Chapter 8 Judged at First Sight

CHAPTER 8

ROSE'S POV

The sunlight streamed through the windows, nudging me awake. I groaned, rubbing my eyes, and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was early-too early, really-but the nerves in my stomach wouldn't let me go back to sleep.

I swung my legs off the bed, feeling the cold floor beneath my feet. My heart was already racing, knowing what today meant. Meeting Damien's mother. My stomach churned at the thought.

"This is bad. This is really bad," I muttered to myself, pacing the room. "I'm meeting his mother for the first time, and I'm living in his house. I'm not even married to him. What will she think? That I'm just some shameless woman freeloading off her son?"

I stopped and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was a mess, my face still bore the faint imprints of the pillow, and my nerves were written all over my features.

"Pull it together, Rose," I whispered, shaking my head. "You can do this. Just... be polite. Smile. Don't say anything stupid."

With a deep breath, I stepped out of my room and padded downstairs. The house was quiet, the kind of serene silence that made every creak of the floorboards sound like an explosion.

The smell of coffee hit me first, and I sighed. Maybe a cup would calm my nerves. But just as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I froze.

Damien was coming down the other staircase.

He was wearing gray sweatpants and a white shirt that clung to him like a second skin, highlighting every ridge and outline of his muscles. My mouth went dry.

"Morning," he said, his voice low and gravelly, still thick with sleep.

I gulped, and my brain short-circuited for a second.

"Good-uh-good morning," I stammered, quickly averting my eyes.

What was wrong with me? He was just... Damien. The man who constantly got under my skin. The man who was pretending to be my fiancé. The man who-

I shook my head, smacking my own cheek lightly to snap out of it.

"What are you doing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Nothing!" I blurted, a little too loudly. "Absolutely nothing. Just... heading to the kitchen."

He gave me a look, one of those amused smirks that made me want to throw something at him.

The doorbell rang, saving me from further embarrassment.

"Oh no," I whispered, panic setting in. My eyes darted to Damien, but he just shrugged, heading toward the living room.

"You gonna get that?" he called over his shoulder.

I hesitated, my hands wringing together. Was it her? Was his mother here already?

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, only to find one of the staff standing there.

"Good morning, ma'am," she said politely. "We've finished organizing the dining area for the brunch later. Let us know if there's anything else you need."

Relief washed over me, and I nodded quickly. "Thank you. That's all for now."

I closed the door, exhaling shakily. "False alarm," I muttered.

Thirty minutes later, I was pacing in the living room, mentally preparing myself for what was undoubtedly going to be one of the most nerve-wracking moments of my life.

"Stay calm, Rose," I whispered to myself. "It's just his mother. She's just a person... a terrifying, judgmental person who's probably going to hate you."

The doorbell rang again, sharper this time. My heart jumped. Damien, who was already downstairs, strode toward the door without so much as a glance at me. His movements were deliberate, calm-so completely opposite of the storm brewing in my chest.

I heard the door creak open and then a familiar, commanding voice rang out.

"Damien Sterling. You didn't think you could avoid me forever, did you?"

I froze mid-step. Evelyn Sterling.

Damien's tone was calm, even a touch amused. "Mother. Always a pleasure."

"Don't start with the pleasantries," she snapped. "Now, where is she?"

"Who?" Damien asked, feigning innocence.

"Don't act coy, Damien. The girl. Where is this Rose I've been hearing so much about?"

My stomach dropped. She was here. And she wanted to see me.

My first instinct was to run-to bolt upstairs, pretend I wasn't home, anything to delay the inevitable. But before I could take a step, I heard the sharp clack of heels against the floor.

I turned just in time to see her stride into the room, her presence dominating the space instantly. Evelyn Sterling was everything I expected and more. Tall, elegant, and exuding a kind of effortless power that made my hands sweat. Her dark hair was styled to perfection, her makeup flawless, and her sharp eyes locked onto me like a hawk zeroing in on prey.

"So," she said, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "You're the one."

My throat went dry.

"What's your full name?" she demanded.

"Rose Sinclair," I said quickly, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Sinclair," she repeated, her tone laced with mild curiosity. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I've heard that name before... but never mind."

She looked me up and down, her gaze sweeping over me in a way that made my skin crawl. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and though she didn't say anything, the judgment in her eyes was loud enough.

"Tell me, Rose Sinclair," she continued, crossing her arms. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a journalist," I replied, trying to sound confident.

"A journalist," she repeated, her tone dripping with disdain. She turned to Damien, raising an eyebrow. "You brought a journalist into the house? Really, Damien? What were you thinking? She could be a spy. She could be digging for dirt on the family. Have you even considered the implications of this?"

"Mother," Damien interjected, his voice calm but firm. "You're overreacting."

"I'm not overreacting," she snapped, her gaze snapping back to me. "Do you know how much this family has to lose, Damien? And you bring someone like her into the house? A journalist, of all things?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. I had no idea how to defuse the situation. Every part of me wanted to shrink into the floor and disappear.

"Mother," Damien said again, stepping closer to her. His voice was quieter now, but there was a sharpness to it that made her pause. "You haven't even allowed me to speak. How about we start with some basic manners? Like, oh, I don't know... asking how I'm doing?"

Evelyn's eyes narrowed at him, but she didn't respond immediately.

"How are you doing, Damien?" she asked finally, her tone clipped.

"Better now that you've asked," he said smoothly, a faint smile playing on his lips.

She huffed but didn't push further.

Damien turned to me, his expression softening slightly. "Rose," he said gently, "why don't you head upstairs and get changed? Take your time."

I nodded quickly, grateful for the escape. "Yes, of course," I said, backing away.

As I headed for the stairs, I could feel Evelyn's eyes boring into my back. The tension in the room was palpable, and I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

Once I was upstairs, I leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily. The meeting had gone exactly as I'd feared-and it wasn't even over yet.