"Huh?" Alina blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Damian stared at her with that hard, unreadable expression of his. "You heard me, Alina. You need to eat something before stepping out of this building."
He turned his back on her and returned to the kitchen as if the matter was settled. She stood in the archway, baffled.
Was he… cooking for her?
She rushed forward just as he stirred the pasta in the boiling pot. "I'm sorry, I can't stay. My job is more important. I'll get takeout on my way—"
"Don't bother with that job." His tone was cool, final. "You're doing just fine without it."
He didn't even look at her while saying it — just continued moving around the kitchen with sleek, elegant confidence. A CEO cooking like he owned the world.
Alina watched him, speechless. "Are you actually cooking for me? How did you know I haven't eaten anything?"
He paused — just enough for her to catch the flicker of something serious in his eyes.
"When last did you eat a healthy meal, Alina?"
She stared at the glass table. "…Last week." A lie. A bad one.
When she looked at him again, he was glaring. His glare was a whole different language — one that said 'Try again.
"What?" she said, trying to hide her smile. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Damian dropped the apron on the island and walked toward her. His stoic expression returned, making her quickly school her features.
"Don't think I can't see through that lie, wife."
His voice was firm. Absolute.
"From now on, you'll start eating properly. Lucas will handle things at your workplace for now."
"Can he?" she asked, tilting her head up to him. He looked unreal up close. Even with the apron, he was painfully attractive. A blush crept onto her cheeks before she could stop it.
"Lucas is efficient. He handles whatever I give him," Damian replied with a slight glare — as if her doubt personally offended him.
"Hey, take it easy," she muttered. "We're not fighting."
He grimaced and walked away — clearly irritated at how easily she disrupted his composure.
Minutes later, he set the pasta in a ceramic bowl in front of her. Alina sat and stared at it like she'd been handed treasure. Meatballs. Real, actual meatballs.
She dug in.
"Mmmm—"
She froze when she realized she'd moaned out loud.
Damian's head snapped slightly. His eyes darkened.
"You're a really good cook," she said quickly, stuffing more pasta into her mouth.
He watched her quietly, absorbing every expression… especially her pleasure-filled ones. Then he served himself and sat opposite her.
"I need to speak with your father," he said.
Alina almost inhaled the pasta the wrong way and began choking. Damian was out of his seat immediately, pushing his water glass into her hand. She gulped it down, gasping, cheeks burning.
"Are you alright?" he asked, irritation lining his voice. "A few seconds with my head down and you're already choking to death."
"It just went down the wrong pipe," she croaked. She pushed her hair back, embarrassed.
Damian's gaze dropped to her lips — slow, deliberate — before returning to his food.
CLUNK.
Her fork hit the glass. "Hey!" she snapped.
Damian blinked, pushing his glasses up with a flash of unease — like getting caught staring actually rattled him.
"If you want to talk to him, contact him yourself," she said, standing. "I'm leaving. I have to cook for my brother. And it might rain."
She picked up her purse and took a step toward the door—
"Wait."
She turned just as he walked to the kitchen, packaged the remaining pasta neatly, and held the bag out.
"Here."
Her chest warmed. "Thank you."
He didn't reply — just gestured for her to follow him. Together, they stepped into the elevator.
And suddenly… everything shifted.
The air felt thicker. He was back to his cold, unreadable self, standing tall beside her while she clutched the bag tighter.
The elevator doors opened to a bustling office floor. Workers froze mid-task. Heads lifted. Conversations died instantly.
Lucas approached with efficient steps. "Sir." He gave Damian a curt nod, then offered Alina a small, polite smile before trailing behind them.
Every pair of eyes followed her.
Some scanned her up and down.
Some glared.
Some whispered.
Alina wanted to sink through the floor.
They entered Damian's office, and she immediately noticed the luxurious interior — white and glass everywhere, a fur rug, furniture that probably cost more than her father's debts… and a walk-in closet built into the wall.
A closet. In an office.
"Check the forecast," Damian instructed Lucas, picking up his suit jacket. "I'm leaving early. I have business to handle."
"Yes, sir." Lucas tapped through his iPad.
Alina drifted toward the massive window. The view stole her breath. The city stretched endlessly, glittering even in the daylight.
"This is beautiful," she whispered.
"You can come here anytime," Damian said, as if it were nothing.
"It'll rain in an hour, sir," Lucas added. "Should I get the car?"
Damian stepped into the closet, rummaging. "You'll take Alina to her brother's school. Make sure she arrives safely. And inform Elena about the Marlowe dinner party."
Elena.
That name again.
Alina's brows twitched.
Damian turned toward her and beckoned. She walked over nervously.
"It'll rain soon," he said, pulling a long black coat from the closet. "You'll be cold. Wear this."
He draped the coat over her shoulders.
"I can wear it myself," she mumbled, annoyed.
But he ignored her, tying the belt himself — tightening it, adjusting it — every brush of his fingers sending little shocks through her.
When he stepped back, his eyes lingered.
"Looks good on you," he said quietly — too quietly — before turning away.
Alina's ears warmed. "Really, Mr. Thorn? Your coat?"
"It's Damian," he corrected sharply, seizing her wrist and leading her toward the elevator. Lucas tried and failed to stifle a laugh.
The elevator doors closed.
Silence.
"Did the boss just hold her hand?" someone whispered outside.
"And give her his coat?"
"Who is she?"
"Is she… special?"
Inside the elevator, Alina's heart pounded so loud she wondered if Damian could hear it.
He didn't look at her.
But his grip didn't loosen.
Not even a little.