Perfect Excuse for Retaliation.
Seraphina was very much scared of Damien no doubt, and she had always hides under the influence of his mother to come close. His personality is so scary and unpredictable that Seraphina always thread cautiously around him. But despite it all, she couldn't just let him leave like that.
No.
Damian headed for the door, but when he reached for the door handle, about to leave her like she meant absolutely nothing, something inside her snapped.
On impulse, she reached for him,
"Damien_" she breathed, voice cracking.
Her hand shot out, gripping his wrist with impulsive urgency.
"You're really going to walk out like that?" she breathed, her voice low and sultry, but laced with desperation.
She stepped closer, barefoot on the plush carpet, her silk robe slipping slightly down one shoulder.
"You're already in my hotel room, Damien. Why don't you just let me take care of you? Let me spoil you a little... please."
Her fingers trailed slowly up his arm, tracing the lines of muscle and drawing lazy, seductive circles on his skin. She looked up at him with smoldering eyes, teasing, as if to summon a spark from stone. But Damien stood there, motionless, a man carved from ice.
There was no warmth in his gaze. No tension in his jaw. Just an unsettling stillness, like the calm before a devastating storm.
"So... you want sex?" he asked, blunt as ever, He stared into her eyes, unblinking.
The question hung between them like a slap.
Seraphina faltered. His bluntness always had a way of ripping the sweetness off her intentions. She wanted him, yes, but not like this. Not like a transaction. But she knew Damien. He didn't respond to hints or games. If she didn't say what she wanted, he'd be gone.
So she nodded.Slowly. Willingly.
What came next shocked her.
Without warning, Damien shrugged off his jacket and strode toward her. In one swift motion, he lifted her effortlessly like she weighed nothing and tossed her onto the bed, his movements rough, almost primal.
She gasped as he tossed her onto the bed, her hair fanning out around her like a halo of sin. Before she could speak, he was on her, lips crashing into hers, hands everywhere, hungry and unrelenting, fierce, wild and devouring.
Seraphina moaned into his mouth, clinging to him, her fingers tangled in his shirt. The intensity, the weight of him, it set every nerve in her body on fire. He tore off her clothes, each piece falling to the floor like petals stripped from a flower. Her bra, her panties, gone in seconds.
But Damien wasn't just kissing her. He was consuming her. Ravaging her like she was a distraction from something darker clawing at his soul.
Because in the back of his mind, all he could see, burned behind his eyes, was Eva.
Eva with that half-naked, tattooed bastard.
Eva with that fake innocence face, yet being pulled into a room like a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.
Was she laughing now? Moaning? Arching her back the way_ He swallowed back his thought.
Yet, the image burned through his brain like acid. Her laugh, her moans, her surrender, it all played on loop, taunting him.
He imagined what her voice would sounds like if she moans, how caressing her body would feel. He imagined dipping his fingers into her hair, and how much burying himself inside of her would feel, but then he guess that tattooed fool would be the one getting all of that.
And it made him feel so irritated, so strange that he just couldn't control it.
And in that moment, kissing Seraphina, stripping her, losing himself in her skin, it felt like the perfect retaliation.
But then...
The word echoed.
Retaliation.
Again. Louder.
Retaliation?
For what, exactly?
Suddenly, the weight of what he was doing crashed down on him like cold water.
Without a word, Damien pulled back. The fire in his eyes dimmed to ash as he stood, grabbed his jacket, and turned for the door.
He didn't say anything. No apology. No explanation.
He just... walked away.
When Damien stormed into the garage, his steps were tight with fury. Eric was already by the car, alert as always, but it was only when Damien reached for his jacket that he noticed it, something soft and lacy tangled in the fabric.
Her panties.
His jaw clenched.
With a sharp hiss of irritation, he yanked the fabric free and flung it to the floor like it burned him.
"Take this back to her," he barked, his voice cold and cutting.
"And make it very clear she's to stay the hell away from my mother."
Eric blinked, confused, glancing down at the silken scrap on the ground.
"Sir...?"
But Damien was already in the driver's seat, engine roaring to life.
No explanations. No patience. Just burning rubber and a trail of smoke as he sped off, leaving Eric frowning in the rearview mirror.
Back in the hotel room, Seraphina was breathless, dazed, and burning.
Damien had done it again, set her body ablaze with want, only to extinguish it without a word.
She lay tangled in sheets and frustration, her heart hammering, her thighs aching from anticipation and rage.
Then, the doorbell rang.
Her pulse spiked.
He came back?
Without thinking, she rushed to the door, completely naked, still flushed from the fire he'd left smoldering inside her.
She flung it open.
But it wasn't Damien.
It was Eric.
And both of them froze.
He stared, mouth slightly open, stunned into silence.
She didn't move. Didn't cover herself.
Something primal passed between them, her hunger, his restraint, the raw tension of a man caught in the crossfire of someone else's mess.
But when she stepped forward and yanked him inside, Eric stumbled in, still shocked.
"Hey..." Eric said trying to stop her.
But her mouth was already on his. Her hands feverish.
"Seraphina, this isn't right," he muttered hoarsely.
"Then stop me," she whispered against his lips.
But he couldn't.
She pushed him onto the bed, and while being naked, she climbed over him like a woman possessed. Eric tried to resist, but the sight of her everything, her body, the way she kissed him with wild abandon, it shattered every ounce of his discipline.
Within seconds, she had her way with him.
Their bodies collided in desperate rhythm, her cries and loud moan filling the room.
Truth was, it wasn't about Eric at all.
It was the ghost of Damien in her mind, the memory of his touch, the way he left her aching and unfinished.
She had imagined all the filthy, wicked things she would do to him... and he walked away like she was nothing.
And now Eric, his most trusted man, was here, holding her panties, and looking at her like she was something.
So she let go.
She wanted to feel wanted.
She needed to feel in control.
And for now... this was enough.
Eva stormed out of the hotel room, her heels clicking sharply against the tiles. Her blood boiled. She wasn't even sure what she was angrier at, Damien for coming to the hotel to make-out with that monster of a girl, or herself for even coming here in the first place.
But just as she reached the hallway, she paused.
Moans. Loud. Shameless. Unmistakably Seraphina's.
Eva scoffed, curling her lip in disgust.
"Pathetic," she muttered, then turned on her heel and marched away without looking back.
She hadn't meant to come here.
But desperation makes you do things you'd rather not.
She stood in front of the hotel Victor had sent her, heart pounding in her chest. She needed help. She needed money. And she hated herself for needing it from him of all people. From this same set of criminals again, just like her dad had needed help from them as well in the past which later cost him his life, and even though she tried everything not to share the same faith such as him, but there was no helping it, because here she is.
When the door swung open, she blinked in disbelief.
Victor stood there, half-naked, freshly showered, a towel slung low around his hips, water still glistening on his bronze skin.
"Eva," he said with a smile that felt far too slow, far too intimate.
Or was it... "Ana"?
Her stomach turned.
Then he grabbed her hands and pulled her in.