Chapter 5 Behind Locked Doors

The next morning, Zara awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and soft sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains.

For a moment, she forgot where she was. The bed was too soft, the silence too clean, and the room too luxurious to be hers.

But then her eyes landed on the designer gown draped across the chair and the glittering earrings beside her phone. It all came rushing back.

The contract.

The gala.

Damien Blackwood.

She sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

A small tray had been placed at her bedside - coffee, croissants, and a single white card.

"You did well. We have dinner tonight. 8 sharp. – D."

No "good morning." No signature. Just the kind of brief, efficient message that made her wonder how many other women had gotten notes like this before her.

Still, she couldn't stop her lips from curling into a confused half-smile.

After breakfast, Zara wandered through the house.

She wasn't sure if she was allowed to explore, but no one stopped her. No security, no locked doors - at least, not yet. The mansion was quieter during the day, sunlight painting gold streaks on the floor and walls. It almost felt peaceful.

Almost.

She found the library first - floor-to-ceiling shelves, leather-bound books, and a fireplace that had probably never seen actual fire. Then the indoor pool - silent and still like a mirror. Then the gym. Then the garden.

But at the far end of the west hallway, she found something strange.

A door.

Not just any door. This one was matte black with a silver handle - different from the elegant wooden doors in the rest of the mansion. And unlike the others, this one was locked.

Zara stared at it for a long moment.

Her hand instinctively reached for the knob.

Nothing. Solid. Firm. Cold.

Her curiosity tugged harder. But she pulled back and continued walking, pretending it hadn't bothered her.

By late afternoon, she finally saw Damien again.

He was in the living room, sleeves rolled, tie undone, reading something on his tablet.

"You made yourself at home," he said without looking up.

"I wasn't sure where I was allowed to go," she said, sitting on the opposite couch.

He finally glanced up, eyes sharp. "You can go anywhere you like."

Zara nodded slowly, trying to hide her interest. "Even behind locked doors?"

There was a pause - just half a second, but she caught it.

His gaze shifted slightly, then landed on her with new focus. "Some doors are locked for a reason."

She leaned forward. "What's behind that one down the west hall?"

He didn't blink. "Curiosity is dangerous."

"So is secrecy."

His jaw tensed, just slightly.

"Some things are better left unseen," he said.

"And some people are just afraid of being seen," she countered quietly.

For a second, Damien looked like he might say something. But instead, he set the tablet down and stood.

"Dinner is at 8. Wear the red."

He walked out without another word.

That night, the dining room looked like a five-star restaurant. Candlelight flickered across the crystal glasses and polished silver. The table was set for two.

Zara wore the red dress he left for her. Off-shoulder. Silky. Barely decent.

Damien, on the other hand, looked like sin dressed in black. Simple button-down, sleeves rolled again, watch glinting beneath the light.

He didn't compliment her. Didn't need to. The way he looked at her - just for a second - was enough.

Dinner started in silence. Clinking silverware. Sips of wine. Light jazz in the background.

But the tension between them was louder than anything.

Finally, he spoke.

"You're not like the others."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that a compliment or a warning?"

"Both."

Zara sat her fork down. "You don't trust easily."

"I don't trust at all."

"Then why bring me into your world?"

He looked up, eyes unreadable. "Because for once, I wanted to see if someone would choose to stay... even when they weren't paid to."

That hit her harder than it should have.

She leaned back, arms folded. "Is that what this is? A test?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he asked, "Why did you say yes, Zara?"

She hesitated.

Because I was broke.

Because I needed to save my sister.

Because I didn't think I'd matter enough for you to notice me.

But none of those words came out.

She met his eyes. "Because part of me wanted to find out who you really are."

A beat of silence passed between them.

Then he stood, walked around the table, and held out his hand.

"Come with me."

Zara placed her hand in his and followed.

But instead of leading her to the garden or the ballroom, Damien walked her down the hallway... to the locked door.

Her heart thudded.

He pulled out a key from his pocket, slipped it into the lock, and opened it.

Zara stepped in slowly.

The room was dim, quiet, and completely unlike the rest of the mansion. No gold. No glass. Just simple wood. A piano. Old photographs. A single chair in the center.

She turned to him. "What is this?"

"My mother's room," he said softly.

Zara froze.

"She died here. I've kept it the same. Haven't let anyone in since."

"Why now?"

He didn't look at her.

"Because you asked."

Zara's chest tightened. She took a small step toward the center of the room, her voice softer now.

"You loved her."

"She was the only person who loved me without expecting anything."

"And now you think no one else will."

He glanced at her, eyes unreadable.

"Maybe."

Zara reached out and gently touched the side of the piano. "You're not the man the world thinks you are, Damien."

He didn't speak.

But when she looked back at him, something in his eyes had changed - cracked open.

Just a little.