Chapter 8. Cracks in the Armor

The morning light streamed through the windows, bathing the room in a soft glow. My body ached in all the right ways, the memory of Damien's touch still lingering on my skin.

I stretched beneath the sheets, my fingers brushing against the cool emptiness beside me.

He’s gone again.

I sighed, sitting up and wrapping the blanket around my body. The faint scent of him still clung to the sheets, a reminder of the night before.

Last night had been more than passion. It had felt like an unspoken understanding, a fragile connection we were both too stubborn to acknowledge.

But now, in the harsh light of day, I was left with nothing but questions.

Why did he keep leaving?

And why did I keep letting him?

---

By the time I made it to the kitchen, the coffee pot was already brewing. I frowned, glancing toward the counter, where a fresh cup of coffee sat waiting, steam curling lazily into the air.

A note was tucked beneath the mug, scrawled in Damien’s sharp, unmistakable handwriting.

“Had to take care of something. Drink this. Don’t overthink.”

A laugh escaped me, unbidden and soft.

He was maddening, infuriating—and yet, the gesture warmed me in a way I didn’t want to admit.

Don’t overthink, I repeated in my mind, shaking my head as I sipped the coffee.

Easier said than done.

---

The day passed in a haze of distractions.

I met Lila for lunch, trying my best to act normal as she grilled me about my “mystery man.”

“I swear, Ava, you’re glowing,” she teased, stabbing a forkful of salad. “Whatever—or whoever—you’ve been doing, keep it up.”

I rolled my eyes, though my cheeks burned. “It’s nothing serious.”

Lila snorted. “You’re a terrible liar.”

I bit my lip, her words cutting closer to the truth than I cared to admit.

Was it serious?

I didn’t know.

But Damien had a way of consuming my thoughts, leaving little room for anything else.

---

That evening, I found myself back at my apartment, curled up on the couch with a book I wasn’t really reading.

The silence was suffocating, my mind spinning with thoughts of Damien.

When my phone buzzed, I snatched it up, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of his name.

Damien: I’m outside. Let me in.

My breath caught, my fingers trembling as I typed a quick reply.

Me: The door’s open.

A moment later, the door swung open, and there he was, filling the space with his presence.

He looked different tonight—less polished, more… raw. His tie was undone, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and his hair was slightly disheveled, as though he’d run his hands through it one too many times.

“You look like hell,” I said, unable to keep the concern from my voice.

He smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Rough day.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, stepping closer until he was standing directly in front of me.

“No,” he said softly. “I just want to be here.”

The vulnerability in his tone caught me off guard, and before I could think, I reached out, placing a hand on his chest.

“Okay,” I said, my voice just as soft.

He exhaled slowly, as though my touch had released some of the tension coiled within him.

Without a word, he leaned down, his forehead resting against mine.

We stood there for a moment, the world fading away until there was only us.

---

Later, as we lay tangled in the sheets, the room bathed in the soft glow of the city lights outside, I found myself tracing the lines of Damien’s face with my fingertips.

His eyes were closed, his breathing steady, but I could feel the tension still thrumming beneath the surface.

“What’s going on, Damien?” I asked quietly.

His eyes opened, and for a moment, I thought he might actually tell me.

But then he shook his head, his expression guarded. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

I frowned, frustration bubbling up inside me.

“I want to help,” I said. “But I can’t if you keep shutting me out.”

He sighed, his hand sliding up to cup my face.

“You don’t need to get involved in my world, Ava,” he said, his voice firm. “It’s not safe.”

“Maybe I don’t care about safe,” I shot back.

“You should.”

The intensity in his tone sent shivers to my body, but I refused to back down.

“I can take care of myself,” I said.

His lips twisted into a faint, humorless smile. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Then tell me.”

He stared at me for a long moment, his jaw tightening.

“I can’t,” he said finally, his voice low and filled with regret.

The finality of his words stung, but I nodded, knowing I wouldn’t get more from him tonight.

---

I woke the next morning to find him gone again, the space beside me cold and empty.

This time, there was no note, no coffee waiting for me in the kitchen.

The ache in my chest was sharper than before, the weight of his absence heavier.

As I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the untouched mug from yesterday, I made a decision.

I couldn’t keep doing this—letting him in only for him to leave me over and over again.

I needed answers.

And if Damien wouldn’t give them to me, I’d find them myself.

---

That evening, I found myself standing outside the towering building where Damien’s company was headquartered.

The lobby was sleek and modern, filled with polished marble and glass, but it felt cold and impersonal, just like the man who owned it.

I hesitated, my nerves threatening to get the better of me.

What are you even doing here, Ava?

But before I could turn and leave, the elevator doors opened, and there he was.

Damien stepped out, his eyes locking onto mine instantly.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice calm but tinged with something I couldn’t quite place.

“I needed to see you,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

His jaw tightened, and he glanced around before stepping closer.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said softly, his tone almost pleading.

“Why not?”

“Because,” he said, his eyes darkening. “This isn’t a part of my life you want to be involved in.”

“I don’t care,” I said, my voice firm. “I’m already involved, Damien. Whether you like it or not.”

His hands clenched at his sides, and for a moment, I thought he might argue.

But then he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” he muttered, taking my hand and leading me toward the elevator.

As the doors closed behind us, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d just crossed a line I couldn’t come back from.