The elevator carried me down. My chest crushed inward. No scream came.
The lobby blurred as I stumbled through. People laughed, talked, lived—while I broke apart. What had I thought? That I could change him? That I would be enough? That his game would end differently for me?
I wasn’t his world. I was only a chapter he would one day close. And I had forgotten—he was the author, not me.
I slammed the book down on the counter. The receptionist flinched. I didn’t meet her eyes.
“He wasn’t there.”
Before she could answer, I turned away. I only wanted out—out of the building, out of myself, out of this knot of pain and shame and longing.
I almost reached the exit when a hand closed around my arm. Strong. Unyielding. Damian.
I turned. His face was stone, only his eyes alive, burning with the fire that had already destroyed me once.
“What are you doing here?”
“Don’t worry.” My voice was flat. “I’m leaving.”
“Not like this.” He pulled me into the next room. The door shut behind us.
He let go of my hand—just long enough for me to think I could breathe.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, low.
“Didn’t look that way.”
“She’s irrelevant.”
“I’ve been nothing but air to you for two weeks.”
“Because I wanted to give you time.”
“Maybe that was for the best. Maybe we should keep it that way. You on your side, me on mine. No words. No closeness.” My throat tightened. “It’s worked so well so far.”
Damian stepped in. His presence suffocated; the air itself vibrated, binding me.
“You think you can just walk away? You think I’d let you?” He shook his head, closing the distance until my back hit the door. Frosted glass pressed cold against me—a reminder of the line I’d crossed long ago.
“I’ve tried to forget you. But you’re in my head like a curse. And I’m not someone you want to curse.”
His hand came to my cheek. Heavy. Possessive.
“You are my light. And I don’t know how to hold light without destroying it.”
I looked at him. And in that instant, I knew—I had no control over how close he could get. I’d walked into his cage willingly. Again and again. And now he was ready to lock it.
“If I walk away now,” I whispered, “will you let me go?”
He stayed silent. His fingers brushed over my mouth, slow, deliberate—savoring the moment. His moment. Balanced between threat and desire.
“Are you afraid of me, Daisy?” he breathed.
“Sometimes,” I managed.
“Good.” His voice was dark velvet. “You should be.” He lowered his forehead to mine, gaze drilling into me as if he could tear out every thought I’d tried to hide. “Do you know how much self-control it’s taken not to touch you?”
“I just watched you flirt with another woman.” The words burned in my mouth.
