Chapter 4 Boundaries and Cracks

Elena stood in front of her mirror, smoothing the fabric of the black dress she'd pulled from her suitcase. Dinner at seven, Damian had said, and she couldn't tell if it was an order or an invitation. Either way, she'd decided she wouldn't show up looking frazzled and out of place.

The dining room was grand, like every other part of the estate, with a long table that could easily seat twenty. But tonight, only two places were set, the rest of the room empty save for the low flicker of candlelight and the distant murmur of staff.

Damian was already seated, a glass of wine in his hand, his dark eyes lifting to meet hers as she entered.

"You're punctual," he said, motioning for her to sit.

"You told me not to be late," Elena replied, taking the seat across from him.

His lips quirked in a faint smile. "And you follow orders. That's good to know."

She raised an eyebrow, refusing to rise to the bait. "I prefer to think of it as respecting other people's time."

A server appeared, setting plates in front of them before retreating silently. Elena glanced down at the artfully plated dish, her stomach growling despite herself.

As they ate, the silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Damian seemed content to watch her, his gaze steady and unrelenting.

Finally, she broke the silence. "Do you always eat alone in a house this big?"

He took a sip of wine, his expression unreadable. "Most of the time."

"Doesn't it get... lonely?"

He leaned back, studying her. "Loneliness isn't something I have time to think about. My focus is on my work, not distractions."

"And I'm a distraction?" she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

"Not yet," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriating half-smile. "But I'm sure you could be if you wanted to."

Elena's cheeks warmed, but she refused to look away. "Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Blackwood. I'm here to do a job, not... whatever it is you're implying."

"Good," he said simply, his tone shifting back to cool professionalism. "Then we understand each other."

But as the meal continued, the tension between them simmered, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

A Late-Night Discovery

Later that night, Elena found herself wandering the halls of the estate. Sleep eluded her, her mind racing with ideas for the project-and with the memory of Damian's intense gaze across the dinner table.

The house was eerily quiet, the only sounds her soft footsteps and the distant creak of wood settling in the cold. She turned a corner and stopped short, her breath catching in her throat.

Damian was there, standing by one of the massive windows in the library, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He hadn't seen her yet, his attention fixed on the snow falling softly outside.

She hesitated, debating whether to turn back, but something about the way he stood-his shoulders tense, his posture rigid-made her stay.

"You don't sleep either?" she asked softly, stepping into the room.

He turned, surprise flickering across his face before he masked it with his usual composure. "Not often."

Elena moved closer, the firelight casting a warm glow over the room. "What keeps you up?"

He considered her for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "You ask a lot of questions, Miss Carter."

"Maybe I'm just trying to understand you," she said, surprising even herself with her honesty.

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle, setting his glass down on the table. "Understanding me isn't something you should waste your time on."

"Why not?" she pressed, stepping closer.

"Because I'm not the kind of man people understand," he said, his voice low. "I'm the kind they fear. The kind they avoid. And that suits me just fine."

For a moment, she didn't know what to say. But then, against her better judgment, she spoke. "Maybe you're wrong. Maybe you just haven't let anyone try."

The words hung between them, heavy and electric. Damian's eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the mask slipped. She saw something raw and unguarded in his expression-something that made her chest tighten.

But just as quickly, it was gone. He stepped back, putting distance between them. "Go to bed, Miss Carter. You'll need your rest for tomorrow."

His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. And yet, as she turned to leave, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd glimpsed something in him he didn't want her to see.