"I see," Damien said, voice light, almost neutral. "Then I'll consider the compliment entirely selfless."
"It was," she said, then added with a grin, "so don't let it go to your head."
"Too late," Chessa murmured.
Damien tapped his tray once, then leaned back again, gaze drifting toward the garden wall beside them. He didn't deflect. Didn't joke. Just let the quiet stretch.
And for a second, it wasn't mystery or arrogance hanging around him.
Just stillness.
Then Madeleine said, "So, are we allowed to crash your lunch now too, or was today a one-time charity?"
Damien didn't look at her.
But his smirk returned, subtle and slow.
"You're welcome to try," he said. "Assuming you can keep up."
"Pfft," Chessa scoffed. "You think we're the ones who need to keep up?"
Isabelle hadn't said anything.
But she was watching him.
Quiet. Careful.
And this time, when he glanced at her—
She didn't look away.
Not immediately.
