed the true foundation of the union. Damien sat at the polished mahogany table, holding his fork in a white-knuckled grip, his food untouched. His thoughts, however, were miles away and entirely consumed by Sarah.
The image of her face—the crinkle around her eyes when she laughed, the focused set of her jaw when she was deep in thought—was a sharp, agonizing counterpoint to the sterile opulence of the room. He wished he could run off with her to a place where no one could find them, a place where their connection wasn't an act of rebellion, a shameful secret, or a potential scandal, but a simple fact of life. A place where their love could breathe freely. If I wasn't born a Sterling, I could give myself whole to Sarah, he thought, the truth a heavy burden. I wouldn't have to lie and hide the truth. The engagement façade, the polite smiles, the business talk—it all felt like a gilded cage, locking him away from the only person who made him feel truly free. The silence he maintained wasn't one of polite consideration; it was the heavy quiet of a man already mourning a life he hadn't yet lost.