Chapter 4 Her First Night in the Mansion

Zara didn't sleep.

Not really.

She drifted in and out of uneasy dreams, waking every few minutes to the sound of silence that was too perfect. There were no honking cars, no creaky pipes, no babies crying next door like in her old apartment. Just stillness. Cold and clean.

At 4 a.m., she gave up trying and wandered barefoot into the hallway.

She didn't know why, but her legs moved on their own, following the marble corridor toward the faintest light down the hall.

Damien's study.

The door was slightly ajar.

She hesitated, her fingers brushing against the frame, and then pushed it open just enough to peek inside.

There he was.

Seated behind a massive black desk, shirt sleeves rolled, tie discarded, hair slightly tousled like he'd been running his hands through it for hours. A glass of whiskey sat untouched beside his laptop, and the only light came from the massive floor-to-ceiling windows behind him.

She almost turned back.

But then, without looking up, he said, "You can come in. I knew you were there."

Zara froze. "I wasn't trying to spy."

"I didn't say you were," he replied, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. "Can't sleep?"

She shook her head. "Too quiet."

He leaned back in his chair and gestured to the seat across from him.

She stepped inside slowly and sat down, pulling her knees up slightly, her robe wrapped tightly around her body.

"I keep thinking this is some sort of twisted dream," she said.

"Do you want to wake up?" he asked.

She looked at him carefully. "I'm not sure."

He smirked faintly, but it wasn't cruel. Just tired. "Honest. That's rare."

Zara glanced at the shelves behind him - filled with books, awards, and things that looked like they belonged in a museum.

"Is this where you work all night and ruin people's lives?"

"Sometimes," he said without missing a beat. "Other nights I just drink and wonder how I became this man."

His voice was lower now. Less guarded.

Zara tilted her head. "And who are you, exactly?"

He gave a small laugh, the kind that sounded more bitter than amused. "Depends who you ask. To the world? A self-made billionaire. To my competitors? A threat. To the women I've dated?" He paused. "A ghost."

She raised an eyebrow. "A ghost?"

"I show up, I disappear. Never fully there. Never fully gone."

Zara studied him. "Then why bring me here? Why let someone this close?"

He didn't answer right away. He just stared at her like he was trying to decide how much of himself to reveal.

Then finally, he said, "Because sometimes the lies I tell the world start to sound like truth. And I need someone to remind me they're not."

Her breath caught.

For the first time, Damien Blackwood didn't feel like a billionaire or a mystery.

He felt... lonely.

"You think I can remind you who you are?" she asked softly.

"I think you already have," he replied.

The air between them grew heavy, but not in a bad way. It was charged - not with lust, but with understanding. Like two strangers who weren't strangers anymore.

Zara stood up slowly, not trusting herself to say anything more.

"Goodnight," she said.

As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.

"Zara."

She looked back.

"I'm not used to people seeing past the surface. Don't take it lightly."

She didn't smile. But her eyes softened.

"I don't."

And then she walked out - heart pounding harder than it had all night.

Back in her room, she climbed into bed, pulled the sheets over her head, and finally - finally - let sleep take her.

But even in sleep, Damien's voice echoed in her mind.

"Sometimes the lies I tell the world start to sound like truth."