Chapter 3 - Glass Walls, Iron Hearts

The morning sun burned through the city haze, gilding skyscrapers in gold and glass. Damian Rael stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, his reflection split between transparency and illusion — much like his life.

From here, the city looked calm, manageable, perfect. Down below, traffic moved in neat lines, people hurried with purpose, and everything appeared under control. But Damian knew better. The world only looked orderly from above. Up close, it was chaos — raw, fragile, human.

“Mr. Rael?” a voice interrupted.

He turned slightly. His assistant, Oliver, stood in the doorway with a tablet in hand. “Your father requested you attend the board meeting at ten. He said it’s non-negotiable.”

Damian’s jaw tightened. “Of course he did.”

Oliver hesitated. “Should I confirm your presence?”

“Yes,” Damian said after a beat. “I’ll be there.”

Oliver nodded and left quietly, his polished shoes fading down the corridor.

Damian turned back to the window. His reflection stared back — impeccable suit, perfect tie, empty eyes. For all the wealth that cushioned his life, it still felt like standing inside a glass cage. Everyone could see him, admire him, expect from him — but no one really knew him.

The Rael family empire was built on real estate — skyscrapers that reached for heaven while their foundations buried secrets in the earth. His father, Gregory Rael, was the man behind it all — ambitious, ruthless, and impossible to please.

At ten sharp, Damian entered the boardroom. The long mahogany table gleamed under the cold light of chandeliers. His father sat at the head, flanked by executives twice Damian’s age. The air was heavy with tension and ego.

“Ah, Damian,” Gregory said without looking up. “Finally decided to join us.”

“I was reviewing the project numbers,” Damian replied evenly, taking his seat.

Gregory’s lips twitched — not quite a smile. “You always were thorough. But numbers don’t win deals, son. Men do.”

The meeting dragged on, voices clashing over profit margins and expansion plans. Damian contributed only when necessary, his tone calm, precise. But every word his father spoke was a reminder that he wasn’t free — not from duty, not from expectation, not from the shadow of the Rael name.

When it ended, Gregory gestured for him to stay. The others filed out, leaving father and son alone.

“I heard you’ve been spending time at some café downtown,” Gregory said casually, too casually.

Damian’s heart stilled. “It’s quiet there. I work better outside the office sometimes.”

His father leaned back, eyes sharp. “You work better where you don’t belong. That’s what you mean?”

Damian didn’t answer.

“Damian,” Gregory said, voice low and deliberate. “You carry this family’s name. Be mindful of where you let it be seen.”

“I didn’t realize buying coffee was a scandal.”

“It isn’t — until people start talking.” His father’s gaze hardened. “You’re not one of them. Don’t forget that.”

Damian’s hands curled into fists under the table. He wanted to say that he wished he was one of them — that he envied people who lived without masks. But instead, he stood, his voice controlled. “Understood.”

“Good,” Gregory said smoothly, already turning back to his papers. “Your engagement dinner with Clara’s family is next week. Don’t be late.”

The words hit like a cold blade. “Engagement dinner?”

His father’s pen paused. “You knew this was coming. Clara Baines is the kind of alliance our company needs.”

“An alliance,” Damian repeated bitterly.

“That’s how power works, son. You’ll learn.”

Damian left before he said something he couldn’t take back.

That evening, he found himself driving aimlessly through the city. The rain had started again — soft, relentless. Streetlights blurred into gold streaks across his windshield. Without thinking, he turned toward the one place that still felt real.

Bean & Bloom.

When he walked in, Aria was there, tying her apron, her hair pulled into a loose braid. The sight of her — simple, grounded, alive — cut through the static in his mind.

“You again,” she said, noticing him with a small smirk. “You must really like our overpriced coffee.”

“I like the quiet,” he said softly.

She raised an eyebrow. “You say that, but you always sit in the busiest corner.”

He chuckled faintly. “Maybe I like watching people who aren’t pretending.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “That sounds like something a person says when they are pretending.”

Damian smiled — a real one this time, fleeting and unguarded. “You’re not wrong.”

Aria handed him his usual order. “Rough day?”

“Just another reminder that I don’t get to choose the life I want.”

Her brow furrowed. “Everyone feels that way sometimes.”

“Not everyone has the choice taken from them before they even realize it.”

The sadness in his tone made her chest ache. She wanted to ask more, but something in his eyes stopped her — a quiet plea not to dig deeper.

So she just said, “Well, for what it’s worth, you chose this coffee shop. That’s something.”

He looked at her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Maybe that’s why I keep coming back.”

Over the next week, Damian returned every day. Sometimes they barely spoke; other times, conversation flowed naturally — guarded but genuine.

Aria learned small fragments about him: he hated champagne, he never celebrated birthdays, and he had a weakness for bitter chocolate. But beyond those glimpses, he remained a mystery — polished on the outside, distant within.

Still, something unspoken grew between them.

It wasn’t flirtation — not exactly. It was recognition. A mutual understanding between two people who wore strength as armor but carried loneliness underneath.

One night, after closing, Aria was wiping down tables when she noticed Damian still sitting by the window. His laptop was closed, untouched.

“You know we’re closing soon,” she said, smiling softly.

He looked up, eyes tired. “I know. I just... didn’t want to go home yet.”

“Big house, huh?” she teased. “Too quiet?”

He exhaled. “Too empty.”

She hesitated, then pulled out the chair across from him. “I know what that feels like.”

He looked at her, genuinely surprised. “You?”

“My dad passed when I was fourteen,” she said quietly. “After that, it was just my mom, my brother, and me. I learned pretty quickly that silence can be loud.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound between them.

Damian’s voice softened. “You’re stronger than most people I know.”

Aria smiled faintly. “You only say that because you don’t see the cracks.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I think that’s what makes you real.”

The words lingered between them — raw, unguarded.

Before Aria could reply, the door jingled and Mei popped her head in. “Aria, you locking up or having a midnight date?”

Aria flushed slightly. “Go home, Mei.”

Damian stood, hiding a smile. “Goodnight, Aria.”

She watched him leave, his reflection fading into the night beyond the glass.

Days later, Damian sat through the engagement dinner his father arranged. The restaurant was expensive, the lighting dim and elegant. Across the table, Clara Baines smiled politely — beautiful, poised, perfect.

“So,” she said with a practiced laugh, “our fathers think we’d make a great match.”

Damian forced a smile. “Seems that way.”

She tilted her head. “You don’t seem thrilled.”

“I’m not sure I believe in love built on contracts.”

Clara’s eyes softened. “Neither do I. But at least one of us should try.”

For the first time, Damian felt a pang of guilt. Clara wasn’t cruel — just trapped, like him. Two pieces on the same chessboard, moved by someone else’s hands.

When the dinner ended, he drove home alone, but his thoughts weren’t on Clara or his father’s empire. They were on Aria — on her laugh, her stubborn hope, her honesty.

And for the first time in years, he wished he could rewrite the rules that bound him.

The next day, Aria found a single folded note under her cup at the counter.

“For the cracks you hide — they make you beautiful.”

No name. No signature. But she didn’t need one.

She looked toward the corner where Damian always sat, now empty, and felt a strange ache bloom inside her chest — something between fear and longing.

For someone who had built her life around control, it terrified her how much he’d already begun to matter.

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