Ayla stood in the hallway, her bag still slung over her shoulder, staring at the open suitcase Damien had tossed onto the bed. Clothes — hers and his — were already folded neatly inside.
"A vacation?" she asked, her voice wary.
Damien zipped one of the compartments and looked up at her. "Yes. We need time away from… distractions. Somewhere private, just us. No friends. No family. No exes."
She hesitated. The thought of being alone with him, somewhere she couldn't easily leave, made her stomach twist. "I don't think that's a good idea."
His brows drew together. "And why not?"
"Because…" She swallowed, forcing the words out. "I have work. Responsibilities. It's just bad timing."
He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing in that way that always made her feel like a trapped animal. "Oh," he said slowly, a mocking lilt creeping into his voice, "because your ex told you not to?"
Her pulse jumped. "This has nothing to do with Leon."
Damien's smirk was sharp enough to cut. "Don't think I don't know you were coming back from meeting him today. I saw you."
Her breath hitched. "Damien, it's not—"
She didn't get the chance to finish. His hand shot up, fingers locking around her throat.
The air rushed out of her in a choked gasp. Her nails clawed at his wrist, but his grip only tightened.
"I am the man of this house," he growled, his face inches from hers. "Don't you ever forget that."
Her vision blurred at the edges, black spots blooming in her sight. She could feel her lungs burning, her body fighting for oxygen.
Then, just as suddenly, he released her.
She stumbled back, clutching at her neck, dragging in ragged breaths.
"You're… insane," she rasped.
His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Maybe. But you're mine."
She bolted for the door, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor, but when she reached the handle, she found it locked — from the inside.
"You're not going anywhere," Damien said, his tone almost playful now. "We'll talk about the vacation in the morning."
She backed away slowly, her mind racing, every nerve screaming at her to get out — but the walls of the house felt like they were closing in.
Unknown to her, Damien's diagnosis at age twelve had been buried under years of family influence and wealth. Psychotic disorder. Violent tendencies. Episodes triggered by jealousy. And now, she was living with it.
Meanwhile — at the café
The air between Leon and Maureen was tense, but not for the reasons she assumed. She sat across from him, her leg crossed, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"I could never fathom," she began, leaning forward, "why someone would leave you just to choose a psychopath."
Leon's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.
Maureen swirled the coffee in her cup, her tone almost lazy. "I hope he ends her."
Leon's eyes snapped to hers, a storm brewing in them. "Watch your mouth."
She only smirked, unfazed. "What? I'm just saying the truth. You don't see it yet, but you will."
He leaned back, folding his arms. "You're talking nonsense."
Maureen tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle she already knew the answer to. "Am I? Or maybe I just know more than you think."
Leon dismissed her words outwardly, but something about the way she said it lingered in his mind — an itch he couldn't scratch.
What Leon didn't know, what Maureen wasn't lying about, was that Damien had been diagnosed with a severe psychotic disorder when he was twelve. And Ayla… was now alone with him.