CHAPTER TWO: INNER TURMOIL

Damian Cruz stared at the city below, his penthouse offering a panoramic view of a world he felt increasingly distant from. The lights sparkled like a blanket of diamonds, but they did little to lift the heavy weight in his chest. His marriage to Elena Montoya, the ultimate act of betrayal orchestrated by his father, was a constant, gnawing irritation.

He turned away from the window, jaw clenched. The Montoya family. The very name tasted bitter. For years, they had been his family's fiercest rivals. The thought of being bound to them through marriage felt like a personal defeat.

Damian crossed the room to the bar and poured himself a generous glass of wine, letting the liquid burn down his throat. He remembered the argument with his father vividly.

"You will marry Elena Montoya," Ricardo Cruz had decreed, his eyes cold and unyielding.

"Why should I? Because you say so?" Damian had retorted, anger surging through him.

"Because it's what's best for the family," Ricardo had replied, his voice as hard as steel. "Their company is collapsing. This marriage secures our dominance."

Damian had stormed out, unable to continue the conversation. It wasn't just about the business merger; it was the principle of being used as a pawn. His father had always been manipulative, but this felt like the ultimate betrayal.

He downed the rest of his drink and set the glass down with a heavy thud. The truth was, he had never really known Elena. They had crossed paths a few times at social events, but those encounters were fleeting and superficial. He had formed his opinion of her based on those moments—proud, aloof, and annoyingly perfect.

Damian's phone buzzed on the counter, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen—Isabel, his ex-girlfriend.

**Isabel: "Dinner tomorrow? We need to talk."

A bitter smile crept onto his face. Isabel was another complication he didn't need right now. Ambitious and beautiful, she had never taken kindly to being cast aside. And now, with his marriage to Elena, she would be even more of a problem.

But Isabel could wait. His thoughts returned to Elena. What was she doing right now? Did she feel as trapped and resentful as he did? He hoped so. Misery loves company, after all.

The next morning, Damian dressed in his usual tailored suit, his expression a mask of indifference. He had meetings lined up all day, but his mind kept drifting back to his new wife. He arrived at the Cruz Corporation headquarters, feeling the eyes of his colleagues on him. They all knew about the marriage, of course. It was the talk of the town.

He walked into his father's office, the air heavy with tension.

"Good morning, Damian," Ricardo's assistant greeted him.

"Morning," Damian replied curtly, heading straight for the conference room. He hated the way everyone looked at him now, with that mix of curiosity and pity.

The meeting was a blur of numbers and charts. Damian couldn't focus. His mind kept drifting back to Elena, to the life they were now forced to share. He wondered if she would try to play the dutiful wife or if she would fight him every step of the way. He almost hoped for the latter. At least it would give him an outlet for his anger.

After the meeting, he returned to his office. The silence was oppressive. He sank into his chair, closing his eyes. He needed to get a grip. This marriage was a business transaction, nothing more. He couldn't afford to let his emotions get in the way.

But as the days passed, his resentment only grew. Every time he thought about Elena, he felt a mix of anger and… something else. Something he couldn't quite name. He didn't want to admit it, but a part of him was curious about her. Who was she really? What did she think of all this?

The day after the wedding, Damian found himself standing in the kitchen of his penthouse, watching Elena as she moved around, preparing breakfast. The silence between them was thick and uncomfortable.

"You don't have to cook," he said, his voice sharper than he intended.

Elena paused, looking up at him. "I'm not doing it for you," she replied codly. "I need something to keep me occupied."

Damian snorted. "Suit yourself." He grabbed a cup of coffee and left the room, his mood souring further.

Later that day, he found himself in the company's gym, pounding away at a punching bag. Each strike was a release of the pent-up frustration and anger he felt. The image of Elena kept flashing in his mind—her defiant eyes, her cold demeanor.

"Damian," a voice interrupted his thoughts. It was his father, standing at the entrance.

"What do you want?" Damian snapped, not bothering to hide his irritation.

Ricardo raised an eyebrow. "I came to see how you're adjusting. How's Elena?"

"She's fine," Damian replied curtly, not wanting to discuss her.

Ricardo sighed. "You need to make this work, Damian. For the sake of our family."

"I know," Damian muttered, throwing another punch. "But it doesn't mean I have to like it."

As the days turned into weeks, the tension between Damian and Elena only grew. They spoke little, each interaction filled with a mix of resentment and hostility. Damian couldn't understand how someone so infuriatingly proud could also seem so vulnerable at times. It was a contradiction that left him both angry and intrigued.

One evening, he returned to the penthouse to find Elena sitting on the couch, her face buried in her hands. She looked up as he entered, her eyes red and tired.

"What's wrong?" he asked, unable to keep the concern out of his voice.

"Nothing," she replied quickly, wiping away her tears. "Just… thinking about Sofia."

Damian's anger flared. "You think you're the only one with problems? We're all making sacrifices here."

Elena's eyes flashed with anger. "I never asked for this, Damian. I'm doing this for my sister. What's your excuse?"

"My excuse?" Damian scoffed. "I'm doing this because it's what my father demanded. Because it's the only way to keep our families from destroying each other."

"Well, congratulations," Elena shot back. "You've managed to ruin two lives in the process."

Damian opened his mouth to retort, but the look in her eyes stopped him. He saw the pain, the frustration, and something else—something that made him hesitate.

"I didn't want this either," he said finally, his voice softer. "But we're in it now. We have to find a way to deal with it."

Elena looked away, her shoulders slumping. "I just want Sofia to be okay. That's all that matters."

Damian watched her, he hated the Montoyas, hated what they stood for. But seeing Elena like this, so raw and vulnerable, made him question everything.

The days passed slowly, each one filled with a tense, uneasiness. Damian tried to focus on his work, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Elena. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her than met the eye.

One night, unable to sleep, he found himself in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water. Elena was there, sitting at the table, her eyes distant.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, sitting down across from her.

She shook her head. "Too much on my mind."

Damian nodded, understanding all too well. "Yeah, me too."

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall. Finally, Elena spoke.

"Why do you hate my family so much?"

Damian looked at her, surprised by the question. "Because of everything they've done. The constant competition, the backstabbing…the feud goes a long way, you're too young to understand."

"That's business," Elena said quietly. "It doesn't mean we're bad people." "and we're almost the same age." She added chuckling.

Damian sighed. "I know. But it's hard to separate the two."

Elena nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Maybe we should try. For Sofia's sake."

Damian looked at her, seeing a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "Goodnight Elena."