The next morning, Brooklyn didn't know how to act.
Should she greet Damien like nothing happened? Should she bring up the almost-kiss? Should she apologize for letting the air between them heat up like that?
Instead, she avoided him.
She stayed in bed longer than usual, waited until the housekeeper brought breakfast, and spent the rest of the morning in the rooftop garden trying to quiet her spiraling thoughts.
But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop replaying the night before—the way his eyes searched hers, the warmth of his body so close to hers, the way her lips parted in anticipation of something that never came.
We shouldn't.
Those were his words. Not hers. But she wasn't sure she disagreed.
Her heart said yes.
Her situation said be careful.
She still hadn't told him about the baby. And if feelings got involved, everything could collapse.
---
Later That Day – Living Room
Brooklyn was curled up on the couch with a book when Damien walked in.
She didn't look up, though she felt the air shift the moment he stepped into the room.
He didn't speak at first. Just moved to the bar, poured himself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter.
Finally, he said, "You've been quiet today."
Brooklyn closed her book but didn't meet his eyes. "Just needed space."
There was a long pause.
"So did I," he admitted.
Her heart fluttered.
She glanced up. "About last night…"
Damien's expression didn't change, but the air between them crackled.
"We crossed a line," he said.
Brooklyn sat up straighter. "Barely."
"Almost," he corrected. "Almost crossing a line is still too close."
She nodded slowly. "Right."
But neither of them looked away.
It wasn't just about what almost happened—it was about what could still happen. The possibility hung between them like a storm waiting to break.
Damien walked toward her, then paused, keeping a safe distance.
"I meant what I said," he said. "This arrangement can't survive emotional complications."
Brooklyn gave a soft, bitter laugh. "You say that like we're not human."
"We're not here to be human. We're here to convince the world we're in love."
That stung.
Because part of her was starting to wonder if it wasn't all just acting anymore.
---
Later – Charity Event Planning
That afternoon, they attended a planning meeting for a Carter Foundation education initiative. Dozens of powerful board members filled the room, and Damien introduced Brooklyn as his wife with calm confidence.
She smiled, nodded, made small talk with donors.
But every time she glanced at Damien, he was already watching her.
His gaze lingered longer than necessary.
And when he walked past her, his hand brushed the small of her back just slightly.
It was nothing.
But it was everything.
The lines between fake and real were starting to blur.
And Brooklyn couldn't tell where the performance ended anymore.
---
Evening – The Penthouse
Back home, Brooklyn kicked off her heels and tossed her clutch onto the marble counter. Damien loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves, and poured them both a glass of wine.
They sat in silence for a while, the sound of distant city traffic humming through the penthouse windows.
Then Damien asked, "How's the baby?"
Brooklyn froze.
Her heart nearly stopped.
She turned slowly to face him, eyes wide.
"W-What?"
Damien set his glass down, calm as ever. "I know, Brooklyn."
Her throat went dry. "How?"
"I had you checked before we signed the marriage license," he said. "Standard protocol for someone in my position."
Her cheeks flushed with humiliation and fury. "You what?"
"I needed to know who I was bringing into my world," he said, unfazed. "It wasn't personal."
"It feels personal," she snapped. "You violated my privacy."
Damien stood slowly. "You're carrying another man's child, and you walked into my life with that secret. That is personal."
She stood too, facing him. "I wasn't hiding it. I just didn't know how to tell you."
"You didn't trust me."
"You didn't give me a reason to!"
They stood there, inches apart, both breathing hard. Angry. Exposed.
Then Damien's voice dropped to a quiet, almost vulnerable tone.
"I don't care whose it is," he said. "I'm not going to throw you out. But I need to know—are you going to keep lying to me when things get hard?"
Brooklyn's eyes filled with tears.
"No," she whispered. "I'm just scared."
Damien looked at her for a long time.
Then he nodded. "Don't be."
And for the first time, he stepped closer not as a businessman, not as a fake husband—but as someone who understood what it meant to survive pain in silence.
---
Later – Rooftop Balcony
Brooklyn stood by the glass railing, city lights stretching endlessly below. Damien joined her, two steaming mugs in hand.
He passed one to her. "Chamomile. Figured you could use something calming."
"Thanks," she said, surprised by the small kindness.
They stood in silence for a while.
Finally, she asked, "Why haven't you asked about the father?"
"Because I don't want to know."
Brooklyn looked at him.
"You're not curious?"
"I'm not interested in competition," he said. "If you wanted him in your life, he'd be here. But he's not."
She swallowed hard. "He left me. I told him I was pregnant and he disappeared."
Damien said nothing, but his jaw clenched.
"I spent months working two jobs, trying to figure out what to do. Then your proposal came, and I thought… maybe this was my second chance."
He nodded slowly.
"It still can be."
Brooklyn turned to him.
"You mean that?"
Damien met her eyes. "You'll never have to worry about money, safety, or survival again. Not as long as you're in this marriage."
Tears welled in her eyes.
But it wasn't the money that moved her.
It was the promise in his voice.
The protection.
The unspoken understanding that no one had ever offered her before.
---
Late Night – Her Bedroom Door
Brooklyn closed her door behind her and leaned against it, heart pounding.
She could still feel the warmth of his words. Still hear the tension in his voice when he said he didn't care who the father was.
She walked to her bed, sat down slowly, and pulled her robe tighter around her.
Then—
A soft knock.
She turned.
"Brooklyn," Damien's voice said from the other side.
She opened the door slightly, peeking through.
His eyes met hers.
"I'm not here to cross any lines," he said quietly. "I just… I don't want you to feel alone tonight."
Brooklyn hesitated, her hand tightening on the knob.
She opened the door wider.
Damien stepped inside.
They didn't touch. Didn't kiss.
He sat in the armchair. She curled into the bed.
And for the first time since the marriage began, they simply existed in the same space — no lies, no performances, no roles.
Just two broken people trying to build something out of the pieces.