The soft sizzle of onions in butter filled the vast, silent kitchen of the estate, but Anastasia was miles away.
She stood staring blankly at the stove, a wooden spoon loose in her hand. Her mind was trapped back in the boardroom she hadn’t been allowed to enter.
How did her father react when Damian confronted him?
Did Richard Vance ask about her, even once? Did he inquire about her well-being, or ask if she was eating, sleeping, or holding up after everything? Or was she truly nothing more than a ruined pawn to him... Something to be used, exploited, and discarded the moment she lost her value?
A bitter, quiet ache tightened in her chest.
Couff! Couff!
A sharp, pungent smell suddenly snapped her back to reality. Black smoke was billowing out of the pan, the onions completely charred into ash. Before Ana could scramble for the knob, a large arm reached past her shoulder and clicked the gas burner off.
Damian’s hand reached up to switch on the overhead exhaust fan, sweeping the heavy grey smoke away.
He slowly turned around, leaning his broad frame against the marble counter, his obsidian eyes narrowing at her as his suit jacket hung loosely over his arm.
"Why are you cooking," Damian baritone purred, low and cold, "when I pay a team of world-class chefs to handle the kitchen?"
Ana frowned back at him, setting the wooden spoon down with a soft thud. Her shoulders tense, her eyes weary. "I just wanted to keep myself busy."
Damian leaned in slightly, his dark gaze sweeping slowly down her body, lingering over the soft curve of her waist before rising back to lock onto her lips.
"I know far better ways to keep you busy," he murmured, his voice laced with a heavy, dangerous heat.
Ana’s breath hitched, and she instinctively took a step back, her lower back pressing against the edge of the counter. "I’m not in the mood today, Damian."
Damian tilted his head, a dark, dangerous glint dancing in his eyes as he took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them. "You know I’m exceptionally good at setting the mood, Anastasia."
"Can’t you just do what I want for once?" Ana snapped softly, her voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and rare, desperate frustration. "Without asking for anything in return?"
Damian stopped right in front of her. His towering shadow enveloped her completely, his masculine scent of cedar and expensive cologne washing over her senses. He studied her flushed, pale face for a long, quiet second before his jaw relaxed.
"What do you want, Anastasia?" Damian asked softly, his baritone remarkably calm.
Ana gulped, her throat dry. She looked up into his dark, searching eyes, swallowing her pride.
"Pizza," Ana blurted out quietly. "And beer. And chicken wings... with lots of hot sauce and cheese dips."
Damian blinked. A slight, incredulous frown touched his dark brows before a faint, rare grin slowly tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Pizza and beer?" he echoed, as if the words were foreign on his tongue. He leaned down slightly, his eyes burning into hers. "What else?"
Ana looked around the dimly lit, luxurious kitchen, nervously biting her lower lip.
"I want to watch a movie," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the exhaust fan. "A rom-com. Just... just like a normal couple."
Damian raised an eyebrow, his eyes darkening with a quiet, testing intensity.
"Are we a couple, doll?" he asked smoothly, watching every subtle shift in her expression.
Ana looked up at him, her dark eyes brimming with a fragile, hopeful honesty that cut straight through his cold defenses.
"We can at least try for once," Ana whispered, reaching out to gently touch the lapel of his black vest. "Just for today?"
________________________
The phone call alone had sent shockwaves through Damian’s high-level staff.
When Damian dialed his chief of security and flatly demanded a delivery of commercial fast-food pizza, extra-spicy buffalo wings, and pots of processed cheese dip, the veteran security director had gone entirely silent for five full seconds, assuming it was a coded threat or an emergency breach signal.
Damian’s personal assistant had even called back twice just to verify that the untouchable, health-obsessed CEO of Sterling Global had indeed ordered greasy takeout.
Twenty minutes later, the chief of security personally carried two grease-stained cardboard boxes and a brown paper bag and a carton of beer into the grand penthouse living room, looking deeply bewildered by his assignment before bowing out silently.
Damian had shed his suit jacket and tie, unbuttoning the top three buttons of his crisp white dress shirt and rolling the sleeves up his forearms.
They sat together on the plush rug right in front of the massive media wall, surrounded by the glow of a lighthearted, predictable romantic comedy. Boxes of greasy pepperoni pizza, buffalo chicken wings, and plastic tubs of extra ranch dip were scattered between them.
Ana took a small bite of a wing, her face lighting up slightly as the hot sauce hit her tongue. "I can’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t prepared by a chef."
Damian leaned back against the base of the sofa, a bottle of dark amber beer resting casually in his hand. He watched her intently... the way her small shoulders finally dropped their tension, the faint flush on her cheeks, and the soft sound of her quiet chuckle at a silly joke on the screen.
The alcohol and the cozy, domestic warmth seemed to loosen the heavy knot in Ana’s chest.
She set her food down, wiping her fingers on a paper napkin before turning her head to look at him. Her dark eyes were reflective, swimming with a quiet, fragile ache.
"Damian..." Ana began softly, her voice barely competing with the movie’s dialogue. "When you were in that boardroom today... with my father and Mark..."
Damian paused, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting the bottle aside. "What about them?"
Ana swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, her eyes searching his cold, handsome face. "Did they... did my father ask about me? Even once?"
She hated how small her voice sounded, but the desperate, lingering child inside her needed to know.
"Did he ask if I was okay?" Ana whispered, her lower lip trembling slightly. "Did he ask to see me? Or ask how I was doing after everything?"
Damian’s jaw set into a firm, rigid line. How could she still think about having their affection?
For a fraction of a second, he considered lying... offering her a merciful string of words to spare her fragile heart. But he knew she needed the brutal truth to finally cut the invisible chains holding her to her past.
And trust him and him only.
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