Chapter 316: Who Needs A Wife When You’ve Got Damien Lockwood?

The silence was starting to feel a bit personal.

I was perched awkwardly on the kitchen counter, my legs swinging a bit over the edge, while Damien stood a few feet away, having just recovered from the rather enthusiastic shove I’d given him. Dad lingered in the doorway, clutching his cane and staring at us with an expression that suggested he was questioning every parenting decision he ever made.

Honestly, I wanted to die.

And I don’t mean that lightly. I genuinely thought if the floor just opened up and swallowed me whole, I wouldn’t even complain. But, it seemed the universe had decided I needed to endure a bit more in my twenties, especially with a dad capable of standing there in silence and making me reevaluate every choice I’ve ever made.

Dad’s gaze flicked from me to Damien and back to me, landing briefly on my neck.

Without thinking, I raised a hand to cover it.

That was a mistake.

A spectacular mistake, because that move only seemed to highlight the very spots I was trying to hide.

"Well."

That’s all he said.

Just one word.

One calm, unimpressed word that somehow made everything a thousand times worse than if he’d started shouting.

"Dad," I started, my voice coming out a bit higher than normal. "This isn’t—"

"Well," he repeated, nodding slowly like he’d just come to a major realization. "I see you two have been keeping yourselves occupied."

I shut my eyes tight.

Please, God, if you’re out there, I’d really appreciate a small natural disaster. Nothing serious, just enough to distract everyone from the fact that my father just caught me making out with my former roommate on the kitchen counter.

Next to me, Damien was suspiciously quiet. He had straightened his jacket and was standing there with his hands at his sides, looking way more composed than any guy who’d just gotten caught kissing someone else’s son had any right to be. His expression was polite, almost respectful, but I could see a hint of amusement in his eyes, which made me want to kick him.

He was totally enjoying this.

The traitor was relishing my suffering.

"Dad, we were just talking," I insisted, waving vaguely between Damien and myself, like that somehow explained why I was sitting on the counter with my shirt askew and some very visible marks on my neck. "And then things sort of—"

"Developed?"

I just stared at him and Dad’s mouth twitched.

"Yeah," I muttered. "Something like that."

"Interesting."

"Dad."

"What?" He shifted his cane a little and leaned against the doorframe. "I’m just observing."

"Could you maybe observe somewhere else?"

"Oliver, I’m in my own kitchen."

"Which is a really unfortunate coincidence."

This got a quiet laugh from Damien, and I immediately shot a glare his way.

"Don’t laugh."

"I’m not laughing."

"You literally just laughed! I just saw you!"

Dad chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the fact that his son was bickering with a guy who’d just been kissing him moments before. I began to wonder if he hadn’t completely bounced back from his illness, because no healthy dad should get this much enjoyment from his child’s humiliation.

His eyes flicked back to my neck. "Those are pretty noticeable, by the way. Nice going, Damien."

Damien chuckled, "Oh...thank you, Frank."

I nearly choked. "Please don’t."

"I’m just saying. You might want to think about wearing a scarf tomorrow."

I looked at Damien helplessly, silently begging him to step in, but he just met my gaze with that calm demeanor he used in business meetings, though a little smirk was creeping in that made it clear he was enjoying every second of this.

"Damien," I said through clenched teeth.

"Yes, Sunshine?"

"Help me."

He turned his head toward Dad. "I...uh apologize, sir."

I blinked in disbelief. "That’s not what I meant."

Dad laughed again, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on his cane. "No need for apologies, Son. You two are grown men. I’m not gonna lecture you about kissing."

"Thanks, sir," Damien said.

"Though," Dad added, looking straight at me, "I’d appreciate it if you remembered this is still a shared household. Some of us like to sleep at a reasonable hour, so maybe keep the moaning to a minimum volume?"

My face burned. "W-we weren’t being loud, shit!"

I pressed my hands to my face, wishing I could crawl inside the kitchen cupboards and hide until the end of the year.

Dad turned his attention back to Damien again. "So, I take it means you’re planning to stick around longer?"

Damien looked at me before answering. "If Oliver’s okay with that."

I lowered my hands.

That was unexpectedly thoughtful, and it made my chest warm in a way I hated since I was supposed to be mad at him for letting my dad witness the most embarrassing moment of my life.

Dad nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I don’t mind having you around. You’re way more useful in the kitchen than my son."

"Dad!"

"What? It’s true!"

Damien was shaking with suppressed laughter, and I shot him another glare.

"I hope you realize," I told him, "that you’re not welcome to join this conversation."

"Of course."

"Or laugh."

"I’ll try."

"Or breathe too loudly."

Dad shook his head, clearly nearing the end of his patience with my complaints, but the grin on his face suggested he was loving every moment of this.

"Well, I’ll let you two get back to whatever important ’discussion’ you were having," he said, pushing away from the doorframe. "But Oliver, maybe try to find a more comfortable spot to sit next time."

I glanced down at the counter.

"I was comfortable, though."

"Clearly."

He took a few careful steps toward the hallway, his cane tapping against the floor. Just before he disappeared, he turned back and said, "And Damien, breakfast tomorrow would be great. Since you’re apparently planning to make yourself at home."

"Sure thing, sir," Damien replied.

"Wonderful. Goodnight, boys."

"Dad!"

He chuckled as he walked down the hall, leaving me to sit in the kitchen, contemplating the idea of changing my name, moving to another country, and starting a brand new life where nobody knew me or my questionable romantic decisions.

As soon as Dad was gone, I slowly lowered my head into my hands. "I hate this family."

Damien approached quietly, his footsteps soft on the tiled floor. "I don’t think your dad was all that upset."

"That’s not the point."

"What is the point?"

"The point is my dad just caught us making out on the kitchen counter, Damien. On the COUNTER! The same counter where he makes breakfast, chops veggies, and occasionally leaves his pills."

Damien glanced at the counter, then back at me. "Would you have preferred the dining table?"

I just stared at him.

He smiled.

"You’re a terrible fucking person."

"I’ve heard that before."

I groaned and leaned forward, resting my forehead against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me almost immediately, one hand on my back, the other gently running through my hair.

For a moment, I just stayed there, letting the embarrassment shift into something a little less unbearable. His shirt smelled faintly of cologne, and the warmth of his embrace made it hard to keep up the anger I’d been nursing so carefully.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

I nodded against him. "No. I think I’m going to need to leave the country."

"Want me to book a flight?"

I lifted my head and narrowed my eyes at him. "Don’t tempt me."

His smile softened as he brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. "I’m sorry your dad caught us."

"You’re not sorry at all."

"Not entirely."

"At least you’re honest."

He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to my forehead, and despite my best efforts, I found myself smiling.

It was strange how quickly the embarrassment was fading, leaving a quiet warmth I wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge. Dad’s teasing had been mortifying, but it also made things feel oddly normal, like Damien being here wasn’t some grand event that required everyone to tiptoe around.

Maybe that was the thing that scared me most.

How easily he was starting to fit into the little life I had built without him.

Eventually, Damien helped me down from the counter, and we made sure the kitchen was tidy before heading upstairs. He walked beside me down the hallway, occasionally brushing his fingers against mine, and when we reached my bedroom, he waited for me to decide whether I wanted him to stay.

I did.

We settled into bed without much talk, and while I was still replaying Dad’s expression when he walked in, I found myself drifting off with Damien’s arm comfortably around my waist.

At least I could take comfort in thinking that the worst of my embarrassment was probably behind me.

That’s what I thought, anyway.

The next morning, though, I learned my father was a traitor in more ways than one.

I came downstairs, dressed for work, my shirt neatly tucked in and my hair still damp from the shower, and was greeted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee, toasted bread, and something that reminded me of the fancy breakfasts served at hotels I’d only ever seen during university conferences.

For a moment, I honestly wondered if Dad had ordered food from somewhere.

Then I stepped into the kitchen.

Damien was standing by the stove, wearing a fitted dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tailored trousers. His hair was styled perfectly, and he looked so ridiculously put together that I briefly considered whether he had a secret team of people ensuring he looked effortlessly attractive before breakfast.

The kitchen counter was covered with an assortment of food: golden pancakes, scrambled eggs, grilled tomatoes, crispy bacon, fresh fruit, and what looked like an artfully arranged avocado toast. There was even a plate of pastries next to a glass jug of orange juice, and two cups of coffee were waiting near the dining table.

Dad was already seated, looking like he’d just been treated to a five-star experience.

"Good morning, Ollie!" he greeted me cheerfully.

I eyed the food. "Did we win the lottery?"

Dad laughed. "No, but it seems we have an actual chef living with us now."

Damien glanced over his shoulder, his expression softening when he spotted me. "Good morning."

I cleared my throat. "What’s with all this?"

"Breakfast."

"I can see that."

"Then why ask?"

I shot him a flat look, and he just smiled faintly as he added another plate to the table.

Dad leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself. "Honestly, Ollie, I don’t know why you bothered learning to cook when you could have just waited for Damien to come back."

"That’s a really weird thing to say to your son."

"Well, it’s true. Look at this breakfast! Who needs a wife when you’ve got Damien?"

I nearly dropped my work bag. "Dad!"