Chapter 4 Rules And Boundaries

• “You’re up early.”
• Damian’s voice pulled Elena from her thoughts. She stood barefoot in the massive kitchen, pouring herself a glass of orange juice, the cold condensation trickling down her fingers. She turned, startled. He stood in the doorway, dressed in joggers and a plain black T-shirt, damp hair pushed back from what was clearly a morning run.
• It was the first time she’d seen him like that less billionaire, more man. Human. Real.
• “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “The bed’s too soft.”
• He raised a brow, stepping into the kitchen. “Too soft?”
• She shrugged and leaned against the counter. “It swallows you. Like it’s trying too hard to be luxurious. I felt like I was sinking into a marshmallow.”
• Damian gave a rare, amused smile. It transformed his face in a way that caught her breath. “I’ll have a firmer mattress delivered.”
• “You don’t need to do that,” she said quickly.
• “I don’t do halfway, Elena. Not in business. Not with this.” He gestured vaguely toward her stomach, and for a split second, the warmth in his eyes flickered with something unreadable.
• She sipped her juice in silence, eyes flicking away. It still felt surreal living under the same roof as the father of her child. The man who should have hated her more than anyone. The man whose life her family had helped ruin.
• “I scheduled your first doctor’s appointment,” Damian said, his voice smoother now as he walked to the counter. “Friday. Ten a.m.”
• She blinked. “That’s soon.”
• “I’ll come with you.”
• “You don’t have to,” she replied, a bit more defensive than she meant to be.
• “I want to,” he said simply. But there was steel beneath the softness. His tone left no room for argument.
• The air between them thickened, charged with things unsaid. After a long pause, she nodded once.
• “Fine. But I have conditions too.”
• He turned to face her fully, intrigued. “Such as?”
• “No controlling every move I make,” she said firmly. “I get to work when I want. I get to go out if I need to. This isn’t a prison, Damian.”
• He studied her for a long moment, then inclined his head once. “Fair. But you don’t leave without security.”
• She groaned. “Seriously? I’m not some delicate..."
• “Elena.” His voice cut through hers, calm but firm. “You are carrying my child. That makes you a target. And until I’m absolutely sure your father isn’t planning something, I won’t take chances. Not with you. Not with the baby.”
• She narrowed her eyes. “You really think my dad would hurt me?”
• “I think Victor Ramirez doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
• Her stomach twisted at the name. She flinched, but didn’t disagree. He wasn’t wrong.
• “Fine,” she muttered. “Security. But they don’t follow me into the bathroom.”
• He smirked and nodded. “Deal.”
• An awkward silence stretched between them, filled with the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the oversized clock on the wall. Finally, Damian checked his watch and gestured toward the hallway.
• “I have a meeting downtown. I’ll be back this evening.
• She nodded, watching him disappear through the doorway. As the sound of his footsteps faded, she let out a slow exhale.
• This was her life now.
• The days passed in a strange rhythm slow, quiet, edged with something she couldn’t quite name.
• Elena spent her time sketching rough designs at the breakfast table, reading baby books that made her alternately excited and terrified, and avoiding the tension that always seemed to spark when she and Damian were in the same room.
• He was polite. Distant. Precise.
• Every interaction felt like it had been rehearsed. Like he was sticking to some invisible script of how a responsible father should act. Not cold, exactly, but controlled. Like he didn’t trust himself to feel anything real.
• But there were moments fleeting, fragile moments when the mask cracked.
• Like when he brought her a cup of decaf coffee with almond milk, no sugar, just the way she used to drink it. She hadn’t asked. He’d just overheard her mention how much she missed it.
• Or when she caught him standing outside her door, hand raised to knock, only to turn away at the last second.
• Or the way his gaze sometimes drifted to her belly, not with suspicion or resentment but wonder.
• Those moments were the hardest. Because they made her want.
• And want was dangerous.
• One evening, Elena stood on the balcony of the penthouse, arms folded as she stared at the glittering Manhattan skyline. The city was a sea of lights and motion, but from this high up, it looked almost peaceful. Almost quiet.
• She didn’t hear Damian approach until he spoke behind her.
• “Beautiful view, isn’t it?”
• She turned slightly, nodding. “You can almost pretend the city’s quiet from up here.”
• He joined her, standing close but not too close, his hands tucked into his pockets. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. And the silence felt... okay.
• Then she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you hate my father so much?”
• He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was rougher than usual. “He lied. He stole. My father built his company from nothing, and Victor your father stripped it down, piece by piece. He blackmailed our suppliers, destroyed our reputation, made sure no one in the industry would work with us again. When my dad tried to fight back... he was blacklisted. We lost everything.”
• Elena swallowed hard. “I didn’t know.”
• “You weren’t supposed to.” He turned to her now, eyes dark but not angry. “You were kept away from all of it, weren’t you?”
• She nodded slowly. “My mom left him when I was fourteen. I stayed with her. I haven’t spoken to him since I turned eighteen.”
• He studied her with an unreadable expression. “Then maybe you’re not like him.”
• “I’m not,” she said, louder this time. “And neither is this baby.
• His gaze dropped to her belly again,
• “I know,” he said quietly.
• They stood there until the wind picked up, brushing through her hair and his shirt. But the silence between them no longer felt heavy.
• Later that night, Elena sat cross-legged on her bed, flipping through a pregnancy journal she’d picked up earlier in the week. The pages were filled with calming pastel illustrations, space for milestones, and prompts she hadn’t yet brought herself to fill in.
• A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
• “Come in.”
• Damian stepped inside, holding a small white box. “I got you something.”
• She blinked, surprised. “Why?”
• He hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. It felt... right.”
• He held it out to her, and she opened it slowly. Inside was a delicate silver necklace simple and elegant. A tiny charm dangled from it in the shape of a heartbeat line.
• “It’s for the baby,” he said, watching her reaction carefully. “At the first ultrasound... you’ll hear it. I thought maybe you’d want something to remember it by.”
• Elena stared down at the pendant, her throat tight.
• “Thank you,” she whispered.
• He nodded, but didn’t move right away. His gaze lingered on her, softer than she’d ever seen it. Then, almost reluctantly, he turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
• She held the charm close to her chest.
• Damian Lancaster might have been her father’s enemy.
• But somewhere between resentment and reality… something else was beginning to grow.
• And that whatever it was scared her more than anything.