I woke before the sun did. Before the city stirred. Before my mind could make sense of what happened the night before and for a few precious seconds, I pretended I was somewhere else. Someone else. Not the girl who let him in.
Not the woman who let him break her apart under a scalding shower, piece by piece, moan by moan. Not the fake fiancée who lost her grip on the script but that illusion didn't last long because when I moved, I felt him.
The soreness between my thighs. The faint imprint of his fingers on my skin. The dull ache in places that had been claimed again and again until I forgot who was in control. Until I stopped caring.
My eyes fluttered open and there he was lying beside me. Not touching me. Not looking at me. But awake. Watching the ceiling like it had answers we both needed. I didn't speak and neither did he. There was something sacred about the silence like we were both trying to preserve whatever fragile boundary hadn't been completely obliterated last night. I felt it the shift.
This morning, he was calculating. His mind was already ahead of me planning. Burying everything that made him human beneath the armour of a CEO. I turned away from him, swinging my legs over the bed, ignoring the chill that kissed my bare skin. His voice stopped me before I could stand.
"You should quit."
I froze.
My fingers curled against the edge of the mattress, knuckles whitening. "Excuse me?"
"This job. The agency. The contracts." His voice was cold again. Back to clipped, clean lines. "Quit before I make it impossible for you to keep pretending this is still professional."
I let out a bitter laugh. "That ship sailed the second you put your hand up my dress in your office."
"I warned you it'll be difficult."
"No," I said, twisting to face him, "you warned me you were dangerous."
His eyes met mine. Dark. Stormy. Unreadable.
"I meant both."
I stood anyway, naked and unapologetic. I wasn't going to shrink under his gaze not anymore. Not after he'd already seen every inch of me, every weakness, every scar.
"I'm not quitting," I said calmly. "I signed the contract."
His jaw tightened.
"This isn't about paperwork."
I walked to the bathroom, grabbed the silk robe hanging behind the door, and shrugged it on without looking at him.
"It always is with you," I muttered. "Control, clauses, conditions. Even sex comes with terms and consequences."
He was behind me now. I felt it before I heard his footsteps.
"You think I don't want you?" His voice was low, lethal. "I want you so much I can't think straight. That's the problem."
"Then stop thinking."
"I can't." His hand came down hard on the marble counter beside me, caging me in from behind. "You make me weak."
My throat tightened. I hated how much I liked hearing that.
"I'm not your weakness, Damien," I whispered. "I'm your contract."
He leaned in, his breath against my ear.
"No, Isla. You're my fucking obsession."
His words weren't tender. They weren't romantic. They were violent in the way obsessions always are ruthless, consuming, the kind that didn't want to hold you but devour you whole and I felt it.
Like a thread pulled too tight. Like a warning I was too far gone to heed. I gripped the edge of the sink just to stay upright. My reflection stared back at me lips bruised, eyes shadowed, neck kissed and bitten with evidence that screamed of everything I should've denied and didn't. I met his gaze in the mirror.
"You can't control this, can you?"
His jaw flexed. "I'm trying."
"And failing."
His silence was admission enough. I turned to face him, back against the sink. "What happens now?"
He stared at me, the storm behind his eyes still raging. "We pretend it didn't happen."
I blinked. "We? Or you?"
He didn't answer. Typical Damien pull the trigger and walk away like the gun didn't belong to him.
"You can compartmentalize this all you want," I said, voice low. "But I can't walk into your penthouse pretending you didn't fuck me against the shower wall like you were possessed."
Something flickered in his expression. "I didn't pretend then. I'm not pretending now."
"Then what are you doing?"
He took a step closer, hands flexing at his sides like he didn't trust himself to touch me.
"I'm protecting you."
I scoffed. "You're protecting yourself. Your image. Your business. Your control."
He didn't deny it of course he didn't because everything Damien Alexander Valerius touched had a price and I was starting to realize I'd been too cheap. I pushed past him, walking back into the bedroom. The robe trailed around my thighs, silk clinging to skin still damp with reminders of him.
"I need air."
He said nothing, just watched as I collected my phone, my purse, my broken dignity. When I reached the door, I paused.
"You can call it obsession. I'll call it a mistake."
His voice chased me into the hallway. "You'll be back."
I didn't turn around. "That's the problem, Damien."
I would.
The elevator ride was mercifully empty but my chest wasn't. It felt stuffed with static white noise buzzing with all the things I should've said and didn't. The glass doors opened into a lobby that smelled too clean and looked too perfect for the kind of mess I was carrying on my skin.
I didn't stop walking until I reached the street. The morning chill slapped me in the face, snapping me back into my body. Back into reality. Cars passed. People moved. The world went on, completely unaware that I'd just woken up next to a man who couldn't love but could ruin and that I let him. Again.
I grabbed my phone to call a cab when a message popped up.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
You left your necklace.
Next time, I won't let you leave at all.
My fingers clenched around the device. I didn't reply because I didn't know if I wanted to scream… or go back. By the time I reached my apartment, my voicemail was full not from Damien. From the agency.
From Greta. From Ji-hye, my handler, who probably already saw the overnight press release about Damien Valerius' surprise engagement dinner next week and wanted to confirm I'd be there with a smile and a dress that didn't scream I let the client bend me over a granite sink six hours ago.
I dropped my bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the couch. Everything ached not just my body. My boundaries they were frayed. Shredded and for the first time since I signed that contract, I wasn't sure I could separate the lies from the truth anymore.
Was it just sex? Was it just control or was something darker growing beneath the surface something I couldn't afford to name? My phone buzzed again. Another text.
Greta (Agency Lead):
Need to debrief. Urgent. You're not answering Ji-hye. Call me before 3 or your pay gets docked.
Because of course even in this chaos, money still talked louder than emotion.
I rolled my eyes and typed back a single word: "Noted."
My hands were trembling because I knew what was coming. The dinner. The photos. The next phase of the contract. And Damien? He wasn't going to pretend anymore. He wasn't interested in playing a part. He was rewriting the whole damn script. And I didn't know if I'd survive the ending.
*****
Later that night, I stood in front of my mirror, dress zipped, heels on, hair curled, makeup pristine. You'd never know I spent the day breaking. You'd never guess I almost quit. The driver was already downstairs. The invitation to Damien's private business dinner was a formality Greta made sure of that. I had to go. Had to smile. Had to play fiancée because the contract wasn't done and neither were we.
Even if everything inside me screamed to run. Even if I knew that dinner would be a war dressed up as a toast. One where everyone had knives hidden under their linen napkins and Damien had mine chained to his wrist.
When I stepped into the car, I told myself I could handle it. That I could be cold. Collected. Unmoved. But when the doors of the Valerius estate opened and I saw him standing there in a black-on-black suit, jaw sharp, eyes darker than sin, all that resolve cracked because he wasn't pretending. He wasn't hiding behind business tonight. He was waiting for me and the look in his eyes didn't say fiancée. It said mine. I didn't know how to fight that and win.
The estate was quieter than expected. Too quiet. Damien stood in the centre of the grand foyer like he owned every molecule of air in it which, technically, he did. His black suit didn't need tailoring; it looked like it was stitched to his body by the hands of sin itself. And his eyes? They weren't welcoming. They were daring. Daring me to flinch. To run. To give him a reason to chase.
"You're late," he said, voice cool but low, like it had been simmering just for me.
"You're early," I countered, even though we both knew I wasn't.
His gaze dropped to my dress. Emerald green. Off-shoulder. Cut to flatter, to seduce but not scream it. The look he gave it didn't hide his approval. Or his hunger. His eyes made promises his mouth refused to.
"Don't make a scene tonight," he said, stepping closer. "This dinner is important."
"You mean to your investors?"
"I mean to your contract."
Ah. There it was. I smiled, fake and bright. "I always play nice, Damien. Don't I?"
He didn't answer Just reached out and brushed a stray curl behind my ear like it belonged to him. Like I belonged to him.
"You're mine tonight," he said, quiet enough only I could hear it.
"Just tonight?"
He didn't blink. "Let's not test me."
He offered his arm and I took it not because I wanted to but because I had to. The minute I signed that contract, I didn't belong to myself anymore.
The dining room was decadent in a way that only old money could pull off without looking like a try-hard. Crystal chandeliers, gold leaf trim, a table long enough to stage an ego war and still have room for dessert. There were already guests seated men in tailored suits, women with fake smiles and real ambition. Faces I recognized from finance magazines and society gossip. Power. Money. Bloodlines. And Damien at the head of it all like the crown prince of capitalism.
He introduced me like I was a prize.
"Isla Moreau," he said, hand at the small of my back. "My fiancée."
There was a pause in the air. A collective blink and then the polite chaos of compliments began.
"She's stunning."
"Lucky man, Valerius."
"I didn't know you were engaged!"
I just smiled through it, teeth aching because I wasn't his fiancée. I was his lie. Tonight, I had to sell it. We took our seats. I stayed close to Damien, playing the role, nodding at questions, sipping champagne I couldn't taste. Every time my hand brushed his under the table, I wanted to scream because the warmth was real. The tension was real yet the reason I was here wasn't.
Dinner passed in a blur of clinking glasses and whispered mergers. Every time someone toasted to "the happy couple," I felt my spine stiffen.
Damien? He played it flawlessly. Leaning close. Touching my hand. Dropping soft baritone comments in my ear that made me flush on cue. If I didn't know better, I'd believe he was in love with me. Hell, I almost believed it. Until dessert arrived. That's when the mood shifted. That's when she walked in.
Late. Poised. Stunning in a way that was deliberate. Tall. Blond. Legs for days. Red lips curled like she was already bored.
"Apologies," she said, air-kissing someone's cheek. "Traffic."
No one challenged her. No one dared. She was someone important even I could feel it. She smiled when her eyes landed on Damien but he didn't smile back. His posture changed. So did his jaw.
"Talia," someone said with a forced laugh. "Finally. Sit. You remember Damien Valerius, don't you?"
"Oh, of course," she purred. "How could I forget?"
She turned to me and smiled like a knife.
"And this must be your… fiancée?"
I stood, polite. "Isla."
She took my hand but didn't shake it. Just held it long enough to make it uncomfortable.
"Talia Mycroft," she said. "Old friend of Damien's."
From the look she gave him, it was the kind of friendship that used to end in tangled sheets and unsaid things. I sat back down and So did she. Right across from Damien. She didn't look at me again. Didn't need to. The war had already been declared. And Damien? He didn't flinch. Didn't shift. Didn't give me a single damn clue whether he wanted me or her but I saw it. The tension. The history.
The ghost of something unresolved sitting between us like a third party at the table. I picked up my glass, fingers steady even as my heart thundered. I was here to play a role but suddenly, I wasn't sure who the audience was anymore.
****
The valet pulled the car around. Damien said goodnight to the last guest while I waited by the fountain, arms crossed against the cold. He walked up behind me. Just stood their. Said nothing .
I turned to him. "Who is she?"
"Talia."
"I got that part."
"She's no one."
"Don't lie to me."
He met my eyes. "She's nothing. Not anymore."
I hated how much I wanted to believe him.
"I'm not jealous," I said.
"Good."
"I'm territorial."
His lips twitched. "So am I."
I stepped closer, toe to toe. "Then prove it."
His hand cupped my jaw, slow, possessive. He leaned down, his mouth brushing mine not a kiss. A promise.
"You're mine," he whispered.
This time, I didn't deny it.