008 The Invisible Line

I kept my hand clamped tight around the handle of my suitcase, my knuckles turning white. The sound of the key turning in the lock echoed through the massive bedroom, and it felt like the door to my actual life had just been shut forever.

"I will take the sofa tonight," Damian said, breaking the silence as he walked over to the closet. He didn't look back at me. "But during the day, when the staff is in and out, your things need to look settled. Clear half the vanity. Put some of your clothes in the dresser."

I looked at the beautiful oil painting of Sophia hanging on the wall. Her painted eyes seemed to follow me. "I don't think I can do that, Damian. This is her room. It feels wrong."

Damian stopped dead in his tracks. His shoulders went incredibly rigid under his white shirt. When he turned around, his face was completely blank, but his eyes were burning. "It is my room, Lila. And right now, it is the only shield my daughter has from a media circus. Do not make this harder than it already is."

"I am trying to respect her memory," I said, my voice rising a little. "And my own. Do you think it is easy for me to bring my things in here? Every time I look at you, I think about Alex. Being in this room feels like I am erasing him."

"Then do not look at me," he snapped. He walked over to a chest of drawers, pulled open the top two, and emptied them completely into a laundry basket. He set the basket on the floor with a heavy thud. "There. Your space. Use it or keep living out of your suitcase, I do not care. But when the maid comes in to change the sheets tomorrow, she needs to see two people living here."

He didn't wait for me to answer. He grabbed his suit jacket from the bed, checked his watch, and walked past me toward the doors. He unlocked the doors and stepped out of the hallway without saying anything to me.

I stood alone in the center of the room for a long time.

Eventually, my arms started to ache from holding the suitcase. I dragged it over to the dresser Damian had cleared out. One by one, I began taking out my shirts and folding them into the empty drawers. My simple cotton clothes looked completely out of place against the dark, expensive wood.

When I reached the bottom of the bag, my fingers brushed against the silver frame of Alex's photograph. I almost started sobbing. I took it out and looked around the room, trying to find a place where it belonged. The nightstand on the left side of the bed was completely bare. I walked over, my footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, and placed the photo right in the center of the dark wood.

Seeing his smile in this room brought a strange mix of comfort and sharp pain. It was a declaration. An invisible line drawn right down the middle of the space. Damian had his past on the wall, and I had mine on the nightstand.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of forced normalcy. I spent the afternoon upstairs in the playroom with Mia, building block towers and reading her favorite books. She was completely oblivious to the chaos online. Her skin had a healthier color than it did a few days ago, and her breathing didn't try to disturb her anymore. Every time she laughed, I reminded myself why I was enduring Damian’s icy stares and the suffocating atmosphere of the master suite.

By nine o'clock, Mia was fast asleep in her own room. The nanny took over monitoring her, and I had no choice but to head back to the end of the hall.

When I pushed the double doors open, the room was dimly lit by a single bedside lamp. Damian was already there. He had changed into a dark gray t-shirt and loose trousers. He was sitting on the edge of the large leather sofa by the window, a thick stack of legal documents resting on his lap.

I walked in quietly, closing the door behind me. "Is she still stable?"

"Her vitals are good tonight," Damian said, not lifting his eyes from the paperwork. "The doctor checked her chart remotely an hour ago. The current medication cycle is holding."

"That is good," I said.

I walked over to the closet, grabbed the silk pajamas Eleanor had bought for me, and went into the master bathroom to change. When I came back out, the room felt even smaller than it had this morning. The massive king-sized bed was neatly turned down on both sides, the white sheets pristine and untouched.

Damian stood up from the sofa. He tossed his paperwork onto the glass coffee table and grabbed a spare pillow and a heavy wool blanket from the top shelf of the closet. He threw them onto the leather cushions of the sofa.

"The bed is yours," he said, adjusting the pillow. "I am a light sleeper. If you need to get up in the night for water, try not to slam the bathroom door."

"I don't slam doors," I said, pulling the covers back on the left side of the bed, right next to Alex's photo.

I climbed in, the mattress sinking softly beneath my weight. The sheets smelled like high-end laundry detergent and the faint, masculine scent of Damian's cologne. It made me incredibly uncomfortable. I lay on my side, facing away from the rest of the room, staring directly at the silver frame on the nightstand.

Across the room, I heard the leather sofa made noise as Damian lay down. A second later, the click of the lamp switch plunged the entire suite into absolute darkness.

The silence that followed was heavy. Every single sound was heard. I could hear the wind brushing against the large glass windows. I could hear the distant tick of the grandfather clock down the hall. But most of all, I could hear the rhythm of Damian's breathing from the sofa.

Hours passed, I couldn't fall asleep. My mind was spinning with the images of the leaked article, the furious comments, and the reality of the ring on my finger. I shifted slightly, trying to find a comfortable position without making the mattress spring creak.

Suddenly, a low, ragged sound cut through the darkness.

I froze, holding my breath to listen closer.

"No," a voice whispered from the sofa. It was muffled, thick with strain. "Sophia, wait. Stop."

I sat up slowly, my eyes straining to see through the shadows. Damian was tossing turning on the narrow sofa, the heavy wool blanket tangled around his legs.

"Do not leave," he muttered, his voice cracking in a way I had never heard before. It wasn't the cold, authoritative tone he used during the day. It was the voice of a man who was completely broken. "Please. I cannot do this alone. Sophia."

He let out a sharp, gasping breath, his chest heaving as he fought against whatever nightmare had trapped him. He was completely caught in the memory of his grief, sleep-talking with a desperate intensity that made my stomach twist.

I slid my legs out from under the covers, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. I took two hesitant steps toward the sofa, unsure if I should wake him or leave him to fight the shadows alone.

Before I could make a sound, Damian’s eyes flew open in the dark, his breathing coming in wild, ragged gasps. He bolted upright, his gaze locking instantly onto my silhouette standing right over him.