I looked at him closely. Firelight warmed his bronze-toned skin, throwing shadows across the lines of his face. His dark eyes carried the weight of untold stories.
“Why?” I asked.
He laid another branch on the fire and watched it catch. “Hasn’t Daisy told you about her biological father?”
“She has.”
“He was a bastard. Neck-deep in mafia business. Daisy saw far too much in those years. He took her with him to meetings, surrounded her with drugs, violence, men who thrived on unpredictability.”
“How old was Daisy then?”
“She was nine when I came into Claire’s life.”
“And her mother? Where was she through all this?”
Chase exhaled hard and shook his head. “I love Claire. She’s the best woman I’ve ever known. But back then, she wasn’t in a good place. She was fragile, lost. She spent too much time chasing her own peace, numbing herself with drugs. Before we met, she drifted from place to place on so-called soul-searching trips, leaving Daisy with her father. By the time I crossed paths with her, she was already divorced, living in an apartment he still paid for.”
“And she knew what Daisy was going through?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it. Claire wasn’t strong enough to face it, let alone stop it. She couldn’t even save herself.” He drew in a breath, the firelight flaring as if it swallowed a piece of the memory. “From the first moment I met Daisy, there was something between us—an unspoken trust. She knew instinctively I wasn’t like the men her father kept around. She let me in faster than I expected. Told me about what she’d seen, what she’d been forced to endure.”
Chase leaned back, staring into the dark beyond the flames. “It broke me, seeing so much damage in someone so young.”
No wonder she runs toward control—it’s the only thing that ever looked like safety.
“I knew I had to get her out. Both of them. Bringing them here was the only way. It wasn’t easy convincing her father. He didn’t want to let her go. When he found out what one of his friends had done to Daisy, he killed the man. But that’s something she’ll have to tell you herself. Eventually, I made it clear: if she stayed in that world of drugs and violence, it would destroy her. It took time, but in the end, he agreed.”
I stared into the embers. A single thought lodged itself in my chest: I needed to talk to someone. Chase’s words echoed, reshaping my understanding of Daisy. Her craving for my control was an echo of the powerlessness she’d grown up with. What she sought from me was a twisted kind of refuge. And I saw it then: my own hunger for control fed the very thing she craved, even as it consumed her all over again.
Chapter 14 Daisy
Damian lay next to me in bed. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast warm shadows on the walls, while outside, the quiet chirping of crickets cut through the stillness of the night. I was worn out from the long day at the ranch, yet restless with all the impressions and conversations. After we had both showered, I nestled closer to him.
“Thank you for today,” he said softly. “It was good to see the place that means so much to you.”
My fingers traced the tattoos on his arms. Moonlight slipped through the half-open curtains, making the dark ink on his skin seem almost luminous. I loved how his muscles shifted under my touch, and my curiosity grew as I studied the shapes and symbols etched into him.
“What do they mean?” I whispered, eyes fixed on the ink. My fingertips followed a curved line running down his forearm. “Every tattoo must have a story, right?”
Damian lifted his head slightly, watching me as I studied him. “Plenty of stories,” he murmured, sinking back into the pillows, his hand resting lightly against my back. “Ask.”
I traced the branching lines over his forearm. “Roots?”
“It’s my first thought of time. Roots that reach deep into the earth, like the past that shapes us. The roots stand for everything that ties me to history—archaeology, ancient cultures. My attempt to grow with the past. Never forget it.”
I pushed up a little, my gaze moving to his chest, also covered in ink. At the center was an open book filled with ancient script. “And the book?” I asked.
Damian followed my gaze, placing his hand over the tattoo as if to feel it. “Knowledge,” he said. “It’s why I studied archaeology. There’s nothing more powerful than knowledge—ancient texts and forgotten stories buried in ruins.”
My fingers traced a delicate spiral winding across his skin. “That almost looks like…”
“The Labyrinth of Knossos,” he finished for me. “The journey, the search, the finding. Sometimes you only move forward by losing yourself. It reminds me that even painful steps bring me closer to the truth.”
I brushed my fingertip across a tattoo stretching along his ribs. “It’s fascinating,” I murmured. “Your tattoos are like a map of your life.”
Suddenly, his phone vibrated on the nightstand. The sound cut through the stillness like a blade through flesh. Damian reached for it, and I felt his body stiffen beneath me.
I lifted my head. “Everything okay?”
