Page 16 of His Untouchable Heart

“That’s obvious,” he said, smirking. “Like you rolled straight out of a grave,” he continued. “Want me to call someone? Maybe an exorcist?”

I exhaled a dry laugh. Damian knew how to deflect with humor, but I wasn’t in the mood. I started my reps, focusing on the burn in my muscles rather than the tangle of thoughts still in my head.

“I had a dream,” I admitted between sets. “About Charlotte.”

The teasing faded from Damian’s expression. He leaned on the squat rack, waiting. “That’s normal,” he said carefully. “Were you having sex?”

I winced but then hesitated. “Gabrielle was in it too.”

Damian raised a brow. “The gal you work with?”

I nodded.

“Now that’s… interesting.”

I switched weights, keeping my face impassive. “It was good. Just… weird. My brain’s probably a mess from work.”

“Or,” he said, “you’re starting to process things in ways you don’t want to admit.”

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t ready to unpack what the hell it meant.

We moved through the rest of our workout in relative silence, the rhythmic pounding of our sneakers against the rubber flooring of the treadmill platform filling the gaps where conversation should have been. But I knew Damian wouldn’t let it go entirely. He was waiting for the right moment.

That moment came when we hit the pool.

We ditched our sneakers and lowered into the water, propping our arms on the pool’s edge. The cool contrast against my overheated skin felt good—grounding, even. Damian rested his chin on his forearm, studying me.

“You gonna tell me what’s really eating at you?” he asked. “Or are we still pretending it’s just a dream?”

I sighed, staring at the ripples in the water. “I found out something after Charlotte died.”

Damian waited.

“She had a trust fund,” I said finally. “A massive one. From her grandparents.”

His brows lifted slightly. “And you didn’t know?”

“No clue. She never told me. Never spent money like she had it.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Now, it’s mine. Quietly. No one knows.”

Damian let out a slow breath. “That’s a lot to process.”

“Yeah.”

“And you think people will assume you’re checking out of this gallery thing? Taking your billions and sailing off into the sunset?”

I flexed my fingers against the ledge. “Maybe. The court trusted me with this restitution effort because of my background. If they start thinking I’m distracted or—worse—disinterested, they could replace me, and I don’t want that. I want to help return the art to the proper owner.”

Damian considered this for a moment before nodding. “So, what’s the plan? Live like a monk forever?”

I huffed. “I’ve already started making adjustments.”

“Like?”

“New suits. A few upgrades. But nothing too flashy.”

“Good,” Damian said, smirking. “Because those off-the-rack suits weren’t cutting it for a guy with your new bank account.”

I shook my head, but I appreciated his attempt to lighten things up.

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