88 An Awkward Night, A Startling Truth
88 An Awkward Night, A Startling Truth
Elara nodded silently and slipped into the left side of the bed, keeping as close to the edge as possible without falling off. She reached for her phone, pretending to check messages while acutely aware of Damien’s presence beside her.
“Goodnight, Damien,” she murmured.
Eleanor’s smile tightened as she looked between them. “Both up so early? I thought you might sleep in.”
Before Elara could respond, the back door opened. Damien walked in, dressed in running clothes, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. His eyes met Elara’s briefly before turning to his grandmother.
Once safely behind the closed door, Elara let out a long breath. She quickly pulled on her pants, trying to dismiss the strange tension in her chest. It was ridiculous to feel embarrassed around her soon–to–be ex–husband, especially after seven years of
marriage.
“Good morning, dear,” she said, her tone pleasant but her gaze assessing. “Did you sleep well?”
He didn’t respond, but his breathing eventually deepened into sleep. Elara finally drifted off sometime later, her dreams uneasy and forgettable.
“I just…” Elara paused, searching for words. “I appreciate you agreeing to it.”
Elara stood frozen, clutching the towel around her waist. Her oversized pajama top hung over her thighs, but she felt terribly exposed under Damien’s steady gaze.
Eleanor’s face hardened. “I did what was best for this family.”
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She lay rigid, facing away from him, listening to his steady breathing. The bed was large enough that they weren’t touching, but she felt his presence like a physical weight.
Minutes stretched into an hour. Sleep evaded her completely.
“I studied pharmacology, remember?” Damien said calmly, wiping his face with a small towel. “I recognized the scent of those herbs immediately.”
She clutched the pants to her chest, backing toward the bathroom. Though the pajama
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top wasn’t particularly revealing, covering her to mid–thigh, she couldn’t help feeling self–conscious. The soft cotton material clung slightly to her damp skin in ways she
hadn’t considered..
She felt him shift slightly. “What about it?”
When she emerged, Damien had moved to the bed, still working on his laptop. He’d changed into dark sleep pants and a fitted t–shirt. Elara hesitated, uncertain where to
- go.
Eleanor turned to her, eyes glinting with determination. “Sometimes people need a little help seeing what’s right in front of them.”
When morning light filtered through the curtains, Elara woke to find herself alone in the bed. Damien’s side was empty, the sheets already cold. She stretched, feeling oddly disappointed despite knowing it was for the best.
His dismissive tone stung despite her relief at his indifference. Elara hurried to her overnight bag, rummaging through it with one hand while desperately holding the
towel with the other.
Finally, Damien closed his laptop and set it on the nightstand. He turned off his lamp without a word. Elara quickly did the same, plunging the room into darkness.
Eleanor waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. It was just a little herbal mixture to relax your inhibitions. You two need to remember why you got married in the first place,”
She dressed quickly in a simple blouse and pants, ran a brush through her hair, and headed downstairs. The house was quiet except for faint noises from the kitchen.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” Damien’s voice cut through the darkness.
“Hard to sleep with you tossing and turning.”
Eleanor stood at the counter, arranging fruit on a platter. She looked up as Elara entered, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Elara stiffened, the implication hitting her like a physical blow. Eleanor had drugged them in hopes they would sleep together. The violation left her momentarily speechless.
The tapping of his keyboard filled the room for nearly an hour. Elara stared blankly at
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88 An Awkward Night, A Startling Truth
her screen, unable to focus on anything. Her mind kept returning to Damien’s earlier words at the garden–his promise to help with the divorce after Eleanor left.
“I’ll just change in the bathroom,” she said to fill the awkward silence.
Damien took a long drink of water, then set the bottle down with a soft thud. “Your soup wouldn’t have worked on me anyway, Grandmother.”
Practical. Of course. Everything with Damien was about practicality, never emotion. Elara closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted.
Damien’s expression remained carefully controlled, but Elara saw the muscle ticking in his jaw–a rare sign of genuine anger.
Elara froze, her coffee mug halfway to her lips. Understanding dawned slowly, horribly. The soup Eleanor had insisted they drink last night…
Damien didn’t look up. “As you wish.”
“By drugging us?” Elara finally found her voice, raw with indignation. “How could you think that was acceptable?”
“I hope that soup helped,” Eleanor continued, sliding the fruit platter across the counter. “Special family recipe.”
“That’s not help,” Elara said quietly. “That’s control.”
There was something in her tone that made Elara’s skin prickle. A suggestion, an
expectation.
Damien was quiet for so long that Elara thought he might have fallen asleep. Then he replied, “It’s a practical solution.”
“I forgot my pants,” she explained quickly, her voice coming out higher than intended.
“We got married because you forced us to,” Damien stated flatly.
Eleanor had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, though not particularly remorseful. “Just a mild relaxant, dear. To help you both… reconnect.”
Silence fell again. Elara stared at the wall, counting her heartbeats to distract herself. She had reached three hundred and seventeen when Damien spoke again.
Elara frowned, confused by his words.
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“Good morning, Grandmother,” he said, reaching for a bottle of water from the refrigerator
“You drugged our soup?” Elara’s voice came out as a shocked whisper.
“I’ll take the right side,” Damien said without looking at her, solving her dilemma.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Eleanor replied, but her voice lacked conviction.
Elara startled. “I thought you were asleep.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and undeniable. Elara’s hands trembled as she set her coffee down, afraid she might drop it.
Elara considered lying but found herself answering honestly. “I’m thinking about what you said earlier. About helping with the divorce.“.
“Is something bothering you?” His voice held no real concern, just mild irritation.
Damien’s expression remained neutral, his eyes briefly flickering down her bare legs before returning to his laptop screen. “There’s no need for explanations,” he said flatly. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“That was completely inappropriate,” he said quietly, his controlled tone more frightening than if he’d shouted.
“Sorry,” she whispered, trying to lie still.
Elara’s mind raced, processing the enormity of Eleanor’s manipulation. The woman had deliberately drugged them both, hoping to orchestrate an intimate encounter that neither of them had consented to. The realization made her feel physically ill.
“Yes, thank you,” Elara lied smoothly. She reached for a coffee mug, needing caffeine before facing whatever schemes Eleanor had planned for the day.
“I know that,” she mumbled, finally locating her gray pajama pants. “I just didn’t expect you to be here already.”
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