The soft trill of her phone dragged Eliana from the edges of sleep. She blinked against the pale morning light slipping through the curtains, groaning softly as her hand searched for the device on her nightstand.
"Mom," she whispered when she saw the caller ID, thumb swiping to accept. Her voice was still thick with sleep. "Good morning."
"Eliana, sweetheart," Isabelle's voice came through, warm and concerned. "Did I wake you?"
"Kind of, but it's okay," Eliana mumbled, sitting up against her pillows. "How are you?"
"I should be asking you that." There was a pause. "How are you doing, really? And Damon?"
Eliana bit her bottom lip. Her eyes flicked to the empty space beside her bed. "He's... trying. I'm still trying to understand everything. But I told him I'd stay. For now."
"He's a good man, Eliana," Isabelle said softly. "Flawed, yes, but he loves you. I could see it in his eyes the day we came. Give him time. Give yourself time too."
There was a pause, then a chipper voice broke in the background. "Tell her I said hi!"
Eliana smiled faintly. "Was that Lucas?"
"Yes. He misses you. We all do."
"I miss you too," she said, her heart tugging painfully. "I'll call again later. Promise."
After the call ended, she sat in stillness for a few more minutes, letting her thoughts drift to the night before. The hug. The promise. The almost-kiss that hadn't happened. Her hand brushed over her forehead where his lips had landed, and something fluttered inside her chest.
She rose slowly and padded into the bathroom, letting the warmth of the morning sun greet her bare skin as she turned on the water. The steam billowed like smoke, curling around her as she stepped under the stream.
The moment the water touched her skin, a shiver danced down her spine.
She could feel him.
Damon's hands—rough and warm, the weight of his touch ghosting over her skin in her imagination. She closed her eyes, and his voice echoed in her mind, the way he'd whispered her name, the restraint in his tone. Her breath caught, a low ache blooming in her belly.
She braced herself against the tiles. "Get a grip, Eliana," she muttered.
Still, the sensation lingered. The desire. The heat. She swallowed hard and forced her mind to quiet as she focused on bathing, scrubbing away the restlessness.
Downstairs, the house stirred with the hum of activity.
Eliana descended the stairs wrapped in a light floral robe. A few maids passed her in the hallway.
"Good morning, ma'am," one of them greeted.
"Good morning," she replied with a soft nod, her tone more pleasant than usual.
Drawn by the aroma of spices, she headed toward the kitchen. The chef, a cheerful man with a round face and salt-and-pepper hair, was plating scrambled eggs with finesse.
"Good morning, Chef Bernard."
"Ah, good morning, madam," he said with a slight bow. "I was preparing your usual—"
"I'd like to cook today," she interrupted gently.
His eyes widened. "Madam? But it is my duty—"
"I know," she said, offering him a reassuring smile. "But I feel like cooking today. Please."
He hesitated, then stepped back. "Of course, madam. The kitchen is yours."
Eliana rolled up her sleeves and began pulling out ingredients. Something about the rhythm of chopping vegetables, mixing eggs, and flipping pancakes grounded her.
Meanwhile, Damon came downstairs in slacks and a charcoal shirt, hair tousled from a restless night. He moved to the living room and turned on the TV, flipping through the morning news.
"Coffee, sir?" asked Kate, one of the housemaids.
"Yes, thank you," he replied. Then, almost as an afterthought, "Has my wife woken up yet?"
"She's in the kitchen. She insisted on making breakfast herself."
Damon blinked. "She did?"
Kate nodded. "Said she wanted to."
His brows furrowed slightly in surprise, then softened with something almost like anticipation.
By the time breakfast was ready, Eliana stepped into the living room. She wore soft jeans and a pale pink blouse, hair tied into a high bun, cheeks slightly flushed.
"Good morning," she greeted.
Damon looked up from the news. "Good morning. Cooking, huh? That's unexpected."
She shrugged, brushing her hands on a towel. "I needed the distraction. And I missed the kitchen."
"Well, I'm honored. Smells amazing."
Breakfast was served on the veranda: golden pancakes with honey, herb-scrambled eggs, grilled tomatoes, and a fruit medley.
They sat across from each other, the scent of maple syrup drifting between them.
Damon took one bite, then paused. His eyes widened.
"This is… incredible."
Eliana chuckled softly. "Glad to know I didn't lose my touch."
"You really didn't. You just raised the bar for breakfast."
She rolled her eyes playfully. "Don't get used to it." Damon grinned, sipping his coffee.
"My mom sends her regards by the way". She continued
"That's nice, She called you?" Damon responded as he placed his coffee down.
She nodded. "Yeah. She called earlier. She thinks you're a good man."
His expression faltered for a second. "She's very kind. You can visit them anytime, you know."
Eliana hesitated. "Maybe someday. Not yet."
They ate in relative silence for a while before she added, "I might go pick out something to wear for tonight."
He raised a brow. "Looking forward to it. Let me know if you need anything."
Later that afternoon, Damon drove out to meet Jimmy. They sat in a private lounge at a sleek bar, drinks in hand.
"You look better," Jimmy remarked, sipping his whiskey. "Less murder-y."
Damon chuckled. "We're talking again. She's still guarded, but there's progress."
Jimmy tilted his glass. "Good. But you're still hiding it."
Damon's jaw tightened. "It was her father's decision. Not mine."
"Still doesn't mean it's right. If she finds out from someone else—"
"She won't."
Jimmy held up his hands. "Your life, man. Just hope she forgives you before it crashes."
Damon exhaled sharply as Jimmy answered a call and left. Alone, he sat nursing his drink. Then, reaching for his phone, he dialed the restaurant.
"Yes. I'd like to confirm the reservation. Something intimate. Private. Romantic."
Meanwhile, Eliana was at a boutique, scanning through a row of evening dresses. She had three over her arm when she heard her name.
"Eliana? Eliana Moore?"
She turned slowly.
A woman approached with cautious excitement. "It's me—Hilda. From university. Not close friends but... I remember you. You were always nice, just kept to yourself."
Eliana smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. I had an accident. I don't remember much."
Hilda's expression softened. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Are you alright now?"
"Getting there," Eliana said. "Would you mind if I got your number? Maybe we can catch up."
Hilda beamed. "I'd love that."
Eliana left with three dresses and a warm feeling in her chest.
By the time she returned home, the sun had dipped low. Damon was in his study on a call, so she went to her room, tried on the dresses, and settled on a midnight blue gown that flowed like water and hugged her figure perfectly.
As evening settled in, she applied her makeup lightly and pulled her hair into soft curls. She stood before the mirror, her reflection foreign and familiar all at once.
When she finally descended the staircase, Damon was waiting in the foyer.
His breath caught.
She looked stunning.
The gown shimmered slightly with each step, her eyes lined with kohl, lips a soft rose.
"Eliana…" he whispered, stepping forward. He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. "You're breathtaking."
A shy smile touched her lips. "Thank you."
Behind them, the maids stood in the hallway, whispering.
"She looks like a princess."
"And sir can't stop staring."
Eliana's cheeks warmed.
Damon offered his arm. "Shall we?"
She took it.
And together, they walked into the evening—toward a night that might change everything.