The morning was quiet, too quiet. My phone cut through it with a vibration sharp enough to grate my nerves. I didn't need to look at the screen to know who it was. Rothwell.
I answered anyway.
"Damien," his voice was slow, deliberate. "About the deal—"
I cut him off. "The deal is intact." My tone was flat, cold. "What isn't intact is your ability to question me."
There was a pause. I could almost hear him swallowing on the other end. Then he chuckled nervously, trying to recover. "I only meant… Evelyn. You haven't forgotten why she's with you, have you?"
I smirked without humor. Forgotten? Never. Every moment she looked at me with those storming eyes, I remembered exactly how I dragged her into my world. But what he didn't understand was simple—once Evelyn was mine, there would be no escape, no turning back.
"Mr. Rothwell," I said, my voice lowering, each word deliberate, "when I take something, I don't return it. Evelyn is not excluded from that rule. Do you understand?"
He fell silent. I ended the call.
The call with Rothwell ended the way all my business ended—with silence on the other end and my terms left unchallenged. He had tried to probe about "the deal," about Evelyn, about the leverage he thought he still had. But leverage only works when I allow it.
Once Evelyn became mine, the deal was no longer a negotiation. It was a fact.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and moved through the house. The morning light filtered through the tall windows, sharp lines of gold cutting across the floor. Somewhere in the quiet, I caught the faint sound of metal against wood.
I followed it.
In the kitchen, she stood with her back to me, sleeves rolled up, a knife in her hand as she chopped vegetables with more force than necessary. Like she was fighting something invisible.
My eyes narrowed. Evelyn always looked fragile, but there was steel buried under her skin—steel she thought she could hide from me. She couldn't.
Without a word, I closed the distance. She didn't hear me, not until I was already behind her.
My arms slid around her waist, pulling her back against me. Not gentle—possessive. Firm. She froze instantly, her whole body locking in place.
The knife slipped.
"Ah—"
A sharp hiss left her lips as the blade kissed her finger. Blood welled up immediately, bright against her pale skin.
I caught her hand before she could pull away. Her pulse hammered beneath my grip, but I didn't loosen it.
"Careless," I said, my voice low, cutting through the silence like a command. My breath brushed her ear, steady, unhurried. "You knew I was here. Your body did. But you ignored it."
Her chest rose and fell too quickly, the panic in her movements betraying her. She finally tried to twist out of my arms, but I didn't move. My hold didn't waver.
I turned her injured hand slightly, watching the blood trail down her fingertip. Then, slowly, deliberately, I reached for a cloth from the counter and wrapped it around her cut. My movements precise. Controlled.
Only then did I release her enough for her to turn and face me.
Her eyes were wide, frightened, questioning.
I met them with the same cold calm I gave her father on the phone. "You bleed too easily, Evelyn. And you fear me too much. Both are problems."
I leaned in closer, just enough that she couldn't look away.
"Ask yourself this—" my voice dropped lower, colder—"what happens if you keep pretending you're not mine?"
I left the question hanging, because I didn't need her answer. The fear in her eyes was already enough.