DAMIEN’S POV
Three days had passed since the greenhouse. Three days since Damien had given Aria every possible opening to ask for help, and she’d remained silent.
Three days of watching her carry an impossible burden alone while he fought the urge to just force the issue.
But he’d made a decision. He was going to continue showing her...through actions, not words....that he saw her. All of her. That he valued every part of who she was, not just the role she was playing.
Which brought him to this morning’s project.
The unused room on the third floor had been a storage space....filled with old furniture and forgotten belongings. But over the past two days, while Aria had been occupied with her regular duties, Damien had transford it.
He’d had everything cleared out. New flooring installed. Large windows uncovered to let in natural light. And then he’d filled it with everything an artist could need....easels, canvases of various sizes, professional-grade paints and brushes, charcoal pencils, sketchbooks, drawing tablets. Everything.
The room was now a fully equipped art studio. Private. Beautiful. Perfect.
And he was about to give it to her.
At 10 AM, he sent her a text: Co to the third floor, east wing. Room 347. I have sothing to show you.
Her response ca quickly: Is everything alright?
Everything’s fine. Just co. Please.
He waited in the hallway outside the room, his heart beating faster than it should. This was a risk. She might ask how he knew she was an artist. Might realize he knew more than he should.
But it was a risk worth taking. Because he needed her to understand that he saw her.....really saw her.....beyond the lies and the cover story.
Footsteps on the stairs, and then she appeared, looking slightly worried.
"Damien? What’s wrong? Why did you...." She stopped, seeing his expression. "What is this?"
"Close your eyes," he said.
"What?"
"Trust . Close your eyes."
She did, though she looked confused. He took her hand and guided her to stand in front of the door.
"Okay. Open them."
She opened her eyes, and he opened the door.
The reaction was imdiate. Her eyes went wide, her hand flying to her mouth as she stared at the art studio laid out before her.
"What.....how.....I don’t understand....."
"Co inside," he said gently, guiding her into the room.
She moved like she was in a trance, her eyes taking in every detail. The easels. The paints organized by color. The natural light streaming through the large windows. The comfortable chair positioned for sketching. The blank canvases waiting to be filled.
"This is...." Her voice cracked. "This is an art studio."
"Yes."
"But why? Why would you....."
"Because I know you’re an artist," Damien said quietly, watching her face carefully. "And I wanted you to have a space where you could create."
She turned to look at him, confusion and fear warring in her eyes. "How do you know I’m an artist? I never told you....."
"At the gallery," he said, the lie coming smoothly. "The night I took you to see the Morrison collection. The way you looked at the paintings. The way you talked about technique and composition and the emotion behind each piece. It wasn’t the appreciation of a casual observer. It was the understanding of soone who creates."
It wasn’t entirely a lie. She had revealed her knowledge that night, even if he’d already known the truth.
"And then," he continued, moving closer to her, "I found this."
He pulled a small sketchbook from his pocket....one he’d actually purchased and filled with a few drawings himself, then aged slightly. Not her real sketchbook. But a prop to make his story believable.
"You dropped it," he said. "A few days ago, outside the staff wing. I was going to return it to you, but when I opened it to see whose it was...." He showed her the pages filled with sketches. "I saw these. And I realized you weren’t just soone who appreciates art. You’re soone who creates it."
******
ARIA’S POV
Aria stared at the sketchbook in his hands, her mind racing.
That wasn’t hers. She’d never seen it before. But the drawings inside were good....not her style exactly, but close enough that she couldn’t imdiately prove it wasn’t hers.
Had she dropped a sketchbook? She didn’t think so. She’d been so careful to keep her art supplies hidden, locked away in her room.
But maybe....maybe she had been careless? Maybe in her exhaustion and emotional turmoil, she’d dropped sothing without realizing?
"I...." She didn’t know what to say. "I’m sorry. I should have told you. I know staff aren’t supposed to....."
"Stop," he interrupted gently. "You have nothing to apologize for. Creating art isn’t sothing to hide. It’s a gift. A talent. And I wanted to give you a proper space to explore it."
He gestured to the room around them. "This is yours. Whenever you have free ti, whenever you need to escape, whenever you need to create....this space is here for you. Everything in it is yours to use."
Tears filled her eyes as the magnitude of what he’d done hit her. "This is.....Damien, this is too much. I’m just a maid. You can’t..."
"You’re not just a maid." His hand cupped her face. "You’re an artist. A creator.
Soone with talent and vision and sothing important to say through your work. And you deserve a space where you can express that."
"But the cost....all these supplies.....this room...."
"Is nothing compared to seeing you happy. To giving you sothing you need." His thumb brushed away a tear that had escaped. "Let do this for you, Sarah. Let give you this."
She wanted to refuse. Wanted to maintain boundaries. Wanted to rember that she was here for a mission, not to be spoiled by a man she was going to betray.
But looking at the studio....at the care and thought that had gone into every detail....she couldn’t find the words to say no.
"Thank you," she whispered. "This is....no one’s ever done anything like this for . Ever."
"Then they were fools." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Now, will you show ? Will you create sothing while I watch?"
"Now? You want to....I don’t know if I can. Not with you watching."
"Try," he encouraged gently. "Please. I want to see your process. Want to understand how your mind works when you create."
**********
DAMIEN’S POV
Damien watched as Aria moved hesitantly toward one of the easels, running her fingers over the pristine canvas stretched across it. She was nervous...he could see it in every line of her body.
But slowly, drawn by the materials, by the space, by the need to create, she began to relax.
She selected a sketchbook and so charcoal pencils, then settled into the comfortable chair positioned by the window. Natural light fell across her face, illuminating her features as she bent over the paper.
For several minutes, nothing happened. She just sat there, pencil hovering over blank paper, clearly too self-conscious to begin.
"Pretend I’m not here," Damien said softly from where he leaned against the wall. "Just let your hand move. Don’t think. Just feel."
She took a shaky breath, then the pencil touched paper.
And then she was lost to it.
Damien watched, fascinated, as her hand moved across the page. Quick strokes. Confident lines. Shading that brought depth and dinsion. Her entire body language changed when she was creating....the tension left her shoulders, her expression softened, her breathing evened out.
This was her true self. Not the maid. Not the infiltrator. This.....the artist losing herself in creation.....this was Aria Chen.
And she was absolutely beautiful.
He stayed silent, not wanting to disturb her, just watching as the drawing took shape. It wasn’t until she sat back, surveying her work with a critical eye, that he realized what she’d drawn.
The greenhouse. His mother’s greenhouse. The Vitalis Radix plants in careful detail. The way light filtered through the glass. The sense of sanctuary and hope and desperate longing.
She’d captured it all. Had poured her own emotion into the drawing....the longing, the desperation, the impossible desire for sothing just out of reach.
"It’s beautiful," he said quietly.
She startled, seeming to have forgotten he was there. "It’s just a quick sketch. Nothing special."
"It’s everything." He moved closer, studying the drawing. "You’ve captured not just what it looks like, but what it feels like to be in that space. The emotion. The weight of it."
She looked at the drawing, and he saw fresh tears gathering in her eyes.
"It’s a place of hope," she said softly. "And heartbreak. Because it represents sothing precious that might be too late to save what matters most."
The words hung heavy between them. She was talking about more than just art. She was talking about her mother. About running out of ti. About desperate hope that felt impossible.
Ask , he thought for the thousandth ti. Just ask. I’m right here. I can help. Just ask.
But she didn’t. Just wiped her eyes and carefully set the drawing aside.
"Thank you for this," she said, her voice thick. "For the studio. For understanding this part of . It ans...." She paused, struggling for words. "It ans everything."
"I’m glad." He pulled her to her feet and into his arms. "And Sarah?"
"Yes?"
"Whenever you need to escape....whenever the weight of everything becos too much....co here. Create. Let yourself breathe. This is your sanctuary now."
She nodded against his chest, and he held her, wishing he could tell her that he understood all of it. That he knew about her mother. That he could give her more than just a room to paint in.
That he could give her exactly what she needed, if only she’d trust him enough to ask.
But he couldn’t say any of that. Not yet.
So instead, he just held her and hoped that these gestures....these gifts, these monts of connection...would eventually be enough to break through her fear.
Before it was too late.
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