The morning sunlight spilled gently through the sheer curtains, casting golden ripples across the pale walls of the bedroom. Eliana stirred beneath the covers, the silk sheets cool against her bare arms. For a moment, she simply lay there, eyes closed, letting the warmth of the morning and the lingering sensation of last night wash over her.
The memory of Damon's kiss flickered in her mind like candlelight—soft, reverent, then urgent. Her fingers instinctively touched her lips, as if seeking the echo of him. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking into the new day. Everything felt different. The air, the stillness, the light.
She sat up, brushing a hand through her tousled hair, then glanced toward the door. It was slightly ajar. The house was quiet, but not empty. She could feel it. Damon was still here. She could sense his presence like a shift in gravity.
Padding across the room, Eliana wrapped a robe around her and stepped into the hallway. The scent of coffee wafted toward her, dark and rich. Something else too—the faint aroma of toasted bread and herbs. Her stomach fluttered at the unexpected domesticity.
As she descended the staircase, the soft hum of jazz filtered through the house—muted, like a private conversation between notes. She followed it toward the kitchen, but before she could step in, she paused at the archway.
Inside, Chef Bernard moved fluidly between the stove and the counter, a professional rhythm in his every motion. Amara, the young kitchen assistant, was busy arranging delicate breakfast items on a silver tray while also setting the small round table by the window with practiced elegance. The scent of chive omelets and buttered toast filled the air.
Damon stood near the window, already dressed in slacks and a partially buttoned shirt, sleeves rolled up casually. He was sipping his coffee, gaze distant until he noticed Eliana.
He turned, a subtle smile touching his lips. "Good morning," he said, voice low, still touched by sleep. "I was just about to come get you."
She smiled softly, stepping into the light. "All this?"
He glanced at the table, then back at her. "I think chef Bernard has taken it upon himself to impress you."
Amara gave a quiet, knowing grin as she finished placing a small vase with white lilies in the center of the table, then stepped back respectfully.
Eliana walked toward him, glancing at the spread. Omelets, toast, fresh fruits, tiny bowls of jam and honey, and two steaming cups of coffee. The jazz shifted to a softer melody, as if adjusting to her presence.
"Last night..." she began, then trailed off, unsure how to follow it.
Damon didn't press her. He pulled out her chair. "Wasn't a dream."
Her heart stuttered. "I know."
She sat down, and he took the seat opposite her. The sun lit his profile in gold. Amara gave a small bow and slipped out quietly, leaving them alone.
"Come sit. Eat," Damon said gently. "Then you can decide if you regret letting me kiss you."
She gave a breathy laugh, picking up her cutlery. "That's not what I'm thinking."
He poured two glasses of orange juice, then leaned back in his chair, one leg brushing lightly against hers beneath the table. "What are you thinking then?"
She took a bite of the omelet, savoring the herbs and warmth. Then she looked up, meeting his eyes.
"That it's been a long time since I felt... safe."
He didn't smile. Instead, something deeper flickered behind his eyes—something that looked a lot like understanding.
"I'll never take that for granted," he said. "If you ever feel otherwise, even for a second, I want you to tell me."
She nodded slowly, the gravity of his words sinking in.
They ate in comfortable silence for a while. The jazz faded into a softer instrumental track, the kind that made the morning feel suspended in time. Damon reached for his coffee, took a sip, then studied her over the rim.
"I like seeing you like this," he said.
She blinked. "Like what?"
"Unfiltered. Soft. Not hiding."
She looked away, the compliment settling in her chest like warmth.
"It won't always be like this," she whispered. "There are still pieces of me I haven't found yet."
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Then let me help you find them. No rush. No pressure."
Her eyes welled unexpectedly, and she blinked fast, biting the inside of her cheek. Damon noticed, but said nothing. He just reached across the table and held her hand.
Time passed like a breath. She glanced at the clock.
"You have work," she murmured.
He groaned softly. "Unfortunately."
She stood, gathering their plates and walking them to the kitchen entrance. Just as she reached the doorway, Mrs. Richard entered, giving a small curtsy. "Good morning, Miss. I'll take those."
Eliana hesitated, then smiled. "Thank you."
She turned back to Damon, who had followed her with his cup in hand.
"I'll be late today," he said. "Board meetings. Press calls. The usual circus."
She wiped her hands on a towel. "Do you want me to wait up for you?"
He stepped closer, his voice lowering. "Do you want to?"
She hesitated. "I think I do."
His hand brushed hers, slow and deliberate. "Then I want you to."
His hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing the edge of her cheek. He leaned in slowly, eyes on hers, giving her space to move, to say no.
She didn't. Her eyes fluttered shut, and when his lips touched hers, it felt like a promise.
Soft. Tender. Familiar.
He pulled back first, just a breath away.
"Have a good day," he whispered.
She smiled, her voice a murmur. "You too."
He lingered a moment longer, then turned and disappeared upstairs. She heard the sound of a closet opening, footsteps, the soft rustle of fabric. By the time he came back down, he was Damon Blackwood again—the CEO, crisp in a charcoal suit, tie knotted with precision.
But the moment he looked at her, something boyish slipped through the facade.
"I left the rest of the coffee in the pot," he said. "Don't let it go to waste."
She smirked. "I'll try."
He walked to the door, hesitated, then turned.
"Eliana."
"Yeah?"
He stepped back to her, pressed a swift kiss to her temple, then met her gaze.
"Text me. Even if it's just a random thought. I want to know what's on your mind."
She nodded, her chest tightening. "Okay."
And then he was gone.
The door clicked softly behind him, and Eliana stood alone in the foyer. The scent of breakfast still lingered. The music still played.
But now, her heart felt a little louder.
She wandered into the living room, curling up on the sofa with her coffee. Her phone buzzed.
Damon: Already missing you.
She smiled, fingers dancing across the keys.
Eliana: You're not even five minutes gone.
Damon: Doesn't change the fact.
Eliana: You're dangerous, Damon Blackwood.
Damon: Only if you let me be.
She stared at the screen, the corner of her mouth lifting. Her thumb hovered.
Eliana: I think I already have.
She hit send, then placed the phone on her chest, closing her eyes.
For the first time in a long while, the silence wasn't empty.
It was full.