“No.”
“Then tonight’s your chance. I rented the Metropolitan Museum of Art for us.”
I stared at him. “You what?”
“I know the director.”
“You rented an entire museum?” My voice broke into a breathless laugh. “Damian, that’s insane.”
Overwhelmed, I threw my arms around his neck. I felt him stiffen under the sudden embrace—but in that moment, I didn’t care.
The museum’s vast halls stretched around us, cloaked in a reverent stillness. Soft light gave statues and paintings a borrowed life, as if history breathed through them.
“The whole museum just for us. This is a special moment for me,” I whispered.
We moved from gallery to gallery, Damian leading with a casual certainty, as if the place belonged to him. The museum felt like a collision of past and present, and in that collision, he grew more magnetic. I watched him—how he moved, fluid and precise, each step deliberate, each gesture measured. His presence filled the room; he knew it.
Damian didn’t merely speak to women; he ensnared them with dangerous grace. He built walls of desire and control, brick by brick, until escape felt impossible. Every smile carried a double-edged promise, every glance a veiled command. He knew exactly what they longed to hear—what they wanted before they even knew it themselves. That knowledge frightened me.
“Do you see this statue?” Damian asked, stopping before a Greek sculpture. “It’s a copy of Phidias’ work, one of the greatest sculptors of ancient Greece. He breathed life into stone.”
“It’s breathtaking. And I’m amazed at how much you know.”
“My passion for history and art never fades. I have the privilege of working with some of the best experts alive. But enough about me—what’s your favorite piece in this room?”
I scanned the space and pointed to a painting. “That one. The colors, the technique—everything about it fascinates me. The way the hues blur into each other feels alive. It’s raw emotion on canvas.”
Damian studied me, as if committing every word to memory. “You see art in a way very few do, and that’s why you captivate me completely.”
His voice was sweet poison, pulling me deeper into his orbit. I never knew whether he would be the charming seducer or the cold manipulator; that uncertainty kept me taut. And yet I couldn’t break free. I was trapped in his undertow, desire and dread braided so tightly I could no longer tell which pulled harder. He didn’t just curate artifacts. He curated people.
And I was already on a plinth.
Chapter 20 Daisy
Isat behind my desk, entering new arrivals into the system. The store was quiet—the low hum of the AC, a rustle of paper, nothing else. Yesterday, we’d wandered the exhibitions for hours and lost ourselves in what we said and what we didn’t. His smile promised too much and held back even more. He wore a mask I would probably never fully penetrate. And still, the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, was unlike anything I’d ever known. His words wrapped around me like a sweet spell. His glances captivated. His touch aroused. This man was my downfall, and I loved him.
He’d told me he had a meeting today with Mason’s lawyers about the assault. The whole thing would likely cost him a fortune. I couldn’t stop wondering what Mason’s next move would be. Fear for Damian pressed heavy in my chest. With painful clarity, I realized the sacrifice I had made for him had been in vain. Mason would only seek revenge more fiercely now.
I pulled my phone from my bag and typed out a message to Jenn.
14:32 – Daisy:Do you know yet about the weekend?
14:42 – Jenn:Can’t. Saturday date and Sunday I have to study.
14:43 – Daisy:Date? With who?
14:44 – Jenn:His name’s Walden, I know him from uni.
14:45 – Daisy:Tell me afterwards how it was. Miss you!
14:45 – Jenn:Miss you too. Next week?
14:46 – Daisy:Definitely!
14:47 – Jenn:What about you and Damian?
14:48 – Daisy:He rented a museum for us yesterday.
