Chapter 6: The East Wing

Avery barely slept.

Every time she drifted off, she pictured the heat of Damien’s bare skin, the solid weight of his shoulders, and the undeniable tension that had filled the bedroom. She had stayed glued to her side of the mattress all night, terrified that if she rolled over, she’d bump into him.

By 5:30 AM, she gave up. She slipped out of bed, threw on a simple knit sweater and jeans, and headed down to the kitchen.

Making the coffee was easy. Carrying it up to the east wing was the hard part.

The Kingsley estate was massive, but Damien’s directions from the night before were clear. She found the heavy oak doors of his home office right where he said they’d be. She pushed them open with her elbow, balancing the mug.

Damien was already there. He was fully dressed in a crisp grey suit, his dark glasses back in place. He sat behind a massive mahogany desk, typing on a braille keyboard with blinding speed.

"You're late," Damien said. He didn't look up, but his fingers stopped moving. "It’s 6:02."

"I had to find the mugs," Avery replied, setting the black coffee down on a coaster near his hand. "No sugar, right?"

Damien reached out, his fingers finding the handle of the mug instantly. He took a sip, his expression completely blank. "Passable. Sit down, Kendra. We have things to go over before my car arrives."

Avery sat in the leather chair opposite him. Her eyes immediately began scanning the office.

It was a beautiful room, lined with bookshelves and heavy filing cabinets. On the corner of his desk sat a sleek, locked metal drawer. The files. They had to be in there, or in the safe hidden behind the painting on the wall.

"From today, you run my personal correspondence," Damien said, leaning back. "My secretary will forward my personal mail here. You’ll read it to me, draft replies, and keep my calendar. If you make a mistake, it reflects on me. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Avery said, her voice steady. "I can handle it."

Damien tilted his head, studying her silent reaction. "You don't sound intimidated."

"Should I be? It’s just paperwork, Damien."

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "Most people find me difficult to work with."

"I'm not most people." The words slipped out before she could stop them, her true, independent self cutting through her fake persona.

Damien’s smirk widened. "Clearly."

A soft knock on the door interrupted them. Marcus, the butler, stepped in. "The car is ready, sir. Mr. Vance is waiting on the phone for your morning brief."

"Send it to the car," Damien commanded, standing up. He grabbed his silver-tipped cane from the side of the desk. He walked around the mahogany table, stopping right in front of Avery.

She stood up, her heart doing a familiar, nervous flutter.

"I'll be back by five," Damien said. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing her jaw, a brief, burning touch that made her breath hitch. "Don't miss me too much, wife."

With that, he turned and walked out, the steady clack of his cane fading down the corridor.

Avery waited. She listened to the distant sound of the front doors opening and closing. She stood by the window, watching the sleek black sedan roll down the long driveway until it vanished past the gates.

He was gone.

Avery turned back to the silent, empty office. She looked at the locked metal drawer on his desk, then at the filing cabinets.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, but this time, it wasn't from his touch. It was adrenaline.

"Time to find out who Kendra Vance really is," she muttered to herself.

She walked over to the desk and reached for the handle of the locked drawer.