“Just a few messages,” he said—too quickly. Too flat.
I studied him. His eyes remained on the screen too long. For a split second, an image of a woman flashed across it. My chest tightened. I pushed up on my elbows.
“Who was that?”
He didn’t answer right away. He set the phone down. Slowly. “No one.”
“No one?”
His gaze snapped to me—sharp, predatory, like an animal ready to fight. “Daisy,” he said calmly, almost too calmly. “Let it go.”
Trust dies quieter than love—but it always dies first.
I didn’t want to sound like some jealous girl, but unease crawled up my throat.
“I’m just asking,” I murmured, my mouth dry. “Because you almost killed Oliver for getting too close to me.”
His jaw tightened. “She’s just a friend. From before.”
“Someone you still see?” I hated the sound of my own voice—the fragile sliver of hope tucked into words that already knew the answer.
He sat up slowly, holding himself back. The coldness in his eyes cut through me. “I don’t want a scene, Daisy.”
I swallowed the anger burning in my chest. Was a simple answer really too much?
“You’re such a damn hypocrite,” I whispered, sliding out of bed.
“You want to know if I still see her, or if I fuck her?” His voice dropped lower, sharper than I’d ever heard it. “You want an answeronly so you can hate me more after. No matter what I say now, it won’t change a thing. Not for you. Not for me.”
I froze. That was how little I meant to him. Not even an answer. He claimed every right to control me, to discipline me. But me? I had no right to know. No right to ask. No right to feel—or to be angry. I was only the one who wanted him.
And that was exactly why I stood here now, hollow with the thought:You don’t matter to him.
But my heart still wanted to believe that behind his hardness there was something that saw me. Wanted me. Loved me. Damn it, I had ended things, and he had gotten into a helicopter and flown to Woodstock immediately. That had to mean something.
A thought struck me: I’d never told him which club I was in. Had he had me followed? I would ask when the moment was right. But not now—not while I was boiling inside. My whole body buzzed with anger, lips burning with words I wanted to hurl at him. Only one slipped out.
“I’m sleeping in the office.”
I barely reached the door before he was behind me. His hand clamped around my wrist—firm, too firm. I tried to pull free, but Damian yanked me back in one swift motion. I stumbled, then hit the bed hard. One hand pressed against my back, the other pinning my wrists above my head. His weight caged me, his breath hot against my ear.
“You’re staying here,” he hissed. “With me. Do you understand?”
He wasn’t holding me down. He was holding himself together.
“Go to hell,”I whispered hoarsely. “I hate you. I’m done playing your sick game.” And I meant it. In that moment, I hated him with a fierceness so sharp it brought tears to my eyes. I hated the coldness. The violence in his words. The power he had over me.
And I hated myself even more for the trembling in my body, for the way I still wanted him. My breath came shallow, ragged. And as I lay beneath him—caught between escape and desire—I knew: I would stay again. Even though I should have run long ago.
“Get off me,” I forced out.
His grip only tightened, his presence above me suffocating. I felt his body tremble with rage.
“One more word about leaving me,” he growled against my ear, “and I’ll lose the last piece of myself that doesn’t want to tear you apart. And now you’re going to hold still.” His voice wasn’t loud. It was dangerously quiet. A warning that vibrated through my bones.
I felt trapped, like an animal thrashing in a snare.
“You can’t just control me,” I snapped back, though my voice sounded weaker than I wanted. His grip on my wrists tightened, as if he could squeeze the defiance right out of me. I felt the heat of his skin, the tension vibrating through him, and deep inside me rose a terrible realization: he meant every damn word. Fear crawled up inside me, cold and paralyzing—mixing with a sinful heat I couldn’t explain. My body betrayed me, responding to his dominance, to the darkness radiating from him. And that terrified me almost more than his words.
