I pressed my forehead to the glass, muscles trembling with rage at my own weakness. She was my greatest fault and my deepest hunger. My downfall.
I stepped out, dried off, pulled on shorts, and went to the bedroom. Daisy lay awake, like she’d been waiting. When I moved near, her pupils widened; she sat up.
“What happened to you?” she whispered, tracing the scratch on my cheek.
“I was with Mason.”
“Damian… no. Why?” Her voice shook. “He’ll take revenge.”
“He deserved every hit. I’d do it again.” I brushed a strand from her face and kissed her forehead.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Better.”
“Hungry?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Did he hurt you anywhere else?”
“It’s not worth mentioning. But Mason looks like he got mauled by a bear.”
“Damian, that was a mistake.”
“I had to.”
She exhaled softly, took my hand, and pulled me down. We lay on our sides, facing. She closed her eyes and tucked herself against my chest—fragile, quiet, as if she had no idea what raged inside me.
“Tomorrow we’ll talk about Mason,” she murmured. “I’m so tired.”
I wrapped an arm around her and stayed silent. If I could, I’d protect her from the whole world.
But the world wasn’t the problem. I was.
My fingers slid through her hair. I kissed her forehead—gentle, unfamiliar. The images in my head cut sharper than any blade. I would kill him. He wasn’t the first, and he wouldn’t be the last. Men like him forgot consequences existed. Men like me had none to give.
I pulled Daisy closer. She didn’t know how much blood already stained my hands, or that I was about to cross lines I’d sworn never to cross again. Too late. And this time, it was personal.
Chapter 19 Daisy
Damian drove me to work, his hand locked tight around the steering wheel. The ride was steeped in silence, heavy and pressing, broken only by the worried glances he kept throwing my way.
“Are you sure you can go back to work?”
“That’s the fourth time you’ve asked, and my answer hasn’t changed.”
“You could take some time off.”
“Damian.” His name slipped from my lips softer than I intended—contradictory, the way he always was.
I had spent the last few days with him, and he hadn’t touched me once. No demanding hands, no hungry eyes, no orders, no dark, consuming kisses that usually stole the ground from under me. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was exactly what I needed: space, breath, a pause. But then why did everything feel so unbearably empty? I hadn’t asked him to keep his distance, and I knew heonly did it because he thought it was right. Because he believed I was broken.
But I wasn’t broken. I was furious. Exhausted. Done with feeling weak. I wanted his hands on me again. I wanted to be wanted by him—pulled back to us, back to myself, back to the part of me Mason could never take away. I wanted myself back, and that was only possible if I let Damian in.
Yet he held me at arm’s length, acting as if I might shatter in his hands. And still, I could feel something inside him pulled taut, his control sharpening like a steel cable ready to snap. And every time my mind touched the memory of that night with Mason, a shadow slid between us. No clear images. No screams. No blood. Just a sickening weight of powerlessness I couldn’t shake. I had given in because I thought I had no choice. Because fear was stronger than disgust. Because I wanted to protect Damian. But that didn’t make it consensual. Not really. It had been coercion disguised as choice, and it burned inside me like acid.
And still my body ached for closeness—for Damian’s closeness. I craved his grip, his voice, the dark pull of him. Maybe because wanting him meant taking back control. Maybe because needing him proved I wasn’t just a victim anymore.
