Bentley's POV
I had fun taking aesthetic pictures of the series and standalone books. I made short reels of the library and my favorite reads, with reviews attached.

I've been receiving notifications of follows and likes ever since Damian followed me. Damian... I haven’t seen him in a while. The room has been pretty quiet.

I got up, slipping my feet into a pair of slippers. I walked to the living room, glancing around, but there was no sign of him. I flopped onto the couch, grabbed the remote control, and pressed the power button.

It was a nice feeling of comfort and relaxation—until anxiety crept in. I reminded myself that I was a homeless, broke adult crashing in the house of a billionaire who happened to feel pity for me and brought me in like a lost, stray cat.

No matter how much I read fictional books, I still had to face my unfortunate reality.

A thought entered my mind: Maybe if I work in Damian’s company, I’ll be able to get a house in no time. I mean, his company has made billions—the pay's gotta be good.

I ignored the sting in my heart that wished I’d go with a restaurant job. My stomach knotted at the thought of being enslaved to the corporate world again. I thought I could escape it forever.

I jolted as the front door opened. Damian walked in with a sour expression.

“Oh, you stepped out?” I stammered, flinching as Damian glanced at me, annoyance flickering in his eyes.

“You’re hungry?” my voice trembled. He turned toward the elevator and walked away.

I exhaled. What’s got him in a bad mood this time? I went into the kitchen and pulled out some ingredients for dinner. Maybe he’s hungry. I’ll make him something.

I prepared the food in thirty minutes and waited for him to come down to the ground floor, as usual, but he didn’t.

“What’s keeping him?” I asked myself, then gave him some time. But he still didn’t show up.

“If he doesn’t get here soon, the food will get cold,” I grumbled, taking the elevator up to his room.

I paused at his door, taking a deep breath to ease my anxiety.

“Damian?” I knocked and waited for a response. I knocked again, this time lighter. Pressing my ear to the door, I listened for rustling sounds from inside. Footsteps followed shortly, growing closer. I adjusted myself, standing straight.

The door opened.

“Yeah?” Damian said casually, leaning his palm on the wall. My eyes darted to his shirtless body. He’s always doing this! Is it so hard to wear a shirt? Showing off his gym efforts at every opportunity should be illegal! I protested internally.

“Hi, how are you doing?” I stammered, searching his eyes for a sign of irritation but finding none.

“Better,” he replied, gesturing for me to enter his room.

I hesitated, then stepped in. My eyes scanned the place for the nearest chair.

“Can I sit here?” I asked, pointing at the couch.

“Of course,” he answered. Damian settled on the smaller couch, even though there was plenty of space for both of us on the larger one. I wasn’t offended, anyway.

There was a short pause before he spoke.

“I saw your new posts on Instagram today. They’re aesthetically pleasing. I like them,” he said, his tone warm.

“Oh, thank you... I couldn’t have done it without your help,” I replied with a smile.

Seizing the moment while he was in a good mood, I asked, “You... were angry when you came back. Is everything alright?”

Damian raised his eyes to me.

“Oh, that. It’s just family issues,” he replied in a low tone, pinching the bridge of his nose—a signal that he didn’t want to dwell on the topic.

“Sorry about that. I made dinner. Do you want to—”

“Yes, I’ll eat,” he cut me off quickly. His enthusiastic response caught me off guard, and I froze, wide-eyed.

His gaze met mine, then darted away. A faint blush tinged his cheeks.

I chortled, covering my mouth.

“All right, let’s go,” I said, standing up and heading to the door. He followed behind me.

***

I handed him a bowl of vegetable stir-fry.

“Oh, a new one today?” His eyes lit up.

“Yes. I want you to taste it first,” I replied.

He scooped a bite into his mouth and chewed slowly. His eyes widened.

“Flavorful, nutritious, crunchy. A delightful contrast of textures. I’ll give you five out of five stars,” he said, nodding in satisfaction.

“Thank you, but... don’t you think you’re too generous with your ratings? You always give me perfect reviews. It’s okay to criticize—I won’t be offended,” I admitted.

Damian froze, lowering his spoon.

“Wait, you think I’m flattering you? Do you think I’d eat trashy, mediocre meals three times a day just to impress you? I couldn’t care less if you hate me or not,” he scoffed. “I genuinely love your cooking because it’s the best,” he said, taking another bite.

It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over me. I regretted underestimating both Damian and my cooking. I promised myself never to repeat that mistake.

***

Alpha helped clean up the dirty dishes while we watched the news. My eyelids grew heavy with boredom. How do Damian and the other adults listen to this without falling asleep?

I glanced at him, noticing how keenly he was paying attention to the reporter.

“Damian, I have something to say. It’s about my job,” I said.

He turned to me, his expression attentive.

“Go on. I’m all ears.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what I should do, and I’ve made my final decision,” I said, studying his indifferent expression.

“I want a corporate job.”

“Oh? What company would you like to work for?” Damian asked, turning down the TV volume.

“T-That’s the issue,” I said, lowering my voice.

“I can get you into any company of your choice. Just name it,” he said, a smug look forming on his face.

I swallowed hard.

“I was wondering if I could work in your company.”

Damian’s pupils widened.

“My company?” he repeated, his tone sending a chill down my spine.

Author's note:
Guys, I think Damian has an issue with his temper, do you agree?

Don't forget to vote, comment, and add the book to your library.❤️