(Evelyn's POV)
The room felt smaller with him in it. Every inch of space between us seemed to shrink under the weight of his presence, and I could feel it pressing against my chest, making it hard to breathe. I wanted to back away, to put some distance between us, but every instinct in me was screaming to stay, to not run, even though I was terrified of what staying meant.
His gaze was sharp, unyielding, and consuming. I could feel it like heat, crawling over me, tracing every line of my body, but it wasn't just physical—it was something deeper, something that reached into my mind and probed my thoughts. I shivered despite the warmth in the room, my stomach tightening, my pulse hammering in a rhythm I couldn't control.
"Do you want to go back home?" His voice broke through the silence, calm but edged with a dangerous undercurrent. "Because I told your father I would return you… and for your information, I am not accepting your sister's proposal."
My chest constricted at the mention of my sister. Relief, oddly enough, mingled with my confusion, but I couldn't breathe fully yet. "I—I don't…" I tried to form words, but my throat felt like it had tightened into a knot.
He took a slow step closer, and the weight of him was almost unbearable. "Why should I go with a girl who has nothing but… predictability, while I can have someone fierce like you?" His eyes locked on mine, dark and intent, and I felt my knees weaken just looking at him. "Be my second half. Be mine. Let me claim you… you get?"
The words hit me like a tidal wave, both intoxicating and terrifying. My heart was racing, pounding against my ribs like it wanted to escape. My mind screamed at me to step back, to remind him that this was insane, that he shouldn't be saying these things, that I shouldn't want him to mean them—but my body betrayed me. I could feel the heat pooling in my stomach, my breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.
I shook my head, trying to anchor myself, to find some control. "Damien… this isn't—" I started, but he cut me off before I could finish.
"I don't care what isn't," he interrupted, voice low, urgent, almost desperate. "I know what I want. I know what I see. And it's you. Right here. Right now. I'm not asking for permission. I'm telling you. You—me. Do you understand?"
His proximity was overwhelming. I could feel his pulse through the air, smell the faint sharpness of his cologne, hear the quiet scrape of his shoes against the floor. Every nerve in my body screamed, conflicted between fear, desire, and the thrill of being seen in ways no one else ever had.
"I…" My voice faltered, trailing off into nothing. How could I explain the storm inside me? How could I reconcile the part of me that wanted to run with the part that wanted to melt into him, to let him claim me in every way his words suggested?
Damien tilted his head slightly, as if reading my mind. His fingers reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, and then his hand lingered, tracing my jawline softly. "You're so damn stubborn," he whispered, voice thick with something I couldn't name—desire, frustration, hunger. "So arrogant, so fierce… and yet, you're mine. Even if you don't admit it."
The assertion made my chest tighten further, a mixture of guilt and longing twisting inside me. I wanted to deny him, to push him away, to make him see that I wasn't someone to be claimed so easily. But the fire in his eyes made my resolve crumble, and I felt myself trembling in ways I didn't want him to see.
"I'm not yours," I said, though the words sounded hollow, even to me. "And I can't… I won't…"
He stepped closer, the space between us nearly nonexistent, his voice dropping to a near growl. "You say that, but your body doesn't lie, Evelyn. Your heart doesn't lie. Every glance, every breath, every hesitation—it screams for me. You're addicted to me as much as I am to you, whether you admit it or not."
I swallowed hard, the heat rising to my cheeks. My hands clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms to remind myself I was still in control. "You… you don't know that," I whispered, barely audible. "You think you know me, but you don't—"
"Don't?" He interrupted again, voice low and sharp, and his fingers reached up to tilt my chin so I had no choice but to meet his eyes. "I know more about you than anyone ever will. And I know what you want. Even if you're too scared to say it aloud."
His gaze was suffocating, compelling. I wanted to look away, to escape, but my body refused. I could feel the pull, a magnetic force that made my legs tremble and my breaths shallow. The tension between us was almost unbearable, electric in its intensity.
"You're afraid," he murmured, his thumb brushing against my lips lightly. "Afraid of how much you want me. Afraid of what it means. But I'll make it simple for you. I don't care about fear. I care about truth. And the truth is… you belong to me. You always have. Even when you don't admit it."
My chest heaved, tears threatening to spill over. The words, the intensity, the raw possession in his voice—it was overwhelming. I wanted to run, to hide, to escape the pull he had over me. Yet every fiber of me wanted to stay, to feel the heat, the dominance, the certainty that he exuded in ways that left no room for doubt.
"I…" I started, voice trembling, "I can't…"
"You can," he said firmly, pressing just slightly closer. "You just don't want to admit it yet. And that's fine. But know this—I will wait, I will watch, and I will claim you. Every time. Every look. Every moment. You can try to resist… but it's useless. You're mine, Evelyn. Understand?"
I could barely nod, too overwhelmed to speak. My heartbeat was erratic, my hands shaking, and yet I couldn't bring myself to look away. He was a storm, fierce and consuming, and I was caught in the eye, unable to escape, unable to resist.
For the first time, I realized the depth of what he had awakened in me—the part of me that craved him, that needed him, that feared him but also wanted nothing more than to give in. And I also realized something else: this wasn't about control or dominance. It was about truth. About desire. About the undeniable connection between us that neither of us could deny.
He leaned back slightly, giving me a moment, but his eyes never left mine. "Rest tonight," he murmured, almost softly, a rare gentleness breaking through the storm in his gaze. "Think about it. And when morning comes… we continue. You can try to run, but I'll always be here. Always watching. Always waiting."
I sat there, frozen, chest heaving, tears threatening to spill, caught between fear, longing, and an impossible attraction. The room felt both stifling and electric, charged with tension that neither of us could deny. And for the first time, I understood the truth behind Damien Kane—intense, unyielding, and utterly impossible to resist.