Ariana stepped out of the office building with her bag pressed tightly to her chest.
Three days off?
From him?
She didn't know whether to panic or breathe.
The same black car from the morning was waiting for her.
The driver stepped out and opened the door politely.
"Mr. Steele asked me to pick you up, madam."
Madam.
Ariana's heart somersaulted.
She slid into the car slowly, feeling the weight of the word settle on her shoulders.
When the car reached the mansion, she opened the door to silence—warm, soft… unusual silence.
The mansion didn't feel as cold as yesterday.
She took a few steps in—
And stopped.
Damian was standing at the top of the grand staircase.
Tall.
Still masked.
Still intimidating.
But different.
He was waiting for her.
Her breath caught.
"You're home," he said quietly.
Ariana swallowed, unsure why her chest felt tight at those words.
"I… um… I didn't expect your assistant to come to the office," she said nervously. "People misunderstood. They think—"
"They should," Damian cut in.
"They should know you are not to be touched."
He descended the stairs slowly, each step heavy with silent authority. Ariana's heart hammered faster with every step he took toward her.
"You don't have to do that," she whispered.
His voice dropped lower.
"I do."
He stopped directly in front of her.
Close.
Too close.
Ariana could feel the warmth radiating from him despite his cold exterior.
"You didn't eat lunch," he murmured.
She blinked.
"How… how did you know that?"
He turned slightly.
"You forget who owns half the businesses in this city."
Her jaw dropped.
"Did you… check on me?"
Damian didn't confirm or deny.
But the silence was answer enough.
Her cheeks warmed.
"Come," he said gently. "Dinner is prepared."
Ariana followed him into the dining room, but this time he didn't sit across from her.
He sat beside her.
Not too close.
Not inappropriate.
Just enough to make her heart beat unevenly.
As they ate, she finally gathered courage.
"Why did you send your assistant?"
Her voice wavered.
"People will think… strange things about me."
Damian placed his utensils down.
"People already planned to think strange things. The moment you married me, they made you their target."
Ariana looked down.
"But I'm just… nobody. From a poor home. I didn't even know who you were until last night."
"That," he said softly, "is exactly why I chose you."
Her head snapped up.
Damian's voice deepened, rougher… almost vulnerable.
"You didn't want my money. You didn't want power. You didn't even know my name."
His gaze lingered on her face.
"You saw me as a person… not a legend, not a rumor."
That admission struck her heart.
He continued, quieter:
"For years, people have created stories about my face. My life. My strength."
A pause.
"Women lined up to marry the name 'Damian Steele.' Not the man."
Ariana stared at him, suddenly seeing deeper cracks beneath the mask.
"So when you didn't recognize me," he finished, "it was the first honest thing anyone has ever done in my presence."
Her breath hitched.
Before she could answer, Damian stood abruptly.
"You must rest."
He began to walk away—
But stopped halfway, turning slightly as if holding back words.
"Ariana."
"Yes?"
His voice softened in a way she didn't expect.
"You… did well today."
Her heart fluttered.
She didn't know why his approval felt warm.
She didn't know why his voice pulled at her chest.
All she knew was this:
Damian Steele the invisible, feared CEO was slowly showing her pieces of himself no one else had ever seen.
And she didn't know what to do with that.