At exactly 6:00 a.m., the security sensors at the mansion gates registered an arrival. Evan stepped through the doors moments later, tablet in hand, posture crisp and alert. He never came late. Not when his life revolved around the movements of one man Damian Steel.
The butler bowed slightly. "Good morning, Mr. Evan. Sir is in the study."
"Thank you," Evan replied before heading down the corridor.
Damian was already dressed when Evan entered the study. A tailored charcoal suit, dark tie, and sleeves perfectly aligned. The morning light from the tall windows illuminated him like a portrait cold precision, quiet dominance.
"Morning," Damian said, eyes fixed on the report he was reading.
"Good morning, sir. Mr. Sato sent the overnight briefing. No external threats detected, but he has noted unusual surveillance activity from the East District. He suspects a rival consortium."
Damian closed the file slowly. "He's handling it?"
"He's already taken two men into questioning. Quietly."
"Good."
A single word. A single command.
That was enough.
*****
By 6:30 a.m., Evan walked three steps behind Damian as they exited the mansion. The Maybach waited sleek, black, bulletproof.
Inside the car, Evan scanned the schedule.
"Board meeting at eight. Inspection at South Tech at eleven. Lunch call with European investors at twelve. And Mr. Sato will meet you in the fourth-floor security suite at four."
Damian took a sip of his coffee. "And Ariana?"
"She plans to paint today. I assigned one of the female guards to stay close. Discreetly."
A faint nod.
She was always on his mind quietly, constantly.
******
Steel Corporation
Damian's private elevator opened directly to his office floor. The moment the doors slid apart, heads lowered. Eyes widened discreetly. His face, once a rumor, was now a truth the world struggled to absorb.
Inside the private security suite, Mr. Sato stood waiting. Tall. Sharp. Silent. His presence alone commanded respect.
"Sir," Sato bowed.
"Sato," Damian acknowledged. "Tell me about the East District."
Mr. Sato handed him a secure tablet. "Two internal staff were approached for information. A test to see how far they could get. My team intercepted the meeting. They're being dealt with."
Damian's eyes darkened. "No leaks. None."
"As you command."
Their meetings were always short — but every syllable mattered.
****
Arianna POV
Sunlight filtered through the curtains when Ariana opened her eyes. The other side of the bed was already cold Damian had left long before she woke.
After her shower, she stepped onto the balcony, a soft breeze brushing her skin. On the small table were her brushes, paints, and a worn sketchbook.
She ran her fingers gently over the edges of the sketchbook a piece of her childhood she rarely acknowledged.
It had been years since she allowed herself to paint.
Growing up, she could barely afford schoolbooks, much less art supplies. She sketched on scraps newspapers, discarded cardboard, anything she found.
But Damian…
He had brought it back into her life.
A week after their marriage, she had lingered too long in front of a gallery painting. She thought he hadn't noticed.
The next morning, a full set of professional art supplies appeared in one of the mansion's spare rooms. No note. No explanation. But she knew. He always saw more than he revealed.
She dipped her brush in paint and smiled a small, private happiness.
Her phone vibrated.
> Unknown Number
Eat something before you start painting. You forget when you're focused.
— D.S.
Her heart fluttered.
He noticed… even from miles away.
***
Later that afternoon, her phone rang.
Grandma.
"Ariana, my child! How are you doing in the city? Eating well? Sleeping properly?"
A wave of warmth washed over her. "Yes, Grandma. I'm fine. How are you?"
"Oh, you know these bones. They rest when they want to," the old woman chuckled.
They talked about her health, the neighborhood, small stories from home but Ariana carefully avoided mentioning Damian or marriage. She wasn't ready to reveal that world yet… especially because she still didn't fully understand it herself.
*****
It was almost sunset when Damian finally returned home. The door opened, and he stepped inside, looking every bit the powerful, ruthless man the world feared.
But when he saw her waiting for him in the hallway hair loose, cheeks flushed from painting something in him softened instantly.
"You're home," she said, her voice soft.
"I always come home to you," he said quietly.
His gaze dipped to the faint streak of blue paint on her wrist.
Without thinking, he reached out and wiped it gently with his thumb.
Her breath hitched.
His eyes darkened.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The world outside disappeared.