Brooklyn barely slept.
After Damien's cold warning the night before, the weight of her secret had settled deep in her chest like a stone. Every minute she didn't tell him about the baby, the guilt grew heavier. But she couldn't risk it. Not yet.
She lay in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence in the penthouse wasn't comforting anymore — it was suffocating.
She finally got up, wrapped herself in a robe, and padded barefoot to the kitchen. It was still early. The sun had just begun spilling golden light over the skyline outside.
To her surprise, Damien was already there.
He stood by the window, dressed down in black joggers and a fitted gray shirt, holding a mug in one hand. He looked like he hadn't slept either. His eyes were shadowed, his jaw tense.
Brooklyn paused at the entrance.
"Didn't expect to see you up," she said softly.
Damien glanced at her, then back out the window. "Couldn't sleep."
She walked over slowly, grabbing a mug from the shelf. The silence stretched between them — not quite comfortable, but not hostile either.
"About yesterday…" she began.
"You don't have to explain again," he said flatly. "You did what you thought you needed to."
"But I should've told you before I went," she added. "I broke your trust."
He turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Trust isn't something I give easily."
Brooklyn nodded, looking down. "I know."
For a moment, all she heard was the quiet hum of the city waking up outside.
"I'm not used to having to consider someone else," she admitted. "I've been on my own for a long time."
"So have I," Damien said.
She looked up at him. "But you don't act like it bothers you."
He gave a short, humorless laugh. "It doesn't. I learned to turn it off a long time ago."
Brooklyn tilted her head. "Turn what off?"
His eyes locked on hers. "The part that wants anything more than business."
Her breath caught. Because for once, he was letting her see the man behind the mask.
And for the first time since their marriage began, she saw loneliness in him — deep, raw, and buried under layers of control.
---
Midday – Dress Fitting Room
Brooklyn stood on a small platform, wearing a stunning black cocktail dress with a plunging neckline. The stylist adjusted the hem while she stared at her reflection.
Her mind kept drifting back to Damien.
The vulnerability in his voice. The exhaustion in his eyes. The way he hadn't flinched when she apologized.
He'd surprised her.
He always did, in small ways.
And that terrified her more than anything.
"Are you okay, Mrs. Carter?" the stylist asked gently.
Brooklyn blinked. "Yeah. Just... thinking."
"Well, your husband has impeccable taste," the woman said, smiling. "He personally requested this gown for you."
Brooklyn's breath hitched.
He did?
---
Evening – Home Again
The elevator doors opened into the penthouse just as Brooklyn stepped out of the bedroom in a silk robe, fresh from a bath.
Damien was standing in the living room, tie loosened, suit jacket off. He looked up when he saw her.
They both paused.
There was something electric in the air. Not anger. Not distance.
Something else.
"I ordered dinner," he said.
She walked toward him. "Thanks. I'm starving."
They sat across from each other at the dining table as a private chef wheeled in a tray of pasta, grilled vegetables, and wine.
They ate quietly at first — but the silence wasn't heavy anymore. It was filled with glances, little smirks, the occasional clink of glasses.
Halfway through the meal, Brooklyn said, "Do you always order for two? Even before I got here?"
Damien shrugged. "I got used to the idea of silence sitting across from me."
Brooklyn's smile faded. "That sounds lonely."
He looked up. "You keep saying that. Like being alone is a curse."
"Isn't it?"
Damien leaned back in his chair, studying her. "Not if you've learned to make peace with it."
She tilted her head. "Have you?"
His jaw flexed. "I did. Until you came along and disrupted everything."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Is that a complaint?"
"More like an observation."
They stared at each other across the table.
Then Damien stood.
Brooklyn followed, curiosity blooming in her chest.
He walked toward the piano in the corner of the room — one she'd never seen him touch. Without a word, he sat down and began to play.
A haunting melody drifted into the air. Simple, beautiful. A little sad.
Brooklyn's heart slowed. She stepped closer.
"I didn't know you played," she whispered.
He didn't look at her. "I don't. Not for anyone."
She moved to stand beside him. "What's this song?"
He shrugged. "Something I wrote. Years ago."
Brooklyn sat down next to him on the bench. Their shoulders touched — barely. But it was enough to send a thrill up her spine.
"You're full of secrets," she said.
Damien finally looked at her.
"So are you."
The music stopped.
Silence fell between them.
Their faces were close. Too close.
His hand rested on the piano keys. Hers was inches away.
His gaze flicked to her lips.
Her breath hitched.
And then…
Damien leaned in.
Brooklyn's heart thundered.
Their lips were almost touching.
Almost.
Then Damien froze.
His eyes darkened. "We shouldn't."
"I know," she whispered.
But neither of them moved.
She felt the warmth of his breath. The way his fingers grazed hers.
It wasn't fake. Not in that moment.
It was real. Unspoken. Dangerous.
Then Damien stood abruptly, the moment shattered.
Brooklyn blinked, stunned.
He turned his back to her. "Goodnight."
And just like that, he was gone — leaving her sitting beside the piano, lips still tingling from a kiss that didn't happen.
---
Later That Night
Brooklyn lay in bed, one hand resting gently on her stomach.
The baby.
The real reason she was here.
The secret she still hadn't shared.
She thought about Damien's face, the way his eyes had softened. The way he'd looked at her like she was more than just a pawn in a deal.
She thought about the almost-kiss.
Would it have changed everything?
Or ruined it all?
Because if she let herself fall — even a little — she wasn't sure she'd be able to climb out again.
And the more time she spent in this penthouse… in Damien's world… the harder it was becoming to remember what was real and what was fake.