Page 66 of His Secret Merger

“Where are we going?” I asked, half-laughing, half-suspicious.

He shot me a sideways grin, one hand relaxed on the wheel. “You’ll see. I have a surprise. Consider it… a deal sweetener.”

My stomach flipped, but I kept my voice light. “That’s a dangerous promise, Sinclair.”

A few minutes later, he pulled into a long, curved driveway framed by old oaks. The house came into view slowly—first the wrought iron gates, then the manicured hedges, and then the mansion itself: sprawling stone, tall windows, ivy creeping alongone side like it had been here forever but was determined to stay modern. My breath caught.

“This,” I whispered, “is stunning.”

Damian cut the engine, slipping out of the car before I could fully gather my thoughts. When he rounded to open my door, he was grinning like a man who had been sitting on the world’s best secret.

I climbed out slowly, still staring. “Wait… is this…?”

He dangled a set of keys with a little flourish. “Perks of being a real estate tycoon. I put down earnest money an hour ago.”

My jaw dropped. “You bought this?”

“Technically, I have six weeks to close before the contract falls through,” he said, slipping the keys into the lock. “So, you know what that means, Jules—I don’t plan to live here alone.”

He pushed open the door, and we stepped into a grand foyer flooded with soft light from a crystal chandelier. A curved staircase swept up one side, dark wood gleaming under our feet.

I spun slowly in place, taking it all in: the formal dining room just off the entrance, its bay windows spilling sunlight over the hardwood; a kitchen straight out of a magazine, all marble and polished brass; a sunken living room with built-ins and a stone fireplace that made me want to curl up and never leave.

Damian gave me a gentle nudge. “Come on, there’s more.”

We moved through the house—a home office with wall-to-wall shelves, a sunroom with glass doors opening onto a terrace, a primary suite with a fireplace and walk-in closet that mademe dizzy, and an adorable nursery—complete with a nanny’s apartment.

The evening air wrapped around us when we stepped outside, fragrant with blooming jasmine. The backyard stretched wide, edged by old trees, with a stone path leading to a swimming pool. Beyond that, a garden—overgrown now, but with the bones of something beautiful.

I hugged myself, laughing under my breath. “This is where Gabrielle’s teenage babysitter lived with her parents,” I murmured, turning to him.

Damian leaned against the railing, watching me with a small, private smile. “I want us to have a home, Jules, near your sister. For you, for the baby—when you’re ready.”

My heart squeezed so tightly I could barely catch my breath. I turned back to the house, letting the moment settle in my chest, thick and sweet and terrifying.

When we returned to the guest house, darkness had completely enveloped the surroundings. And as we stepped out of the car, Damian discreetly retrieved a hefty folder from beneath the passenger seat, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as if he were unveiling a hidden treasure.

“What’s that?” I asked as we walked toward the front door, curiosity already bubbling.

“Just a little something to help you visualize the future,” he teased, tapping the folder against his palm.

Once inside, he spread the brochures across the coffee table—glossy layouts, photos, and financing details fanned out like a real estate jackpot. I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head asI watched him proudly shuffle through them, pointing out his favorite features like a kid with a new toy.

By the time we finished showering together, the brochures had migrated—a few under our arms as we carried drinks to bed, a few more I’d scooped up when tidying the couch, and soon they were scattered across the covers in a messy, colorful fan.

Damian dropped onto the mattress with a sigh, propping himself up on his elbows as he flicked through one of the brochures. I slipped in beside him, tucking my legs under the blanket, watching his profile as he pretended to study the fine print.

“You know,” I murmured, voice low and teasing, “you’re very confident for a man who hasn’t actually heard a yes.”

His lips twitched, the corner pulling into that slow, familiar smirk. “Am I?”

I leaned in just enough to let my hair brush his shoulder. “Mmhmm.”

He closed the brochure slowly, turning to face me, his eyes dark and soft all at once. “Take all the time you need, Jules. I’m not in a rush,” he said quietly, brushing his thumb along my jaw.

My heart stumbled again, tightening in a terrifying and beautiful way. But I managed a teasing smile as I whispered, “Good… because you’re not sleeping in your own bed anymore.”

His laugh rumbled low in his chest as he pulled me in, the brochures slipping one by one to the floor, but not forgotten.

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