Damon has always been the kind of person who marches to his own drum or more accurately, who’d rather smash the drum and make his own music entirely. His reputation precedes him everywhere he goes, the one who skips meetings to work on projects he believes in, who talks back to authority figures without a second thought, who’d rather fix things with his hands than follow a manual. But what no one knows is that around you, he’s an entirely different person.

His usually sharp gaze goes soft, his cheeks flush a deep rose, and he’ll stumble over his words if you smile at him just right letting out little breathless giggles when you tease him, even about the smallest things.

The air was thick with anticipation and something that smelled like expensive perfume and polished wood. Every chair was filled, every eye fixed on the front of the room where Damon stood, looking like a caged animal in a suit that had clearly been tailored to someone else’s measurements.

The jacket pulled tight across his broad shoulders, the fabric straining at the seams whenever he shifted his weight. He kept shoving his hands into his pockets, only to yank them out again when he remembered where he was, his knuckles white as he clenched and unclenched his fists. The officiant’s voice washed over him like background noise, words about unity and commitment that made his jaw clench so hard he thought his teeth might crack.

You stood just a few feet away, watching him from the corner of your eye as you waited for your cue to walk forward. Your outfit had been chosen in a rush just days earlier.

Every detail picked to satisfy both families, though you’d managed to slip in small touches that felt like you. Your hands were twisted in your lap so tightly your knuckles were pale, your nails leaving half-moon marks in your skin. You’d practiced walking in your shoes exactly once, and your feet were already starting to ache.

In the front rows, your family sat beaming your parent’s face was etched with relief, as if a heavy weight had finally been lifted from their shoulders. Beside them, Damon’s father sat straight-backed and serious, his eyes scanning the room like he was auditing a transaction rather than celebrating a union.

Every so often he’d nod, a small, sharp movement that looked less like approval and more like he was checking boxes on a list. The rest of the guests chatted quietly among themselves, their voices creating a low hum that made your head spin.

Damon had spotted you the moment you’d stepped into the room, and despite his best efforts to keep his expression hard, his cheeks had warmed the second your eyes met his. He’d looked away quickly, clearing his throat and focusing on the wall behind the officiant, but he’d felt the heat lingering on his skin long after you’d turned your attention elsewhere.

He’d spent weeks telling himself this was just business. A way to help both families through a rough patch, nothing more. But every time he thought about standing here with you, his stomach did little flips that he couldn’t explain.

As the music began to play something classical and formal that made him want to roll his eyes. Then you started walking toward him, each step careful and deliberate. He felt his breath catch in his throat, and for a split second, all his rebellion melted away. You looked… you looked incredible, and he had to fight the urge to reach out and adjust your collar just so he could touch you for a moment. Instead, he forced his face back into a scowl, shoving his hands in his pockets one more time as you came to stand beside him.

The officiant began speaking again, and Damon found himself tuning out once more, his mind racing with a million thoughts. This is stupid. We’re not even friends. We barely know each other.

And yet… He stole another glance at you, catching the way your hands were clenched in your lap, and something in his chest tightened. You looked just as unhappy as he felt, maybe even more so.

DAMON REYES

Rebellious and fiercely independent, Damon has never been one to follow rules or fit into the box his family tried to put him in.

He’d rather fix things with his hands than sit in boardrooms, and he’s built a reputation for questioning authority at every turn.

Though he puts on a tough, carefree front to the world, he’s surprisingly shy and thoughtful around those he cares about and he can’t help blushing and giggling whenever he’s near you.

He agreed to the marriage only to help his family through a crisis, and he’s determined to keep his distance… even if his heart keeps telling him otherwise.

[YOUR NAME]

Practical, responsible, and dedicated to your family, you’ve spent your life following the path that’s been laid out for you.

You value stability and order, believing rules exist to protect the people you love. Though you didn’t choose this marriage, you’re determined to honor your commitment, even as you find yourself drawn to Damon’s unpredictable nature and hidden kindness.

You’ve always put others first, but now you’re starting to wonder if there’s room in your life for something or someone you never expected.

Ps. All pictures are from pinteres.

Damon has always been the kind of person who marches to his own drum or more accurately, who’d rather smash the drum and make his own music entirely. His reputation precedes him everywhere he goes, the one who skips meetings to work on projects he believes in, who talks back to authority figures without a second thought, who’d rather fix things with his hands than follow a manual. But what no one knows is that around you, he’s an entirely different person.

His usually sharp gaze goes soft, his cheeks flush a deep rose, and he’ll stumble over his words if you smile at him just right letting out little breathless giggles when you tease him, even about the smallest things.

The air was thick with anticipation and something that smelled like expensive perfume and polished wood. Every chair was filled, every eye fixed on the front of the room where Damon stood, looking like a caged animal in a suit that had clearly been tailored to someone else’s measurements.

The jacket pulled tight across his broad shoulders, the fabric straining at the seams whenever he shifted his weight. He kept shoving his hands into his pockets, only to yank them out again when he remembered where he was, his knuckles white as he clenched and unclenched his fists. The officiant’s voice washed over him like background noise, words about unity and commitment that made his jaw clench so hard he thought his teeth might crack.

You stood just a few feet away, watching him from the corner of your eye as you waited for your cue to walk forward. Your outfit had been chosen in a rush just days earlier.

Every detail picked to satisfy both families, though you’d managed to slip in small touches that felt like you. Your hands were twisted in your lap so tightly your knuckles were pale, your nails leaving half-moon marks in your skin. You’d practiced walking in your shoes exactly once, and your feet were already starting to ache.

In the front rows, your family sat beaming your parent’s face was etched with relief, as if a heavy weight had finally been lifted from their shoulders. Beside them, Damon’s father sat straight-backed and serious, his eyes scanning the room like he was auditing a transaction rather than celebrating a union.

Every so often he’d nod, a small, sharp movement that looked less like approval and more like he was checking boxes on a list. The rest of the guests chatted quietly among themselves, their voices creating a low hum that made your head spin.

Damon had spotted you the moment you’d stepped into the room, and despite his best efforts to keep his expression hard, his cheeks had warmed the second your eyes met his. He’d looked away quickly, clearing his throat and focusing on the wall behind the officiant, but he’d felt the heat lingering on his skin long after you’d turned your attention elsewhere.

He’d spent weeks telling himself this was just business. A way to help both families through a rough patch, nothing more. But every time he thought about standing here with you, his stomach did little flips that he couldn’t explain.

As the music began to play something classical and formal that made him want to roll his eyes. Then you started walking toward him, each step careful and deliberate. He felt his breath catch in his throat, and for a split second, all his rebellion melted away. You looked… you looked incredible, and he had to fight the urge to reach out and adjust your collar just so he could touch you for a moment. Instead, he forced his face back into a scowl, shoving his hands in his pockets one more time as you came to stand beside him.

The officiant began speaking again, and Damon found himself tuning out once more, his mind racing with a million thoughts. This is stupid. We’re not even friends. We barely know each other.

And yet… He stole another glance at you, catching the way your hands were clenched in your lap, and something in his chest tightened. You looked just as unhappy as he felt, maybe even more so.

The officiant’s voice rose above the quiet murmur of the room, clear and decisive: “And now, you may kiss your spouse.”

Damon’s entire body went rigid. He’d been preparing for this moment for days, telling himself it would be quick, impersonal. Just another part of the performance they were putting on for everyone in attendance. But as he turned to face you, the words he’d rehearsed in his head vanished completely.

Your eyes were fixed on his, wide and dark and filled with a mix of fear and something else he couldn’t quite place, and suddenly his mouth was dry, his hands shaking slightly at his sides.

He leaned in slowly, carefully, keeping his movement stiff and deliberate so no one would see how nervous he really was. He could smell your scent something light and clean that made his head spin and feel the warmth radiating from your skin. Instead of pressing his lips to yours like everyone expected, he tilted his head slightly and brushed them against your cheek, the contact so brief it was over before either of you could process it.

He pulled back immediately, his jaw clenched so tight he could feel a headache building behind his eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder as if the wall was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

In his peripheral vision, he could see the way some of the guests shifted in their seats a few looked confused, others disappointed, but most just looked away, pretending not to notice the rebellion burning in his eyes. His father’s jaw was set, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of his chair, but he said nothing, just gave a small, sharp nod that meant we’ll talk about this later.

As the applause began polite and measured, not exactly enthusiastic. Damon took a step back, putting space between you two as you turned to walk down the aisle together. The walk felt endless, every eye in the room on you both, every footstep echoing in his ears like a drumbeat. Just as you reached the end of the aisle, he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke in a low, rough whisper that only you could hear.

“I don’t like this any more than you do,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “I know you didn’t have a choice in this any more than I did. So here’s what we’ll do, we’ll keep our distance. We’ll play our parts when we have to, do whatever the families need us to do to make this work for them. But that’s it. No pretending we’re something we’re not. No getting close. No… nothing else.”

His words were meant to be firm, final a boundary he needed to set to protect himself from feelings he didn’t want to deal with. But as he spoke, he felt his cheeks warming again, remembering the way your skin had felt against his lips, how small you’d looked standing beside him. He pulled away quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets once more as he led you toward the doors where the cars were waiting to take you to the reception.

You didn’t respond, just kept your gaze forward, your hands clenched at your sides. But he could see the way your shoulders tensed at his words, and a small part of him, the part he tried to ignore, felt a pang of guilt. He knew this was hard on you too. You’d been pulled into this just like he had, a pawn in a game neither of you wanted to play.

As you climbed into the car beside him, the silence between you was thick and heavy. He stared out the window, watching the world pass by in a blur of colors, while you sat perfectly still beside him, your hands folded in your lap.

He wanted to say something to apologize, to explain, to tell you that it wasn’t personal but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he just sat there, feeling like he was suffocating in the fancy suit and the even fancier lie they were all telling.