Chapter 5 We only look like we are in control

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When Lena woke up, sunlight filtered through the penthouse curtains like guilt.

She was alone.

Of course.

The spot next to her was cold-emptied long before the city stirred. Only the faint scent of his cologne clung to the sheets, mixed with salt and silk and regret.

She sat up slowly, like her body remembered something her mind hadn't caught up to yet.

Rule Two was a puddle of ashes now.

And Rule Three?

It suddenly felt like a loaded gun on the nightstand.

---

In the kitchen, a single espresso steamed on the counter. No note. Just the bitter aroma and Damon's lingering absence.

He always left things neat.

Even chaos.

She stared at the cup like it might apologize.

---

By 9 a.m., Lena was in boardroom armor: cream blazer, gold hoops, lips tinted a color called "Power Move." She didn't believe in playing small-especially not after crossing a line no contract could cover.

But the moment she entered the Kingsley Corp conference room, she knew something was wrong.

The room was full. Board members in grays and blues. Frowns like punctuation marks.

Damon was already seated at the head.

Composed. Distant.

Like nothing had happened.

She took her seat beside him. Eyes met. Brief. Blank.

"You're late," he said quietly.

She smiled. "You're early."

"Same difference."

Was he cold... or calculating?

Because that kiss-last night-was not cold.

---

Halfway through the quarterly projection review, the door opened and someone walked in unannounced.

Lucinda.

In tailored white. Red lips. That same too-knowing expression from the gala.

"I was invited," she said casually, ignoring Lena's raised brow. "By your legal team. Just here to observe."

Lena could feel the shift. The air went tight. Damon didn't look at Lucinda once-but his fingers curled slightly against the table, like something inside him cracked.

She noted it.

He recovered fast.

But she'd seen it.

---

After the meeting, Damon walked straight to his office without waiting.

Lena followed.

Not because she wanted to.

But because silence screamed louder than questions now.

"You knew she was coming?" she asked, closing the door behind her.

"She's gunning for her piece of the company. She won't get it."

"She knows something, Damon."

He looked up sharply. "Everyone in this building knows something."

"I meant about you."

He stood. "She knows what I let her know. No more."

"You're lying."

His jaw ticked. "Careful, Lena."

"I'm not scared of you," she said.

"No. You're scared of what you feel about me."

The words hit her like glass under bare feet.

Because they were true.

But truth didn't mean safe.

Or smart.

---

That night, she didn't sleep in the master.

She locked herself in the guest room instead.

Not out of fear.

But because distance is easier than decision.

She stared at the ceiling, memories of his mouth on hers threading through her thoughts like a song stuck on loop.

What were they doing?

Faking a marriage while falling into one?

Or falling into a mistake they couldn't survive?

---

In the morning, she woke to a single text:

> 11 a.m. Rooftop. Come alone. – D

Rooftop?

What was this, a thriller?

But curiosity is a disease Lena had never quite cured.

---

The rooftop was unusually quiet. No wind. Just air heavy with something unsaid.

Damon stood near the edge, back to her. No suit. Just a gray shirt, sleeves rolled up, like he'd been scrubbing away his father's ghost.

"I thought you'd ignore the text," he said without turning.

"I almost did," she replied. "But I needed answers."

He turned to face her.

No mask.

No boardroom.

No smile.

Just Damon.

And a kind of sadness that punched harder than anger.

"I was supposed to marry someone else," he said.

That shook her.

"What?"

"Three years ago. Before my father died. Before he took everything I cared about and turned it into a contract."

She stepped forward. "What happened?"

"She died. In a car accident. Just... gone. And my father made sure her name never touched a headline. Said grief was weakness. Said emotions were bad PR."

Lena's throat went dry.

"I didn't marry for love after that," he said.

"And now?"

His eyes found hers. "Now I married you."

Silence.

Then:

"You think I'm a distraction," she said.

He nodded. "I hoped you'd be."

"But I'm not, am I?"

"No," he whispered. "You're the storm I thought I'd already survived."

---

And then he kissed her again.

But this time it wasn't strategic.

It wasn't clean or convenient.

It was everything messy and real.

And terrifying.

Because Rule Three wasn't a line anymore.

It was a memory they were making.

One they couldn't take back.

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