Emma had almost dozed off on the couch, the faint hum of the city outside weaving into the movie’s background noise. Her lashes fluttered, her body sinking into the cushions—until she felt something warm press against her forehead.
Her eyes opened. Damien stood over her, a shadow against the soft light, dressed in a tailored black suit that clung to him like a second skin. His tie was perfectly knotted, his cufflinks gleamed like fragments of stars. He looked devastating. Untouchable.
"I gotta go. I have some work. I’ll be back late," he murmured, his voice low and deliberate.
Emma blinked the sleep away, frowning. "Where are you going? What time is it?"
"It’s almost eleven," Damien said, straightening his sleeve with a measured calmness.
Her heart gave a strange squeeze. Eleven at ni
