Damien
There were very few things in this world that rattled me. An emergency board meeting in Dubai? Handled. A hostile takeover attempt by a pharmaceutical empire? Buried but Isla Camille Moreau, standing in my penthouse kitchen in nothing but a hotel robe, sipping my coffee with a look that dared me to challenge her? She rattled me.
Not in the obvious ways. Not in the ways I could label and neutralize. She rattled me in the unquantifiable moments. The way she stared like she was peeling back layers I'd kept hidden for decades. The way she challenged my tone with a casual lift of her chin. The way she moved through my space like she didn't belong to me but still had the audacity to act like she did.
That kind of confidence was rare. And dangerous. It wasn't just her mouth or her legs or the perfect curve of her hips beneath silk. It was her refusal to submit. Her refusal to see me the way everyone else did. As something to fear. To flatter. To follow. She didn't follow. And that... fucked with my head more than I liked to admit.
I sipped my coffee slowly, standing at the window, eyes on the skyline but mind tuned only to her. Every movement behind me, I catalogued. Every breath, every rustle of linen, every step as she finally padded toward the bedroom again to get dressed.
Roth would love her.
That bastard thrived on sensing weakness and exploiting it. If he even suspected that Isla wasn't mine that our engagement was built on deception he'd sink his teeth in. I couldn't let that happen because Isla wasn't just a pawn anymore. She was a loaded weapon. One I'd created. One I'd chosen. One I needed to keep under control.
The moment she returned dressed in that black silk dress the one with the plunging back and slit up the thigh I almost cancelled the meeting altogether. Not because she wasn't ready but because I wasn't. Not for the war this would become. Not for the eyes that would devour her especially not Roth's.
Appearances were everything. And Roth was already waiting. I offered Isla my arm. She hesitated a fraction of a second before taking it. The elevator ride was quiet. Tense. By the time we stepped into the car, my phone was buzzing again. It was Liang. Again.
"Ignore it," Isla murmured, voice soft but cutting. "He's already scared of you. Make him wait."
I looked down at her. Damn. She was starting to understand me too well. I didn't like that. I should've. It made her more useful. Made this charade more seamless. Made Roth less likely to detect the lie beneath the diamond on her finger But that wasn't the problem.
The problem was that I wanted her to understand me. Not because it served the plan. Because some sick, starving part of me craved it. I silenced the phone. Liang could wait.
The drive to La Reverie was short, but it felt longer with her beside me, legs crossed like a fucking invitation, fingers toying with the edge of her clutch as if she didn't know what those hands were doing to me.
"Lucien's going to flirt," I said flatly, eyes forward.
"I assumed."
"He's going to test you. Pick apart every word. Every glance."
"I can handle him."
"I don't want you to handle him," I said, turning to face her fully. "I want you to eviscerate him."
She gave a soft, dangerous smile. "You picked the right girl."
The right girl. Wrong timing. Wrong context. Wrong everything. I didn't respond. I couldn't afford to. The car slowed outside the private entrance of the restaurant. No press. No cameras. Lucien would never allow that. He was as secretive as he was powerful and just as vindictive.
I stepped out first, then held my hand out for Isla. She took it, her fingers cool and steady in mine. Too steady. She was masking something. Nerves? Doubt? I didn't have time to dig. Lucien Roth was already standing near the host stand, speaking to the maître d' like he owned the place. He might as well have. Roth's reach extended beyond borders, into everything from biotech to military contracts to illegal weapons if one knew where to look.
He was dressed like a European aristocrat navy blazer, white open-collared shirt, hair swept back like he belonged on the cover of some cigar magazine. He turned when we entered and smiled. The smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Damien," Lucien said, stepping forward, arms wide like we were old friends instead of long-time rivals. "You've aged well."
"And you've aged expensively," I said dryly.
Lucien chuckled, the sound low and mocking. Then his gaze slid to Isla.
"And this must be the mysterious fiancée," he said, voice coated in something like syrup and venom. "You didn't mention she was… devastating."
"Lucien Roth," I said, turning to Isla, "meet Isla Camille Moreau. My future wife."
She extended her hand, cool and confident. "Pleasure."
He took it like he was tasting her, not greeting her.
"The pleasure's mine," he murmured. "Though I confess… I didn't believe Damien was the marrying kind."
"He wasn't," Isla said with a sweet smile. "Until me."
Lucien blinked, and for just a fraction of a second, his eyes sharpened. Good girl. We were seated in a quiet corner, shielded by velvet partitions. Privacy by design. Which meant Lucien had something to say that he didn't want overheard. He waited until the wine was poured before speaking again.
"So, tell me, Damien. Was it love at first sight? Or did you finally get tired of keeping mistresses in different time zones?"
Isla sipped her wine like it was nectar. "Oh, I'm still in a different time zone. Damien just visits me more often."
Lucien's eyebrows rose. Then he laughed. "Oh, she's fun."
I watched him carefully. He wasn't flirting anymore. He was hunting.
"Why the sudden engagement?" Lucien asked, turning his wineglass slowly between his fingers. "Your empire doesn't benefit from sentiment. And your shareholders don't like surprises."
"They'll get over it," I said evenly.
"They're not the only ones watching," Lucien murmured. "You've made waves, Damien. Big ones. The kind that attract sharks."
My jaw tightened. "You mean yourself."
"Oh no," he said, grinning wolfishly. "I'm not a shark. I'm a mirror. I just reflect what's already there."
He turned to Isla again. "And what about you, Miss Moreau? How does it feel to wear the crown? Or are you just holding it until someone stronger takes it?"
I could practically feel Isla bristle beside me, but she didn't show it. She leaned forward slightly, chin tilted.
"I'm not holding the crown," she said calmly. "I designed it."
Lucien blinked. Then he sat back with a slow, satisfied nod. "Interesting."
His eyes slid back to me. "She's sharper than I thought."
"She's not for you to think about," I said, steel in every word.
The air thickened. Roth loved games. But he loved control more. He was baiting me testing to see how deep Isla really ran. He hadn't bought it yet. He wasn't sure enough to call my bluff either.
"I hear there's a shake-up in your Asia division," Lucien said, smoothly changing the subject. "Liang scrambling. Investors jittery. And your pet fiancée might be distracting you from cleaning house."
I leaned forward. "You've always been fond of spreading rumours, Lucien. Just be careful they don't circle back and bite."
His smile widened. "Oh, Damien. You've finally learned to lie."
"I learned from the best."
The rest of the lunch passed in stilted conversation and veiled threats. But by the end of it, Roth hadn't pushed harder. Isla had held her own. I'd made sure he knew exactly what it would cost him if he crossed the line.
Back in the car, Isla exhaled sharply.
"Well," she muttered. "That was a chessboard wrapped in foe grass."
I didn't laugh. But I watched her. Closely.
"You handled him better than expected."
"I know."
"You almost enjoyed it."
"I did."
"Why?"
She looked at me. And for the first time that day, I saw something unguarded flash in her eyes.
"Because for once, I wasn't pretending to be yours. I was defending what was mine."
Silence. It slammed into me like a bullet because she didn't mean the role. She meant me. And suddenly, the lines I'd drawn between us blurred. Dangerously.
I didn't respond. Couldn't. That line had been meant to provoke. To test the boundaries. Maybe even to blur them. Worst part? It worked. Some fractured part of me wanted her to mean it. I hated that.
I shifted in my seat, jaw locked, every nerve in my body firing in protest. I couldn't afford this weakness. Not now. Not when the wolves were circling. Not when Roth had just reminded me that one wrong move could bring everything down.
"You're quiet," she said, tone light, too light.
"Thinking."
"Dangerous habit."
"You're the one who made the dangerous comment."
She didn't deny it. Outside the window, the city passed in cold blur. Seoul's skyline sparkled with ruthless ambition towers stabbing at the clouds, neon dripping down glass façades. The kind of city that never let you forget you were replaceable.
"You should watch what you say around him," I added. "Roth doesn't forget."
"Neither do I."
I glanced over at her. She wasn't looking at me. Her gaze was fixed on her reflection in the darkened window, but her hand was clenched around the clutch again white-knuckled.
There it was. The truth beneath the cool veneer. She was rattled. Just like me. Just like Roth wanted. She'd never admit it.
I leaned back, loosened my tie. "You did well today."
"Don't patronize me."
"I'm not."
She finally looked at me. Eyes like sharp storm glass. "Then say what you're actually thinking."
I considered that. Then said it anyway.
"You looked like you belonged."
She blinked once. "And you didn't?"
"I never belong," I said quietly.
She didn't answer. Maybe she didn't know how to. Maybe she finally understood just how deep that truth ran. The car slowed again. This time, we weren't returning to the penthouse. I had a different destination in mind.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Somewhere quiet."
"Why?"
"Because I need to get you out of my system."
The silence that followed was deafening. She didn't ask what I meant. She didn't need to. We pulled up to a secluded villa outside the city — one of mine. High walls. No staff. No press. No distractions. Just her and me.
The driver opened the door. I stepped out first, walked around, opened hers. She hesitated for a beat — then took my hand. I didn't let go. Not as we climbed the stone steps. Not as we crossed the threshold. Not even as I slammed the door behind us and pressed her against it with a hunger I could no longer contain.
"You said I was yours," I breathed against her neck. "Say it again."
Her breath hitched. "I—"
"Say it, Isla."
Her eyes met mine, fire meeting ice.
"You are mine, Damien Valerius."
I kissed her like I was punishing her for it. Maybe I was because I knew I couldn't afford to be hers. In that moment, I didn't give a damn.