Chapter 7
Franklin's chest tightened as they walked into the boutique. The glass doors gleamed, the staff lined up in perfect rows, bowing low at Damien's arrival. Every step Franklin took, he could feel eyes flick toward him. A little voice whispered in the back of his head—What if someone films this? Posts it?
The thought made his stomach twist. If the world saw him here, clinging behind Damien Carter like some accessory, they'd know the truth. He wasn't the nation's Golden Actor. He was just a kept man.
A private room awaited them. Damien sank into a leather chair, crossing one leg over the other, commanding the space with effortless power. Franklin sat beside him awkwardly, hands fidgeting in his lap.
Staff hurried in with racks of clothes—suits in silk and velvet, shirts in pristine whites and subtle blues.
"Would you like to try one on, sir?" a woman asked, her eyes landing on Franklin.
"Me?" He pointed at himself.
"Yes, sir." She smiled warmly.
Franklin hesitated, glancing sideways. Damien's gaze was already on him, unreadable, unblinking. Heat crept up Franklin's neck. He stood, taking the first set into the dressing room.
When he stepped out, Damien looked up. His stare was sharp, heavy, as if he could pierce straight through Franklin's skin.
Franklin shifted uncomfortably.
"Another," Damien said flatly.
Franklin was handed a second suit. He changed again, came out, stood under that same suffocating gaze. This time, Damien rose from his seat. He walked over, plucked another set directly from the rack: navy-blue trousers, a crisp white shirt, a matching jacket. Without a word, he handed it to Franklin.
Franklin's fingers brushed the fabric. He nodded faintly, ducking back into the dressing room.
When he returned, dressed in navy and white, Damien approached. He reached up without hesitation, unbuttoning the top of Franklin's shirt with slow, deliberate fingers.
Franklin stiffened, stunned. His eyes darted to the staff—but they all looked away, heads bowed, pretending not to see.
Damien tilted his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. His fingers slid along Franklin's jaw.
And then—he kissed him.
It wasn't rough. It wasn't claiming. It was soft, lips brushing gently, a slow nibble that sent Franklin's mind reeling.
By the time Damien pulled back, Franklin's face was flushed, his chest tight.
"We'll take this one," Damien said smoothly, his hands sliding into his pockets as though nothing had happened.
"Yes, sir," the staff answered immediately.
Franklin stood frozen, dazed. Damien had never kissed him like that before. Always rough, always hungry. Never… tender.
He stumbled back into the dressing room, his heart pounding, to change out of the suit.
By the time he emerged, staff were folding the chosen clothes into sleek bags. Damien had stepped outside to take a call. A few younger attendants lingered nervously near Franklin.
"Um—Mr. Eddie? Could we… maybe get your autograph?" one asked shyly, holding out a notebook.
Franklin blinked, then smiled faintly. "Of course." He signed quickly, adding a few words of encouragement.
Just as he handed back the pen, Damien reappeared. The girls scattered like startled birds, bowing before fleeing.
"Come," Damien said simply.
They walked toward the exit. A staff member trailed them, carrying the shopping bag. Franklin reached to take it, embarrassed, but the man insisted on bringing it to the car himself.
At the sleek black vehicle, Damien opened the back door. The staffer set the bag inside, bowed low, and stepped away.
Franklin's eyes lingered on the man retreating.
"Franklin."
Damien's voice pulled him back. He turned. Damien's gaze was on him, sharp as ever.
Wordlessly, Franklin slipped into the car.
---
The ride back was quiet, broken only by the steady hum of the engine. Franklin sat with the shopping bag at his feet, fingers brushing over the fabric handles, his thoughts tangled.
At last, he gathered enough courage to ask, his voice careful.
"Why… the shopping?"
Damien's eyes stayed on the road. "We're going to a birthday banquet tonight."
Franklin blinked. "A banquet?"
"The birthday celebrant is a big fan of yours," Damien continued evenly. "I promised her I would bring you to the party."
Franklin stared at him, thrown off balance. A fan? He wanted to press further, but Damien's tone left no room for questions.
They pulled into the driveway of the house. The car rolled to a stop.
Franklin opened his door, stepping out with the bag in hand. But Damien didn't move.
"I'll be back," Damien said simply. "Be ready by then."
Before Franklin could reply, the engine roared, and Damien's car disappeared down the street.
Franklin stood there, staring at the empty space, the weight of the shopping bag heavy in his hand. Who could this person be? Who was important enough that the great Damien Carter himself went through the trouble of buying clothes, keeping promises, and dragging him along?
He tightened his grip on the bag, lips pressing into a thin line. Whoever it was, they clearly held power—even over Damien.
With a sigh, Franklin turned and walked into the house, the mystery pressing against his thoughts like an itch he couldn't scratch.
----
The ride was long, the silence thick except for the steady hum of the engine. Franklin sat stiffly in the passenger seat while the driver guided the car up the long, winding road.
And then the mansion came into view.
Franklin's breath caught. It wasn't just a house—it looked like something out of an old-world painting, a sprawling estate with towering spires, manicured gardens, and gates that loomed like the entrance to an ancient castle.
The car rolled past other luxury vehicles pulling up. Guests in glittering gowns and tailored suits stepped out, flashes of diamonds and silk catching the light.
One of the Carter men opened Franklin's door. Damien stepped out first, unbuttoning his suit jacket with practiced ease. He glanced over his shoulder, his voice low.
"Stick with me."
Franklin swallowed, nodding, and followed.
Inside, the grandeur only deepened. A crystal chandelier bathed the hall in golden light. Polished marble floors stretched endlessly. Powerful guests clustered in small groups, voices low, laughter sharp. Franklin recognized a few famous faces—politicians, moguls, people whose names could buy silence or wars—but most were strangers. Strangers who didn't seem to care who he was.
He wasn't the Golden Actor here. He was just another shadow trailing behind Damien Carter.
"Damien!"
The voice rang out, deep and friendly. A man with curly hair and a dark suit pushed through the crowd, grinning wide. "My man."
To Franklin's shock, Damien's lips tugged into a faint smile. He clasped the man in a firm hug.
"Been a long time since you graced us with your presence," the man said warmly.
"Been busy, Vic," Damien replied smoothly.
Franklin blinked. Damien—hugging someone? Smiling? Who the hell is this side of him?
"Damien!"
This time it was a woman's voice, rich and melodic. Franklin turned and froze.
She was stunning—tall, graceful, with a fitted black gown that clung to her curves like water. Her features held a striking resemblance to Damien's, though softer, warmer.
"Dianne," Damien said, pulling her into an embrace.
"I've missed you, baby brother," she murmured with a fond smile.
"Missed you too," Damien said, his tone gentler than Franklin had ever heard.
They separated, and Damien touched her hand playfully. "Looking young as ever, Dianne, vic must be doing a good job."
He chuckled low, and she swatted at him with a laugh.
"Well, what can I say we're nothing without each other, right my love." said vic placing a hand on Dianne waist, she smiled at him.
A maid approached then, holding a baby boy. The moment Damien's eyes fell on the child, his expression softened in a way Franklin had never seen. He reached out, taking the baby carefully into his arms.
"Hey, little Craig," Damien said, pressing a kiss to the baby's cheek. The infant giggled, tiny fingers clutching at Damien's shirt.
Franklin stood rooted to the spot, stunned. He had never seen Damien so… carefree. So human. For a split second, an unfamiliar thought struck him like lightning—he would make a good father. The idea startled him enough that he shook his head, trying to banish it.
"Oh my goodness!" Dianne gasped suddenly, her eyes landing on Franklin. "You're Franklin Eddie!"
Franklin blinked, caught off guard.
"I didn't even see you there—wow. I'm a fan, but my daughter… she's your biggest fan. She'll be over the moon."
Franklin managed a polite smile. He was used to handling admirers with practiced charm, but somehow, with Damien's family, he felt awkward.
Dianne slipped her arm through his, beaming. "You look even more handsome in person than on screen."
"Thank you, ma'am," Franklin said, his voice shy.
"Ma'am?" She laughed. "Call me Dianne."
Before Franklin could react, she tugged at his arm. "Come, I want to introduce you to someone."
Franklin glanced back quickly. Damien was still there, baby Craig nestled comfortably in his arms, looking every bit the opposite of the man Franklin thought he knew.