Damien POV

The morning sun slanted through the blinds, slicing the small room in streaks of gold. Damien sat at the edge of his bed, tying his shoelaces with the kind of precision that had been drilled into him for years. It wasn’t just a habit anymore — it was part of who he was — orderly, structured and well controlled

He picked up his phone and checked the time. 6:47 a.m. Serena hated tardiness. Not that she ever said it directly — she didn’t need to. The tapping of her manicured nails against the car window whenever he was a minute late spoke louder than words.

Damien stood, adjusted his shirt collar in front of the mirror, and smirked faintly. “Another day, another hurricane,” he murmured.

He grabbed his car keys and headed out.

***

By the time he pulled up in front of Serena’s apartment building, she was already outside, standing beside the sleek black gates like she’d been waiting all morning. She looked flawless as usual — cream suit, dark glasses, phone in hand, and an expression that could freeze lava.

“Good morning, Miss Williams,” he said as he stepped out to open the door for her.

She didn’t glance at him. “You’re two minutes late.”

Damien checked his wristwatch. “Actually, I’m three minutes early. Maybe your clock is ahead of time.”

Her lips twitched — not quite a smile, but not far from it either. “You talk too much for a driver.”

“And you notice too much for a boss,” he countered lightly.

Her head snapped toward him, brows raised above the edge of her sunglasses. For a second, he thought he saw the ghost of amusement in her eyes before she slid into the back seat without another word.

He shut the door gently, trying to hide the smirk tugging at his mouth. She was impossible — but in a strangely entertaining way.

****

The ride to the office was quiet at first, save for the hum of the engine and the distant city sounds — horns, vendors shouting, music leaking from nearby cars. Serena was typing furiously on her phone, her fingers moving so fast it was almost hypnotic.

Damien glanced at her through the rear-view mirror. She looked… tired. Not physically, but like someone holding the world on her shoulders while pretending it weighed nothing.

He remembered the story she’d told him weeks ago — the accident, the guilt she carried for her siblings. That memory had softened something in him. She wasn’t just cold or arrogant. She was protecting herself.

Still, she had a way of making even silence feel sharp.

“Damien,” she said suddenly, not looking up from her phone.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Stop calling me ‘ma’am.’ It makes me sound old.”

He smiled. “What should I call you then?”

“Miss Serena will do.”

“Got it, Miss Serena.” He emphasized the last part just enough to make her glance up, a small exhale escaping her lips — like she was fighting the urge to smile.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re annoyingly calm?” she asked.

“Once or twice,” he said, eyes still on the road. “Usually right before they yell at me.”

She leaned back, folding her arms. “You enjoy pushing buttons, don’t you?”

“Only when it keeps people awake.”

***

The car stopped at a red light. Outside, a street vendor walked between cars, balancing bottles of water on his head. Serena’s eyes followed him absently, and for a moment, she looked almost human — no walls, no sharp edges.

“Do you ever get tired of pretending?” Damien asked before he could stop himself.

Her head turned sharply. “Pretending?”

He cursed himself silently. Smooth, Damien.

“I mean… always keeping a straight face. Like nothing ever gets to you.”

Serena looked at him for a long moment. He felt her gaze like heat against his neck. Then she said quietly, “When you’ve been burned enough times, you stop letting people see when it hurts.”

The light turned green. He pressed the accelerator.

There it was again — that glimpse behind the armor. A flash of vulnerability quickly sealed back under sarcasm and poise.

He didn’t respond. She didn’t expect him to.

***

When they got to the company, Damien parked in his usual spot. He got out, circled to her side, and opened the door.

Serena stepped out gracefully, the heels clicking against the pavement like punctuation marks. The moment she straightened, her work persona slid back into place — sharp, confident, untouchable.

Her second assistant, a petite woman named Lila, hurried toward them with a tablet in hand. “Good morning, ma’am! The board meeting starts in ten minutes. Mr. Keane already called twice.”

“Of course he did,” Serena muttered. “Tell him I’ll be there in five.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lila scurried away.

Serena started walking toward the glass doors. Halfway there, she stopped and looked back at Damien. “You’ll be around, right?”

“Yes, Serena.”

“Good.” Her tone softened — barely. “And don’t let anyone scratch my car. I’ll know if they do.”

He saluted jokingly. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

She rolled her eyes but turned away before he could see her smile.

****

For the next few hours, Damien stayed in the parking lot, running minor errands, cleaning the car, and occasionally chatting with the security guards. He enjoyed observing people — how they moved, how they talked when they thought no one was watching.

When Serena finally came out around noon, she looked drained. The heels were still perfect, the lipstick still intact, but the confidence was thinner around the edges.

Damien straightened and opened the door for her again. She got in without a word, leaning her head against the seat.

“Tough meeting?” he asked gently.

She let out a dry laugh. “Is there any other kind?”

He didn’t push further. The road back was filled with the quiet hum of the car and the faint rhythm of soft jazz playing on the stereo.

Then she surprised him. “You know… you’re not terrible company.”

He glanced at her reflection in the mirror. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t. I’m only saying it because silence gets boring.”

He chuckled. “Still counts.”

This time, she didn’t argue.

****

When they reached her apartment again, Serena lingered for a moment before getting out. She seemed to be thinking — which, for her, probably meant debating whether to say something or keep it to herself.

“Thank you,” she said finally, so quietly it almost didn’t sound like her.

Damien blinked. “You’re welcome.”

She hesitated. “For driving.”

He smiled faintly. “It’s kind of my job.”

She shot him a glare that held no real venom. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said again, his tone softer this time.

When she disappeared into the building, Damien sat for a moment in the silence she left behind.

There was something about her — something he couldn’t quite name. She was a storm pretending to be a statue. And for reasons he didn’t want to admit, he wanted to be the one who saw what she looked like when she finally let it rain.