The air between them cackled with a slow-burning electricity, the kind that felt alive—like static dancing over skin, prickling with heat and promise. Neither Alina nor Damian spoke; they simply stood there, staring at each other across the living room as though the room itself pulsed in time with their racing hearts. The tension rose steadily, layering itself across the worn out furniture, the pale morning light, even the quiet hum of the faulty appliances.
Lucas had left barely ten minutes ago, but his absence only magnified everything. Alina felt every second stretch painfully. She couldn't bring herself to continue her chores—not with Damian standing there, not with his presence looming so confidently in her tiny home. She could already picture the washing machine embarrassing her with its loud clattering or its dramatic refusal to spin. The old thing had betrayed her too many times to be trusted.
"Don't just stand there staring at me, wife." Damian's lips curled into a teasing smirk, smooth and provoking. "I already know I've got the looks."
He brushed his black hair back with one hand, the motion effortless, almost arrogant. The gesture highlighted the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the sculpted jaw, and the unexpectedly tender eyes hiding behind his glasses. The glasses only made him more infuriatingly attractive—like he had no right being this handsome while also being hers.
Her husband.
The word still felt like something she was borrowing rather than owning.
"You're something else," she muttered under her breath, heat creeping up her neck. She turned and hurried back toward the bathroom, pretending she had important things to do there. But she felt it—the weight of his eyes trailing her every step, warm and direct, as though he could see right through the walls she always tried to build around herself.
Her ears burned. No man she'd ever dated had been inside her home before—not once. And now the first man to ever stand in her living room wasn't a boyfriend or a guest. He was her husband. Her reluctant, unexpected, whirlwind husband.
At twenty-three, marriage wasn't supposed to be on her list. She had plans for herself—dreams she was still building, goals that still felt half-real. But all of that changed the moment her mother quietly confessed the truth about the company two years ago.
Alina had dropped out in her third year of university. She had taken every part-time job she could find, juggling shifts and exhaustion just to keep herself afloat. Then her mother's health worsened. Her father's company collapsed. Everything fell apart—finances, reputation, stability. Her family became a spectacle, something people whispered about on the street corners.
And she became the one who had to fix it all.
The pressure lodged in her bones like a permanent ache.
"Alina."
Damian's voice came from behind her—low, calm, but threaded with something that tugged at her attention.
She startled slightly before turning around, forcing a smile to cover the way her thoughts knotted. Maybe this wasn't easy for him either. Maybe his life had been derailed too. Their marriage, after all, was born out of necessity, not romance. Two strangers thrown into a commitment neither had prepared for, each carrying goals and expectations the other barely understood.
Guilt nipped at her. Had she been selfish? Too wrapped up in her own fear to see what he might be feeling?
"Did you plan on getting married this year?" she whispered, staring at her feet. "Or at least… getting married to me?"
Her question hung in the air like fragile glass.
Damian blinked, genuinely taken aback. She had been distant since the beginning, standing stubbornly at arm's length, pushing him away whenever he stepped closer—emotionally or physically. He didn't expect her to ask something so vulnerable.
Most women practically threw themselves at him. Some would carve their way through steel to marry a Thorn heir. But Alina? Alina wanted nothing to do with his status, his money, his family name.
She only acknowledged him.
And that did something to him—something deep and unsettling.
He set the plastic bag from the mall on the floor and stepped closer. Slowly. Intentionally. His fingers reached up to gently toy with the loose strands at the side of her bun. Her hair was pulled into a messy knot, soft raven strands falling over her neck. It made her look younger, more delicate—adorably so.
"I didn't," he said honestly. "Marriage wasn't on my list. Not this year, not even the next. It caught me off guard." He let out a small chuckle, remembering. "And yes, I was a prick the first day I saw you."
A soft huff escaped her, but she didn't deny it.
He cupped her face with both hands, tilting her chin up. His palms were large, warm—steady in a way that made her feel oddly anchored.
Her breath stuttered.
Her knees nearly buckled.
Was it the heat in the room or was it just him?
"Even so," he continued, voice dropping into something rich and deliberate, "I'll be the best husband and father to you."
Father.
The word hit her like a spark.
His eyes softened, glowing with something she couldn't name—something raw and dangerously sincere.
"You never have to worry about other men," he whispered, leaning in until his breath brushed her lips. "And don't look at me like that, Alina."
Her name rolled off his tongue like a caress.
"I want to be the one for you. Even if I'm not good enough—"
"Who said you weren't?"
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
She froze.
Her face exploded in heat.
Oh. God.
Had she just said that out loud?
Damian's smile widened—slow, wicked, deeply amused. His expression darkened in the most sinful way as he leaned closer.
"I—I didn't mean it like that!" she blurted.
He didn't believe her for a second.
His arm slid around her waist, strong and firm, pulling her directly into his body. Their chests met—soft against solid—and her breath caught entirely.
"Are you blushing, sweet wife?" he teased, voice smooth like velvet. "This reaction… I could get addicted to it."
Her heart dropped into her stomach. His touch, his closeness—it was overwhelming. Too much. Not enough. Everything at once.
"Damian—"
"God, Alina," he breathed, voice rough against her ear, "you're driving me insane."
And then he kissed her—
—on the forehead.
Soft. Gentle. Reverent.
Her heart tumbled.
She melted before she could stop herself, arms slipping around him as though her body had made the choice before her brain caught up. His chest was warm, steady. His embrace felt like a shelter she didn't know she needed—comfort she had never allowed herself to crave.
She could have stayed there forever.
But the realization hit her too fast, too suddenly.
She jerked back, startled by her own vulnerability.
"Don't."
Damian didn't let her go. His arm tightened, pulling her back into him. Their bodies pressed closer—too close—her curves molding naturally against the firmness of his frame.
She gasped softly.
He swallowed hard.
"I'm… hungry," she whispered, needing an escape, needing air.
He finally released her, stepping back with a soft amused smile. He tapped her forehead lightly. "Then forgive me, milady. Your food will be ready soon."
He offered a playful bow before walking into the kitchen.
Something inside her unraveled into a shy smile.
She felt lighter. Freer. As though a heavy stone she had been carrying finally cracked.
But then—
A pair of curious eyes peeked at her.
Alina blinked.
Petra, her fluffy white-and-gray cat, sat perched on the armrest like a judgmental queen.
Alina's face flushed scarlet.
Of all the spectators…
Thank God cats couldn't speak.
She followed Damian with her eyes as he unpacked groceries from the plastic bag and lined them neatly on the counter. His movements were practiced, efficient—like a man who had cooked more than people assumed. There was no hesitation, no confusion.
"This is the second time he's cooking for me," she whispered to herself, watching him.
Most people criticized her home—the peeling paint, the cramped kitchen, the old furniture. Some couldn't hide their disgust. Others simply left and never returned.
But Damian…
Damian didn't flinch once.
He didn't comment or judge.
He just stepped in and started cooking for her.
"The washing machine is faulty, isn't it?" he asked casually, opening a cabinet.
Alina stiffened.
Of course he would notice.
She cleared her throat. "Yes. But winter's here already, so I'm focusing on other things."
Not to mention—she planned to visit her mother on Saturday with Kelvin. She had canceled her bank trip the moment he arrived unexpectedly.
"I see." He sliced a white onion with the kind of confidence people in luxury homes weren't supposed to have.
"How did you even know it was faulty?" she asked.
He gestured with the knife. "The socket's on. But it's not washing."
Her eyes widened. She ran to the machine, dropping to her knees to check it herself.
"What?!"
She hit the body of the machine repeatedly. "Goodness, not today…"
She was mortified.
Damian laughed under his breath—the sight of her whacking the machine was both adorable and surprisingly endearing.
"When are you visiting your mother?" he asked. "A caretaker has been hired for her—every day—until she's fully recovered."
Her movements stilled.
Warmth flooded her chest. Gratitude, relief, guilt—the entire mix weighed heavy and light at the same time.
"I really appreciate your help," she whispered.
He shook his head gently. "I'm glad I can help." He chopped spinach next, the knife gliding smoothly. "And there are still more tasks your father assigned to me. I must obey my father-in-law."
"Stop acting like we're really married," she muttered, frowning deeply as the washing machine suddenly roared back to life.
Damian's lips twitched. "But… we are married."
"What about the model?" she blurted before she could stop herself. The image of the woman's expression flashed in her mind again—sharp, threatening, too familiar with Damian.
He stiffened. Barely a second. But she saw it.
"A family friend," he said simply.
Alina crossed her arms. "Your girlfriend?"
He turned, eyes darkening with a depth she hadn't seen before. "Never been." His voice dropped, low and almost dangerous. "Why are you asking, Alina?"
Her throat tightened.
"I—I didn't mean to," she stuttered and hurried away.
He moved to follow her—
—but his phone vibrated sharply.
He groaned and checked the caller. Lucas.
"I'm unavailable," he snapped.
"Boss," Lucas said, urgency spilling through the speaker, "you need to see this."
Damian sighed. "What is it?"
"Your wife is all over the internet."
Damian froze.
"What?" he said, voice dripping into cold disbelief.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.