After the accident at the park, we quickly gave the reporters an exclusive interview of what happened on our side and returned ho. Damian had already contacted his driver to bring the car around.
This ti, the paparazzi didn’t even try to follow us. They were too busy getting the exclusive scoop of what happened.
My eyes lingered on the scene even as the car started to drive away and Damian, who saw this, gave a reassuring smile.
His hand twitched slightly, like he almost reached out to touch my shoulder but stopped himself at the last second.
"Don’t worry. I will make sure the article cos out just as we want it to. If you want, I can get it for you early to make any changes that you want to."
Damian promised and I considered telling him that there was no need to go that far as long as he checked the article himself.
His voice dipped lower when he said "for you," and it shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.
But I caught myself before I fell for his charms and handed him all control over this situation.
As tempting as that sounded, it was also dangerous for to do. Especially since I was still not sure how much I could trust Damian.
A part of hated how easily his attention made want to rely on him.
He was really good to , but that was because I was helping him out with his revenge and playing a role. But as soon as I stopped being useful to him, I will likely get discarded. So I needed to make sure things went perfectly.
"I would... appreciate it a lot if you can get that article."
I told Damian as my side brushed against his. Heat sparked between us at that small touch and I discreetly rubbed my arm where we touched.
Damian went perfectly still for a heartbeat, like that fleeting contact had short-circuited him.
Damian kept looking at from the corner of his eyes, but he did not comnt anymore.
If anything, the air inside the car tightened, thick with unspoken things neither of us could afford to say.
He dropped at ho with a promise of not leaving and went back to the office to sort a few things out.
When I stepped out of the car, his gaze followed —too intent, too unreadable—as if he didn’t want to drive away.
I had a sudden feeling that the attacker we encountered might not have been a normal person and that it was better for to not dig any deeper.
I suddenly had too much free ti on my hands.
That date was supposed to go on for another hour initially, and the plan had been to get lunch afterwards. But the sudden change in plans caused a delay in things....
A part of kept replaying the date anyway—the way Damian watched , the way he stood just a little too close, the way he shielded without hesitation.
Grrrr
My stomach decided to make itself known by growling and begging for food. I imdiately opened my phone to order so.
But the food was either too expensive or looked suspicious enough for to not want to order. The only solution left was to cook for myself.
And regarding that... I had a confession to make. I had never cooked in my life before. The only luxury that I had truly enjoyed as a rich daughter was the fact that I had cooks ready to serve at all tis.
The most I had done related to kitchens was check up on sanitation and do food tests. So while I could not say I was the best chef, I could not say I was the worst either. And only because I never had a chance to cook before.
"...but how hard could it be? Surely I can cook if I follow a tutorial... I’ll make so extra to share with Damian as well."
The thought of him tasting sothing I made with my own hands sent a nervous jolt through —too intimate, too exposed.
I told myself as I pushed myself toward the kitchen and opened an online tutorial to follow.
Quickly gathering the ingredients I needed, I started the guide... and imdiately ran into trouble.
"...how much is a tablespoon? What does adding according to one’s taste an? What does cook for a normal ti an?"
The more I watched the first video, the more I felt lost about what was happening. The video kept playing but I had not even started.
In the end, I opened a video that was titled—cooking for dummies to get started from the beginning. With that one, I sohow managed to make... sothing.
I was proud to note that it was not inedible, but it was also not the best thing that I had ever tasted.
However the state of the kitchen by the end of it all was... questionable at best. It would be better for us to pretend I did not notice it and let the cleaning lady get to it.
At least... the food tasted decent. It was worth sharing with Damian, right? And maybe, selfishly, I wanted to see his expression when he realized I was trying for him—not just for the plan.
_______Damian’s POV
The mont she stepped out of the car and closed the door, I didn’t drive off.
I should have.
I told her I would. But instead, I watched her take each step toward the front door, as if confirmation was necessary—that she was safe, that nothing and no one could touch her now.
Only after she disappeared inside did I signal the driver.
I leaned back, loosening my tie, trying to steady the pounding in my chest.
It was ridiculous. I had been through far worse situations than an ambush and an interview. So why was the thing I couldn’t get out of my head her expression when the reporter asked her questions.
Jenna had not been scared for herself. She had been scared for and whether I was hurt or not. Her care felt sincere and real...just like the love I had lost.
And that made sothing dark and protective inside stir.
I should not be developing instincts toward her.
The phone buzzed the mont I reached my office. My team had already gathered statents, recordings, and headlines from every entertainnt page.
’Rose is pushing her PR team to bury today’s incident.’
Of course she was. She had everything to lose.
"And yet she still walked right into my plan."
I muttered, scanning through the reports as I sat at my desk.
Getting revenge should have been simple—use her to corner Rose, take everything from her, and walk away. That was the deal from the beginning.
I should not be thinking about the way she stiffened when our arms brushed, or how she tried to hide it when the touch affected her.
It shouldn’t matter.
She is a temporary ally. A ans to an end.
A weapon I borrowed until revenge is complete.
Then why does it bother that she might be scared to trust ?
I closed the last file with more force than necessary and excused myself from the office early—sothing my employees had never seen do.
The entire drive back, I rehearsed distance. Professional tone. Neutral behavior. No personal thoughts. No unnecessary staring.
I would walk inside, ask how she was doing, and—
I froze the mont I stepped into the house.
The kitchen looked like it had survived a hurricane. Flour on the counter. Vegetables in places they shouldn’t be. A pan left on a stove that was thankfully turned off. Chopping board on the floor. God only knew what had happened here.
And in the middle of the chaos...
She sat at the dining table.
Hands folded. Back straight. A plate set in front of her and another waiting across from her—clearly ant for .
Her face was composed, almost stubbornly calm, like she was trying to pretend she hadn’t turned the kitchen into a war zone. Like she was waiting to see whether I would mock her or judge her.
I stood there speechless—not because of the ss.
But because soone had cooked for without it being their job.
"No one has done that in years."
I whispered under my breath before I could stop myself.
She noticed and lifted her eyes, just a little hesitant.
I swallowed hard.
The distance I planned to maintain dissolved instantly.
I didn’t move toward her yet, but I knew—this was exactly the kind of mont that could destroy everything if I wasn’t careful.
My heart kicked painfully in my chest.
’I am in trouble.’
Not because of Rose. Not because of revenge.
Because I wanted to sit down across from her and eat whatever she made—burnt, bland, or inedible—and tell her it was perfect.
And that is the one thing I can never let myself do.
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