Chapter 53
IMANI’s POV
His eyes sharpened the moment the words left my mouth.
He did not blink. He did not move. He simply watched me with that unsettling stillness of his, as if waiting for my eyes to betray me.
Then he asked quietly, “How did you know that?”
My breath stalled for half a second.
I had slipped. I never slipped.
Not with anyone.
How could I be so careless?
I forced my shoulders to relax. "You're a public figure,” I said as calmly as I could. “So it’s obviously public knowledge.”
“I remained anonymous for years.” He noted, his eyes gazing at me, questioning.
I took a sip of my latte, remaining as calm as I could.
Think.
Think.
“You truly underestimate the power of the press.” I said, facing him, “Immediately you exposed yourself, your background became privy to everyone.”
Damien continued staring at me, his gaze boring into me. For a moment, I wondered if he caught the lie beneath, if he had been having suspicions all this time and I just confirmed them.
But then he leaned back slightly, just enough for his posture to seem relaxed.
“I see,” he said.
The tone of his voice gave nothing away. His eyes, however, lingered on my face just a second too long.
Then he shifted his attention to the window, “So,” he said slowly, “You said Xinling is not your favorite anymore.”
There was a subtle tease in his voice that was barely there.
I shrugged, “I saw other artists here… and their pieces are, by far, more fascinating.” I replied, keeping my expression blank.
His lips lifted just slightly, “Is that so?”
I didn’t respond. I took another sip of my latte as he watched me carefully.
There’s something that unsettled me in the way he looked at me.
“Why did you want me to bring the painting by myself? I could have sent someone.” I broke the silence.
He took a sip of his coffee with such grace, for a man who looked as rugged as he did. “Because I wanted to see you.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Do I need a specific reason?” He watched me.
“So you just wanted to see me, for no reason whatsoever?”
“Hm.” He responded.
What was wrong with this man?
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, turning to the window. I saw a group of girls about to enter the cafe, but there was a man who stood by the door and turned them away.
“What is?” He questioned.
“Everyone has a reason behind every action, no matter how small or insignificant.” I turned to him, “And I’m sure you have yours.”
“You think everyone has a hidden motive.” He wasn’t asking.
Then I pointed to the door, “So you're going to tell me you have absolutely no reason for chasing people away?”
He glanced at the door, then back at me, “There's only one reason I can think of.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“You.” There was something about the way he said it… the way it made me feel.
And I hated it.
“That’s a stupid reason,” I said.
He didn’t bark. He didn’t speak from a wounded ego. He didn’t try to prove a point.
Instead, his lips curved up slightly, if you looked very closely, you'd see a smile forming, “So what’s your reason?”
My brows furrowed, “For what?”
“For being here.”
“What kind of question is that? Obviously to return the painting.”
He did that thing again, where he looked into my eyes like he was trying to get access to my soul.
He glanced at my sides, “I don’t see any painting.” He said, leaning in slightly, and for some stupid reason, I felt my heart race, “Or do you also have a hidden motive for seeing me?”
Before I could speak, his phone began to buzz.
He looked at the screen. His expression did not change, but his eyes hardened.
He picked up the call. “Hello…hm…I’ll be there.”
He ended the call and placed the phone in his pocket.
“You have somewhere to be?” I asked, watching him.
“Not right now,” he replied as he lifted his gaze to mine again. “I am not in a hurry.”
I shifted in my seat, “You sounded like it.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
I hope my face didn’t betray what I was feeling inside.
“No.” I answered quickly.
He seemed amused by that, “You reacted,” he said quietly.
“I reacted to nothing,” I said, heat rising up my neck.
“Interesting,” he said as he watched me.
There was something in his eyes again. Not just intrigue. Not just intensity. Something warmer…Something that made my heartbeat stutter against my will.
I couldn’t take this anymore. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“I have to be somewhere,” I said quickly as I pushed my chair back. “I should go.”
Damien did not stop me. He simply watched me rise.
When I turned toward the door, he spoke again, his voice calm.
“About the painting.”
I paused.
“Return it when you find something better,” he said. “Something that resonates with you more than that one.”
I slowly looked over my shoulder.
He continued, “Until then, keep it.”
A subtle challenge lingered beneath his words.
It wasn’t forceful nor arrogant. It was something gentler.
Something that made my chest feel tight for an entirely unwelcome reason.
I cleared my throat. “I do not accept gifts.”
“It will not remain a gift once you have something better to replace it with,” he said as he held my gaze.
I turned away sharply, strutting out of the cafe, trying to keep my breathing steady.
The crisp air outside hit my face, but it did nothing to cool the strange heat sitting beneath my ribs.
The painting was still in the back seat of my car when I opened the door. I stood there for a moment, staring at it, feeling every conflict inside me swell and twist.
Why did he send it?
Why did he want to see me?
I closed my eyes, irritation flaring through me.
This was exactly what I did not want. This was what I was supposed to avoid.
Damien Skye was the enemy. He was one of the reasons I came back. He was the last man I should feel anything around.
If it wasn’t rage, then I shouldn’t feel anything.
If it wasn’t to plot their downfall, then I shouldn’t think about him.
My grip tightened on my phone as we drove.
No.
Absolutely not.
Why does being near him feel like… this??
After what he did to me??
After everything they put me through??
The anger that rose in me could have burned through steel.
At him.
At myself.
At the inconvenient pull I refused to name.
As the car moved, I sat in the heavy silence, furious that his presence lingered in my chest long after I left him behind.