Damian’s jaw tightened. “Did he hurt you?”
“Not directly.” The memory pressed heavy on my shoulders. “He drugged me. I was helpless, and he… wanted to hand me over to his friends.”
Silence. Damian’s face hardened. “And where is he now?”
“I left because his apartment was on the same street as mine. I just needed to get out. Far away.”
“Will you tell me his name?”
“No. I don’t want to give him space in my head anymore.” I forced the spotlight away. “What about your parents? Did they pass suddenly?”
“They were already old. First my father, then my mother. But they weren’t my biological parents.”
“Oh.”
“I was adopted,” he said simply. “The Millers raised me. I owe them everything. Without them, I wouldn’t be the man I am today.”
“And why were you adopted?”
He ran a hand through his hair, pausing as if sifting through words. “My biological parents abandoned me on the street. I wasn’t even five years old. They never came back.”
My chest ached for him—a man who had survived so much and built himself into something unshakable.
“I’m so sorry, Damian.”
“Don’t waste pity on me. You don’t know me, Daisy. You think you do—but you have no idea what lives inside me.”
He set his wineglass down with deliberate calm. “If you knew the things I’ve done, you’d look at me differently. I’m a cold-bloodedbusinessman. In my world, you survive by sacrificing—and I’ve sacrificed plenty. Women included. Every relationship I’ve had was just a means to an end. I’ve used women either to achieve my goals or to satisfy my urges.”
My throat went dry. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to know the truth. I’m not the man you think I am just because we’ve shared a few hours of conversation.” He poured more wine, his gaze sharp, unflinching—like a blade already marked for a cut. “So let me be brutally honest. More honest than I’ve ever been with anyone.”
A heavy silence fell between us.
“When I first saw you, I didn’t think about how pretty you were. Or how clever. I thought:How long until she’s mine? How fast can I reprogram her until she breathes me like air?I wanted to break you. Own you. Not just your body—your mind. Your will. I wanted to bind you so tightly you’d give me everything you are—willingly. And believe me, I can. This isn’t my first time.”
He leaned in, close enough that I felt his presence settle cold against my skin. “I’m not the man you should fall in love with. I’m the man you should fear. The man who lets you love him—just to watch you shatter.”
He’d said it. Without hesitation. Without a mask. And I just sat there—numb. He didn’t want to win me. He wanted to break me. Not love me—ownme. This wasn’t a confession. It was a sentence.
My heart pounded so violently I was sure he heard it. Maybe he did. Maybe he liked it. The urge to run, to lock myself away in the sleeping cabin, flashed hot and fast—but my body stayed frozen.My stomach twisted as if it had swallowed his words whole and couldn’t spit them back out.
Why wasn’t I screaming? Why wasn’t I telling him how sick this was? Why wasn’t I on my feet, shoving the words down his throat and saving myself?
Because I couldn’t. Because I sat there like a print in freshly fallen snow. And he was the storm that could sweep me away. Because part of me wanted to know what it would feel like if I really fell.
Finally, I understood what this was. Not a boss–employee fling. Not a dangerous flirt laced with power imbalance. No—this was something else. Another league entirely. He was the devil who kissed you as you fell—and smiled while doing it.
And me? I stayed, frozen in fear and, damn it, in desire. Because I’d already tasted it—that addiction. That bottomless, merciless addiction to him. He was my high. My poison. And I was already drunk on his darkness.
Any woman with sense would have stood up by now. But I didn’t. I sat there, wanting him, even knowing better. How broken was that? How broken wasI? Maybe I’d never been searching for safety. Maybe I’d only ever been searching for someone who could touch me so deeply I’d be forced to piece myself back together.
And now he sat across from me—with that destructive smile, with a love that promised nothing but pain. And I knew: I would take it. Open-armed. Hoping that when it was over, there would still be something of me left.
I forced myself not to let anything show. I picked up my wineglass, leaned back, mirrored his posture, and met his gaze over the rim.
“And yet,” I said, my eyes daring him, “I’ve bewitched you enough that you couldn’t stop thinking about me.”
