Roommates With Benefits [BL]

This time, they were inside a diner, the warm evening light filtering through the window, making everything seem more significant than it might under the noontime glare. They sat across from each other, a basket of food between them.

The young man animatedly spoke, one hand gesturing as he made his point. Damien, meanwhile, watched him with the kind of attention reserved for something genuinely interesting, not the polite focus one maintains for conversation, but the involuntary gaze of someone captivated.

Another photograph. The young man looked up at Damien, his expression so openly trusting and unguarded that it seemed to capture a private moment without either party realizing it.

It reflected someone who had stopped worrying about safety and simply felt it.

Mrs. Lockwood’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly on the edge of the photograph.

There was Damien, her son...the heir to everything she and her husband had fiercely protected...all smiles with this boy she’d never seen before.

In one shot, they stood way too close; in another, Damien’s hand rested possessively on the man’s waist. A third captured them walking side by side down a sunlit street, looking comfortable in a way that felt almost intimate.

And in one particularly clear picture, a hickey marked the skin of the unknown b

man’s neck while Damien looked at him with an unmistakable, tender affection.

Then she reached the last image.

Damien wasn’t looking at the camera; he had no idea it was there or that a photographer was watching. His posture showed he was completely oblivious to being seen, a stark contrast to the composed, carefully managed image he presented in public.

His focus was solely on the young man beside him, and there was something in his expression that Mrs. Lockwood had never seen before.

Not at board meetings, where he was precise.

Not at charity events, where he was polished. Not at family gatherings, where he was dutiful and correct. Not in any setting she could recall over twenty-two years.

There was a softness in his demeanor.

It didn’t seem like infatuation, infatuation carries a kind of hunger, a desire for something not yet attained. This was something else. It felt like someone who had already found what they wanted, grown accustomed to it, and stopped worrying about merely possessing it.

Her son was in love with this strange man.

She could tell just by a series of photos taken from a distance then zoomed in.

It was dangerously genuine, a thought she quickly pushed aside.

The remaining photographs slipped from her hand and scattered across the desk, some even dropping to the polished floor in a slow, drifting pattern. The assistant flinched, as though she had caused the mishap herself.

Mrs. Lockwood gazed at the photograph still clutched in her fingers, studying it for a long moment without moving.

”With a boy...and a scholarship student at that,” she said quietly, almost to herself, the words no more than a whisper meant for the photograph rather than the room.

She turned it slightly in the light, as if hoping to gain different insights from another angle.

It didn’t help.

How did she know? That was easy...she knew everyone influencial. And this boy was a stranger to her

”How disappointingly ordinary.”

She placed the photograph down carefully, aligning it with the desk’s edge, and leaned back in her chair.

The foundation of everything she and her husband had built over three decades rested on reputation, stability, and carefully nurtured alliances.

Damien was more than just her son; he was the future face of the Lockwood Empire. That made every choice he made in his private life one the Lockwood Empire would eventually have to address publicly. This wasn’t about cruelty, it was simple math.

One photograph that circulated widely. One reckless relationship with someone who contributed nothing the Lockwood family needed. One careless afternoon caught on camera.

Years of careful construction could develop cracks.

Mrs. Lockwood briefly closed her eyes.

”How,” she said, that single word, hanging in the silence, held the weight of a longer statement she didn’t need to complete because the room understood her perfectly.

”This could ruin everything I’ve worked so hard for. How could Damien do this to me? How could the heir of the Lockwood empire act so recklessly?”

She exhaled, letting that breath be the only uncontrolled action she allowed. When she opened her eyes, they were clear, cool.

She turned her gaze to the assistant, who was trying to remain unnoticed, though the assistant’s visible anxiety undermined that goal.

”Get in touch with my husband.”

The assistant straightened, visibly relieved to finally receive something actionable. ”Yes, Mrs. Lockwood.”

”And my daughter,” she added, pausing briefly.

”Right away?”

”Right away.”

”Of course, ma’am.”

Mrs. Lockwood pointed toward the photographs scattered across her desk and those that had slipped to the floor. ”Make copies for both. All of them.”

The assistant moved to collect the images, kneeling carefully on the polished floor, fully aware that there was very little room for further mistakes.

She managed to get halfway through before her shaky fingers misestimated the weight of several photographs and they slipped, cascading across the floor in a new spread, some sliding against the desk leg.

She froze.

The clock ticked.

Very slowly, the assistant looked up.

Mrs. Lockwood was watching her. Not with anger... that would have been easier to handle, providing at least some kind of clear emotional reading. Instead, she observed with a calm, unperturbed stillness, having chosen not to react, which somehow felt much worse than any outburst.

”I’m so sorry,” the assistant blurted out, words tumbling out in a rush. Her face had turned the same shade as the cream-colored stationery.

Mrs. Lockwood remained silent.

The stillness lingered precisely as long as she intended.

The assistant quickly gathered the remaining photographs, hands trembling while she stacked them carefully and pressed them against her chest again, knuckles pale.

”I’ll send them right away,” she promised.

Mrs. Lockwood nodded once, measured, complete, requiring no further explanation.

”Go.”

The assistant hurried out. The walnut doors clicked shut behind her, and the silence returned to its customary state, the grandfather clock reclaiming its solitary authority over the sound.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Mrs. Lockwood remained at her desk, her gaze returning to the single photograph she had kept, the last one, with Damien looking at the young man. Outside the window, the grounds sprawled below in meticulous order beneath the afternoon light.

The sun reflected off the decanter on the cabinet. The oil paintings of the patriarchs observed from their frames, their faces stern and expectant as always.

Her eyes settled on the photograph.

Damien stood on a street, glowing in the evening light beside the young man with a stack of books, both unknowingly enjoying their moment of happiness.

Neither of them aware they were being observed, neither performing for anyone, and neither considering appearances, the Lockwood name, or what this photograph might mean to an outside viewer.

Her son never smiled like that to anyone, not even to his own family.

He was happy.

That simple word landed in her thoughts with a disconcerting weight, as it didn’t quite fit into the categories she had prepared for it, and she set it aside.

A finger tapped lightly against the desk’s edge...a solitary, measured tap, the small gesture she allowed herself when composure was necessary, despite her feelings about the situation.

Then she reached for the telephone.

The Lockwood family had managed hostile corporate takeovers that could have shattered everything built over two generations. They had navigated political shifts that rendered lesser families inconsequential.

This was unacceptable. The Lockwood name wouldn’t be dragged through the mud because of some boy her son had chosen to play with.

Evelyn Lockwood wasn’t about to watch three decades of carefully laid plans crack open just because her son had seemingly lost sight of who he was.

Whatever was going on...this so called romance her son chose to have with a man.

And a nobody for that matter.

It would be dealt with.

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and that, my lovely readers, brings us to the end of Vol 2 of Roommates With Benefits 😎

thank you all again for reading this far, for sticking with Oliver and Damien through all the teasing, the slow-burn, the mess, and the soft moments.

your comments, your encouragement, and your gifts have meant more than I can properly put into words.

every single one of them kept me going when I was staring at a blank page on my laptop wondering if anyone would care. you did...and I’m so grateful for that.

now... I have to apologize in advance.😅

vol 3 is going to be... a little more intense.

but please remember 😊👍... there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. I promise I’m not writing this story just to break your hearts and leave them that way.

Oliver and Damien still have further to go, and I intend to walk that road with them (and with you) until they find their way.

thank you again for being here.

I’ll see you in Volume 3 ✨