Chapter 4 SECRETS BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

Three weeks into their marriage and Elise had learned something new about Damian Lancaster.

He wasn't just cold.

He was calculated.

Everything-every word, every glance, every decision-was filtered through an internal computer program she couldn't crack. Even when he was polite, there was an edge. A distance. As if he was always four steps ahead, and she was still figuring out whether they were playing the same game.

And maybe they weren't.

Maybe this wasn't a game, then.

Maybe it was war. A quiet one. No blood, no bullets.

Just quiet. And acting. And the quiet, mundane ache of not being wanted.

---

But she had changed, too.

She started reading the business section each morning-learning about his world. Not to impress him.

Because she would not be ignorant in her own life.

She spoke with the staff. Asked them their names. Remembered them. Learned what days they worked and which days they were off.

She even began going out. Alone. Not long, not foolishly. But enough to remember that the world still turned, with or without her.

And Damian?

He knew.

She caught him staring at her more.

Like he was trying to recognize who she was becoming.

---

"Elise."

His voice located her in the hallway one night.

She turned. "Yes?"

He came toward her, the light from his study casting shadows on his face.

"There's dinner tomorrow. Private. With the Minister of Trade and his wife."

She paused. "Do you want me there?"

He stared at her, slowly.

"I need you there."

"Need," she repeated. "Not want?"

His jaw tightened. "Want isn't in this deal. We agreed on that."

She nodded once. "Then I'll be there. Professionally pleasant."

He stared at her.

"Elise," he said after a pause, softer now, "you don't have to use your words as weapons."

She stepped closer.

"And you don't get to tell me how to feel in a life I didn't choose."

He exhaled slowly, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Then, to her surprise, he nodded.

"Fair."

---

The dinner was in a five-star restaurant reserved behind closed doors. Opulence emanated from each nook and cranny-crystal, velvet, floating waiters like ghosts. Elise wore a red dress now, sleek and bold, hair back, painted lips like warning signs.

She wasn't that shy girl who had trembled through their wedding vows.

She was someone new now.

A version of her she hadn't met before.

Damian showed her like she was something. His voice stayed steady. His hand lay at the base of her back. It almost fooled as real.

The minister's wife, an elderly French woman with curious eyes, leaned forward halfway through dinner.

"You are not what I expected," she said low and with an accent.

"Neither is the wedding," Elise said.

The woman smiled. "Then perhaps it will surprise you."

---

Later, in the car, Damian did not utter a word.

Too quiet.

"You were impressive tonight," he said finally.

Elise turned her head. "I wasn't trying to be."

"I know."

He paused.

"That's what made it impressive."

Her throat tightened.

"You say things like that and then retreat again. Why?"

He didn't answer immediately.

"Because kindness," he said slowly, "feels like a liability."

"To you?"

"To men like me."

She looked away.

"You make me feel like I'm walking on glass," she whispered.

His voice was low. "And you make me feel like I'm bleeding."

---

Later in the penthouse, Elise didn't go to her bedroom.

She followed him into his study.

He stiffened but didn't send her away.

"Do you ever let anyone in, Damian?"

He closed a file. "Not since I discovered how people use intimacy as leverage."

"I'm not trying to leverage you."

"You're trying to understand me."

She stepped closer. "Is that so terrible?"

He leaned back into the chair. "No. It's not safe."

"For whom?"

His eyes trapped hers.

"For us both."

------

They hovered in the thick quiet, some unspoken flower between them.

But just shy of more coming between them-words, lies, maybe a kiss-a phone rang.

He looked down. His face clicked into an angry grimace.

Elise saw the flash on the screen before he lifted the phone from it.

"Julian."

The mention of the name dripped over her skin in an odd, unwelcome shiver.

"Deal with it," Damian said curtly into the receiver, then slammed down the receiver.

But she saw it-the change in him.

A darkness that hadn't been there two seconds before.

"What was that?" she said.

He pushed to his feet. "Business."

"That is not an answer."

He hovered at the doorway.

"Not all things need an answer, Elise."

---

But it did.

At least to her.

Because that name-Julian-was etched with something deeper.

Something dark.

---

The next day, she did something she never thought she'd do.

She interrogated Gabrielle.

"Who's Julian?"

Gabrielle didn't blink. But the flicker of tension between her shoulders betrayed her.

"He's not in your domain."

"But he's in Damian's."

Gabrielle pressed her lips into a line. "Julian Castell is not a name you use loosely. And never in front of Mr. Lancaster."

"Why?"

"Because Julian is a ghost. One that refuses to stay dead."

---

That night, Elise waited until Damian was in his office. She knocked once. Then went in without waiting.

He looked up at her, shocked.

"I asked you something yesterday," she said quietly.

He said nothing.

"Elise-"

"Who is Julian?"

Damian stood up slowly.

"You're playing with fire."

"Then tell me about the burn."

He moved around the desk, his gaze cold.

"Julian is why I don't sleep. He's why I don't love."

The news hurt more than she expected.

"His best friend," Damian answered after a moment. "He betrayed me. Took something... someone... that I wasn't ready to lose."

Elise's breath caught.

"You loved her."

Damian nodded once. "I would have married her."

"And she chose him?"

"She chose the lie he told her."

Elise took a ragged breath. "Is that why you agreed to marry me? Because I was safe?"

"No," he answered softly. "I married you because it secured my empire."

And what of me, Damian?" Her voice broke. "What do I receive?"

He did not reply.

Then, softer than she believed he was capable of-

"Whatever you're strong enough to bear."

---

Elise did not cry that night.

She remained in bed, her gaze on the ceiling, her mind replaying it all-Julian, the woman Damian had lost, the war within him he would not discuss.

He had been damaged.

Horribly.

But that did not excuse the chill.

It only explained it.

And she wasn't sure if she wanted to mend him...

-or if she wanted to run away from him.

Maybe both.

Maybe neither.

But what she did know absolutely was this:

She wasn't the same woman who walked into this marriage.

And she never would be that woman again.

---