Chapter 5 Daisy #4
My voice was barely steady. “What is it?”
His eyes searched mine as if trying to find something buried there.
“When you’re this close… it feels like you belong to me.
Like I could just take you—without asking, without thinking.
And then…” His gaze darkened, something unreadable flickering—regret, maybe.
“…then I look at you and I know I never could.”
The elevator shuddered to a stop. A soft chime broke the moment, and the doors slid open. Damian stepped back, drawing in the intensity he wore like a cloak, slipping it off as easily as an actor stepping out of character.
A woman entered, commanding the space without trying. Long legs balanced on black heels, a dress clinging to her body as if cut from luxury. Hair flawless, lips shaped with precision, her perfume sharp and unmistakable. She belonged to this world. I didn’t.
She didn’t glance at me. Not even the courtesy of acknowledgment.
To her, I was invisible. Decoration, at best. Her eyes sought Damian instead, and something passed between them—a flicker, subtle but unmistakable.
Recognition. History. A language I couldn’t translate.
A smile touched her lips, the kind born of confidence, privilege, superiority.
Pain bored into my chest. Not sudden—creeping.
Like rust. This woman embodied the glamour and elegance that surrounded Damian—a world I didn’t belong to and never would.
I was nothing more than an interruption.
A distraction. A story that was never meant to be.
She was made for him. Both beautiful. Both dangerous.
Both carrying that elegance. And me? I was the girl who had always hoped to be enough and never was.
So I smiled. Not real. Like millions of other women who had learned to smile when it hurt most. When you felt like you weren’t good enough. Not pretty enough. Not smooth enough. Not elegant enough. Not quiet enough. Just not enough.
The elevator kept moving. I forced myself to breathe evenly. At the same time, I wanted to scream, run, disappear. But I stood there. And stayed.
Outside, the light of the streetlamps rippled on the river, stretching beside us like a shimmering ribbon. Damian and I walked along the bank toward the city, the night air soft against my skin.
“How did you manage to build your empire in New York? To become so wealthy?” I asked.
“It was a slow build. Even years before I took over my parents’ shop, I was already searching for valuable artifacts, networking with collectors and scholars.
My focus was always on pieces that were unique, that carried weight and value.
Over time, I expanded into New York and built everything from there.
” He paused. “It took persistence. A willingness to take risks. But luck played its part too—especially when I stumbled onto rare finds that cemented my reputation.”
“And how do you expand your collection and run your business today?”
“I have a top-notch team I can rely on, and I’ve built strong relationships with museums, auction houses, and private collectors who give me access to exclusive pieces. Some of my partners live in Rome as well.”
We crossed a small bridge and paused at the railing.
“And how did your love for history begin?” he asked.
“When I was a child, my grandmother often took me to museums. She was a history teacher, and I wanted to know everything she knew. In the attic of her house, she kept a collection of old things. I wanted to research their history—when they were made, by whom, and how far their journey had been.”
We pushed away from the railing and walked on along the riverbank. Damian stopped in front of a bench.
“Have you ever been to an excavation?” he asked, motioning for me to sit. “I could take you to one sometime.”
“Seriously? You’d do that? I’ve never been.”
“If I know the time and place of the next one, I can arrange it.”
“That would be incredible.”
For a while, we sat together in silence, letting the night settle.
The river lapped against the bank, the city humming faintly in the distance.
When we rose again, the streets unfolded before us in soft golden light.
Streetlamps bathed cobblestones and weathered facades in a glow that blurred time itself.
Cafés spilled laughter and clinking glasses into the air.
Narrow alleys opened into hidden squares where fountains trickled, and shop windows flickered with reflections like fleeting promises.
“Do you come to Rome often?” I asked, glancing at him.
“When business requires it. Rome holds many opportunities.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if he also came here for pleasure—perhaps with women.
“And you?”
I hesitated. “It’s been a while. My father lives in Rome, as you know.”
“Do you speak Italian?”
“Yes, though I haven’t used it much in years. My mother was Scottish, so we mostly spoke English at home.”
Damian’s smile was faint but carried a trace of pride. “Parlo anche un po’ d’italiano perché sono spesso qui,” he said casually.
“Wow. You hardly have an accent.”
“If you want to do business here, you have to master the language. It opens doors that would otherwise stay closed.”
“Mi sorprendi sempre, Damian Miller,” I murmured.
“And I can surprise you with much more,” he said, his gaze catching for a moment on an old woman passing through the alley with a tray of colorful bracelets, humming softly to herself.
He led me through a narrow passage that opened into a secluded courtyard—a hidden restaurant framed by ivy-covered stone walls.
Rustic wooden tables and lush greenery filled the space.
Overhead, flowers and vines formed a canopy threaded with tiny glowing lamps.
The air was warm and fragrant, wrapped in the soft murmur of conversation.
“You put the artifact in the hotel safe. Is it secure there?” I asked.
Damian set his fork down. “Not in the safe in my room. In the one downstairs. It’s safe there.”
“How long do you plan to stay?”
“Until we finish our research. In four days, I have an appointment with an important business partner. A lot is at stake.”
“Sounds delicate,” I said, sipping my lemonade.
His expression sharpened. “These negotiations could secure long-term partnerships. He has ties to influential people in my field.”
“I see.”
“I want you with me at this dinner. He’ll bring his wife, and you can keep her company. But you’ll need something elegant. Refined. The restaurant is very exclusive.”
I poked at my food. “Damian, I don’t own clothes like that. My father would’ve bought me entire boutiques if I’d asked, but I never took his money. I’ve never had reason to go places where people dress like that.”
He leaned in slightly. “Don’t worry. I’ll cover it. Think of it as work attire—companies do that. Rome is full of boutiques. We’ll find something perfect.”