Chapter 269 You know you’re the only one I see

Chapter 269: Chapter 269 You know you’re the only one I see

Aria’s POV

I couldn’t take it anymore. How the hell did Damian manage to turn people into a puddle of mush while wearing that ridiculously cold, unreadable face of his?

"I’m hungry," I said, letting a playful whine slip into my voice as I blinked up at him.

"But I still... don’t want to move."

Night had fallen around us, and we hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights. Neither of us wanted to let go, didn’t want to break this moment. I hadn’t even changed out of my clothes—just shrugged off my coat and stayed wrapped in his arms.

"Alright, then I’ll cook for you," Damian said, starting to rise.

I grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. "You’re the one who’s injured. You shouldn’t be overdoing it. I’d feel terrible if you cooked for me."

I leaned in close, my lips brushing against his ear as I spoke, deliberately teasing.

His ears flushed red, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He immediately reversed our positions, pinning my arm beneath his. "Don’t feel terrible. I want to."

His voice was rough, possessive.

"..."

But even as he said it, he made no move to actually get up. Instead, he looked like he wanted to do something entirely different.

I knew Damian’s control was hanging by a thread.

I quickly turned away and reached for my phone. "Let’s just order delivery."

"..."

Damian was clearly reluctant to be interrupted, but he wasn’t giving up. He pulled me back against his chest, his arms wrapping around me from behind. "I want to look too."

"What do you want to eat?"

He said he was looking at the menu, but when I asked him what he wanted, he was completely distracted. His gaze kept drifting to my face instead of the food options, like I was far more appetizing than anything on the screen.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and no matter what I pointed to, his answers were always the same: "That’s fine," "Sounds good," "Whatever you want."

This was going to take forever.

I finally just made the decision myself and placed the order.

While we waited for the food, we stayed tangled together on the sofa like two lazy wolves in their den.

Damian’s frame was so large that lying together like this felt even more intimate than being in bed. At first, I thought the cramped space would be uncomfortable, but gradually, I found myself completely conquered by the overwhelming sense of safety it gave me.

It was like he wanted to absorb me into his very bones.

Maybe when winter came in a few months, we should just sleep on the sofa.

Just then, my phone buzzed with a text message.

I was still holding it, playing a game under Damian’s watchful gaze.

When the message notification popped up, he saw it too.

It was from an unknown number. The preview text flashed across the screen:

[Miss Smith, you looked beautiful today...]

We both saw the first half of the message.

The atmosphere shifted instantly, cooling several degrees.

I immediately turned to explain, but Damian’s finger had already tapped the notification open.

The full message read:

[Miss Smith, you looked beautiful today. I hope this isn’t too forward, but could you tell me the brand of the outfit you were wearing? I’d like to get something similar for a friend.]

As if realizing I might not have saved his number, the sender had added a signature at the end: *Julian Cross.*

"He’s the VP at Sentinel Energy," I said quickly. "We chatted for a few minutes at the conference today. I gave him my card."

I didn’t know why I felt so defensive.

I added hastily, "My dress was custom-made by a private designer. It does have a pretty unique aesthetic. Maybe he wants to commission something for his wife."

Why did Julian have to compliment me first before asking about the brand? That was completely unnecessary.

"Mm-hmm." Damian released my phone, his voice flat. "You should reply."

His tone was perfectly neutral, but that was exactly what made my stomach drop.

I glanced at him. The faint smile that had been playing at the corner of his mouth was gone.

His brow wasn’t furrowed, and his expression was calm—too calm—as he stared at the screen. I couldn’t read his emotions at all.

"Are you angry?" I asked carefully.

"No." His voice was soft, almost detached. "Why would I be angry? He complimented my wife. I should be pleased."

There wasn’t an ounce of pleasure in his tone.

I immediately locked my phone and tossed it aside. "Then I won’t reply. I’ll just pretend I didn’t see it."

"..."

Damian didn’t respond.

His mood had clearly shifted.

I nudged his chest with my elbow. "Don’t be jealous. He’s older than me."

"I’m older than you too."

"..."

I paused. "He’s older than *you*. And he looks it. Not nearly as handsome."

"You looked at him pretty carefully, didn’t you?" Damian’s gaze slid lazily toward my face.

I froze.

Great. The more I explained, the worse it got.

"Damian, don’t be ridiculous. You know you’re the only one I see."

That single sentence worked better than any explanation ever could. Damian glanced away, and the ghost of a smile returned to his lips.

"Sentinel Energy," he said slowly. "I don’t like that company. I’m going to shut it down."

"Hey." I gave him a look. "That company falls under your kingdom’s jurisdiction—you can’t just do that on a whim. Don’t let personal feelings run the show here. "

I rolled my eyes."I’d really rather not go down in history as the reason everyone starts calling me a scheming little vixen who whispered in the King’s ear and brought down half the economy."

Damian’s mouth twitched, somewhere between amused and unimpressed. "Noted."

"I heard they’re about to open a branch here in the city."I was only thinking of Damian’s interests—I’d gotten that intel today and brought it to him immediately.

Damian was genuinely irritated. Sentinel Energy had been competing with Blackwood Enterprises for an international project recently.

They’d entered the renewable energy sector early and had a slight edge.

But this project was something his father, Andrew, had been eyeing for years. The Blackwood family had poured serious money into it—they weren’t about to let someone else snatch it at the finish line.

It wasn’t like him to talk about crushing a company just for being good at what they did.

In all the time I’d known him, Damian rarely used his position as King to strong-arm competitors—he never needed to, and he’d always seemed to think it was beneath him unless someone had actually crossed him.

Threats like that were reserved for real enemies, not business rivals who simply happened to be better positioned.

We were still talking about it when the doorbell rang.