The aroma of the freshly cooked meal filled the room as Damien and Elena settled at the dining table.
Their earlier banter echoed between them, light-hearted and filled with stolen glances that carried unspoken words.
Elena took a small sip of her wine, her eyes locking with Damien's. "Not bad, chef," she teased, twirling her fork through her pasta.
"Not bad yourself," Damien responded with a smirk. "Though I think you sabotaged my garlic chopping. You did say you wanted to teach me, right?"
Elena laughed, leaning back in her chair, comfortable in this newfound ease between them.
"Teaching requires a student who listens," she replied, arching an eyebrow.
"I'm a quick learner," Damien said, his voice softening, and his eyes flickering with something more.
Elena rolled her eyes playfully. "I think your knife skills need some work. I almost thought we'd need a first-aid kit earlier."
Their small talk continued, flowing like an unbroken stream, and for a moment, it seemed like they could be anyone—just two people enjoying a meal, growing closer with each laugh and shared glance.
Then.
The loud, sharp banging on the door shattered the peaceful moment, the sound violent and insistent.
Elena froze, her fork dropping with a clatter onto her plate.
"Elena! Open up!" The voice was rough, demanding. "I know you're in there!"
Elena stood abruptly, her face a perfect mask of horror. Her breath hitched in her throat.
Damien rose from his seat slowly, his protective instincts kicking in immediately.
He moved toward Elena, reaching for her hand. "It's okay," he whispered, his voice calm but laced with concern. "I won't let anything happen to you."
Elena nodded, gripping his hand just tightly enough to let him know she was frightened—or at least, that's what she wanted him to believe.
Damien walked toward the door, his steps heavy with tension.
Elena stood behind him, her heart pounding—though not out of fear, but from anticipation. She had orchestrated this moment so carefully.
As Damien opened the door, the man standing outside took a step back, visibly startled by who he saw.
"Y-you? What are you doing here?" The man stammered, his eyes wide, mouth open in shock.
Damien squared his shoulders, glaring at the man. He didn't need to say anything; his posture, his silence, spoke volumes.
Elena stayed behind Damien, carefully positioning herself so she could silently observe.
The man's performance was spot on—an Oscar-worthy portrayal of a panicked, remorseful ex-husband.
She almost smirked but quickly masked it with an expression of timid distress.
"Look, man, I just want to talk to my wife, that's all," the man said, his voice softening, as though pleading.
Damien turned slightly, his jaw tight, about to respond when Elena tugged at his shirt.
"I'll talk to him," Elena said, her voice trembling just enough to convince Damien. "It's okay."
He looked down at her, concern clouding his deep blue eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked softly, his voice thick with both worry and a faint hint of jealousy.
Elena nodded, her eyes glassy as if she were barely holding back tears.
She let go of his shirt, stepping forward, inching toward the man as though torn between two forces.
She could feel Damien's eyes burning into her back, his protectiveness rising. That was exactly what she wanted
"Baby," the hired 'ex-husband' exclaimed, rushing forward and wrapping Elena in a tight, warm hug.
Damien's jaw clenched harder, his hands curling into fists as uncertainty and jealousy bloomed in his chest.
Elena felt the tension rising behind her and silently applauded the man's performance.
The man was sticking to the script perfectly.
With her back to Damien, Elena allowed herself a small, mischievous smile.
The moment she had been waiting for—the scene she had painstakingly planned—had arrived. It was time to push Damien to his breaking point.
"I'm sorry," the man said, his voice trembling as he cupped Elena's face.
"I'm sorry about earlier, about everything." His eyes glistened with unshed tears, a perfect imitation of a man begging for forgiveness.
Elena took a shaky breath, her lips trembling as though she was about to cry, though her eyes remained as dry as the desert.
"Enough, Rico," she said, her voice weak, just the right amount of vulnerability woven in. "You always say that. Every time you make the same promises."
Rico nearly broke character, a smirk threatening to slip out, but he quickly recovered.
He tightened his hold on Elena, his face contorting with desperation. "Baby, I promise—I'll change. I swear I'll change."
"You always say that," Elena whispered, her voice cracking on cue. "But you never do."
"Just this one time, baby," Rico begged, his voice barely above a whisper. "Forgive me, just this once."
Before Damien could intervene, before the script could be derailed, Rico leaned in, crashing his lips against Elena's.
The kiss was urgent, passionate—exactly as they had rehearsed. Elena didn't pull away, not immediately.
She let the moment linger, knowing full well what kind of effect it was having on Damien.