129 Chapter 132
Chapter 132 – From Morning Kisses to an Evening Invitation
I woke to the gentle chime of a text message. Squinting at my phone screen, I saw
Damien’s name.
“Good morning, beautiful. I’ll pick you up for work in an hour”
I smiled, still not used to this level of attention. Ever since we’d agreed to meet his grandfather this weekend, Damien had been even more attentive than usual–if that was possible.
After showering and dressing in a navy pencil skirt and cream blouse, I heard my doorbell ring precisely one hour later. Damien’s punctuality was something I could set my watch by.
“You don’t have to drive me every day,” I said as I opened the door, though the protest died on my lips when I saw him standing there in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, holding a coffee cup from my favorite café.
“I want to,” he replied simply, handing me the coffee. “Is that so terrible?”
I accepted the cup, savoring the first sip. “It’s not terrible. It’s just… different. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”
Damien’s expression softened. “I know. That’s one of the things I admire about you. But sometimes it’s nice to let someone else take care of you too.”
His words touched something deep inside me. Throughout my life, I’d been the one who had to be strong, who had to fight for everything. Having someone who wanted to make my life easier, even in small ways, felt foreign but wonderful.
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it more than he probably realized.
The drive to my office was comfortable, with Damien asking about my day ahead and sharing bits about his own schedule. When we pulled up to my building, I expected him to drop me off, but he parked and came around to open my door.
“You don’t have to walk me in,” I said, though I was smiling.
“I know,” he replied, taking my hand as I stepped out of the car. “But I want a proper
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goodbye.”
My heart fluttered as he drew me close, right there on the sidewalk. “People might see,” I whispered, acutely aware of the busy street around us.
“Let them,” Damien murmured, his eyes locked on mine. “I’m not ashamed of how I feel about you.”
Before I could respond, his lips were on mine, gentle but possessive. The kiss was brief
but left me breathless.
“I’ll pick you up at six,” he said, stepping back with a smile that made my knees weak.
“Okay,” I managed, feeling a blush spread across my cheeks.
As I walked into my building, I could feel the stares of everyone who had witnessed our exchange. For once, I didn’t care. The gossip would be all over the office by lunchtime, but somehow, with Damien by my side, other people’s opinions seemed less important than they once had.
The morning passed in a productive blur until my assistant, Cherry, knocked on my office door around noon.
“Ms. Ashworth, there’s someone here to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment, but she insists it’s urgent.”
frowned, checking my calendar. “Who is it?”
Cherry hesitated. “Your stepmother, Eleanor Ashworth.”
My mood instantly darkened. Eleanor had never visited my office before, and her sudden appearance could only mean trouble.
“Send her in,” I said, steeling myself.
Eleanor swept into my office moments later, her designer clothes and perfect makeup a stark contrast to the desperation in her eyes.
“Hazel,” she said, her voice dripping with false warmth. “You look well.”
“What do you want, Eleanor?” I asked, not bothering with pleasantries. “I’m busy.”
She sighed dramatically, sinking into the chair across from my desk. “It‘
our father.
He’s ill.”
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I kept my expression neutral. “And?”
“And he needs medical treatment the prison won’t provide,” she continued, wringing her hands. “We need money, Hazel. For specialist care.”
I leaned back in my chair, studying her. My father, Harrison Ashworth, was serving time for financial crimes that had nearly destroyed my mother’s family business–the same business he’d stolen from her. He’d shown me no mercy throughout my life. Why should I show him any now?
“No,” I said firmly.
Eleanor’s composed facade cracked. “He could die, Hazel! Is that what you want? To have his death on your conscience?”
“My conscience is clear,” I replied coldly. “The man who abandoned my mother when she was ill, who neglected me my childhood, who tried to frame me for his
entire
crimes–that man means nothing to me now.”
“How can you be so heartless?” Eleanor hissed. “He’s your father!”
“Biology doesn’t make someone a parent,” I said, standing to signal the end of our conversation. “He made his choices, and now he’s facing the consequences. I won’t bail
him out.”
Eleanor rose too, her eyes narrowing. “You’ll regret this,” she warned. “You think you’ve
with
uccessful business,
won, your fancy boyfriend and your but you haven’t seen the
last of us.”
“Is that a threat?” I asked, my voice steady despite the anger bubbling inside me.
“It’s a promise,” Eleanor snapped, gathering her purse. “This isn’t over.”
I watched her storm out of my office, noting how quickly she recovered her composure once she was in view of my employees. Always the actress.
Cherry appeared in my doorway moments later. “Everything okay?”
“Keep an eye on her,” I said, my instincts telling me Eleanor was up to something. “She left too easily.”
¿ visit aside, The rest of my day was busy enough that I could push thoughts of Elear. but a nagging concern remained. When six o’clock came, I was more than ready to
leave.
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Damien was waiting outside as promised, leaning against his car with casual elegance. The sight of him instantly lifted my mood.
“Rough day?” he asked as I approached, clearly reading the tension in my
shoulders.
“You could say that,” I replied, gratefully sliding into the passenger seat when he opened the door. “My stepmother paid me a surprise visit.”
Damien’s expression darkened as he got in beside me. “What did she want?”
I explained Eleanor’s unexpected appearance and demand for money as he drove, noticing how his hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“Your father doesn’t deserve your help,” he said firmly. “You made the right call.”
His unwavering support warmed me. “I know. But Eleanor’s parting words bothered me. She made it sound like they’re planning something.”
“Let them try,” Damien said, his voice hard. “They won’t get near you again.”
We drove past the city center, heading toward the outskirts where elegant homes sat on sprawling properties. I realized we weren’t going to my apartment.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Damien smiled. “I thought you might like to see my place. I’m cooking dinner.”
The idea of Damien cooking surprised me. “You cook?”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” he laughed. “I’m a man of many talents.”
We turned onto a private road that wound through manicured grounds before revealing a stunning modern villa overlooking the lake. Floor–to–ceiling windows reflected the evening light, and the architecture was a perfect blend of sleek lines and natural materials.
“This is yours?” I breathed as we pulled up to the entrance.
“One of my properties,” Damien said casually. “I come here when I want peace and quiet.”
The interior was even more impressive–open and airy, with views of the water from
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almost every room. The decor was minimalist but warm, with rich woods and comfortable furniture.
“Make yourself at home,” Damien said, leading me to the kitchen. “Wine?”
I nodded, taking the glass he offered while he moved around the kitchen with surprising confidence. As he prepared our meal–pan–seared salmon with roasted vegetables–I leaned against the counter, watching him.
“Where did you learn to cook?” I asked.
“My mother insisted all her children learn basic life skills, regardless of our family’s wealth,” he replied, seasoning the fish with practiced hands. “She said we should never be helpless.”
I smiled, trying to imagine the formidable Mrs. Sterling in an apron. “She sounds wise.”
“She is,” Damien agreed. “She’ll like you.”
The casual certainty in his voice made my heart skip. He spoke as if my meeting his mother was inevitable, a matter of when, not if.
Dinner was delicious, and as we ate on the terrace overlooking the lake, I found myself relaxing completely for the first time in weeks. With Damien, conversations flowed easily, punctuated by comfortable silences that never felt awkward.
“This is nice,” I said softly as we finished our wine. “Different from my previous relationships.”
“How so?” Damien asked, his eyes intent on mine.
I considered my answer. “With Julian, everything was always about appearances–the right restaurants, the right people. It was exhausting. But this… just being here, talking… it feels real.”
isn’t Damien’s expression softened. “That’s because it is real, Hazel. What I feel for you you are.” about appearances. It’s about who
After dinner, he showed me around the rest of the villa, including his home office with its impressive views and the media room where he confessed to watching old movies late at night when he couldn’t sleep.
“And upstairs?” I asked, noting the staircase we hadn’t ascended.
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“Bedrooms,” he said simply. “Four of them, though I only use the master suite.
We ended up back in the living room, standing before the wall of windows as night fell over the lake. Damien stood behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, his chin resting on my head.
“It’s a beautiful home,” I said, leaning back against his chest.
“It’s empty most of the time,” he replied. “I’m rarely here except on weekends.
I turned in his arms to face him. “That seems like a waste.”
Damien studied my face for a long moment. “If you like it here, find a time to move in,” he said quietly. “It’s empty anyway.”
The unexpected invitation took my breath away. Moving in together was a serious step -one I hadn’t anticipated so soon. As I looked into Damien’s eyes, I saw the vulnerability behind his calm expression. He was putting himself out there, taking a
risk.
“Damien, I began, not sure how to respond.
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