Damien’s POVI stirred, still half-draped in sleep. My limbs felt heavy, like they hadn’t fully returned from the chaos of last night. A soft groan escaped me as I rolled onto my side, the haze in my head lifting slowly.But then I remembered.Her. Us.The night before.A small smile pulled at my lips before I even opened my eyes. For a moment, I let myself stay there—willing the memory to wrap around me again like a warm blanket. Her warmth in my arms. Her trembling breath against my neck. The way she clung to me like I was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.I turned to reach for her.My arm brushed against... nothing.Just cool sheets.My eyes flew open.She’s not there!My body jerked upright, the smile vanishing instantly as unease took over. The space beside me was empty—no indentation, no warmth. Just linen.Shit.My heart began to race, all kinds of terrible thoughts piling on top of each other. Had she left? Was she scared and regretting everything?What if she
Damien’s POVShe was still in the hotel’s white robe, the fabric slightly damp around the edges, clinging to her like a second skin. Her hair, half-dried, framed her face in soft waves, and there was a flush on her cheeks from the hot shower—but it wasn’t warmth. It was something more delicate, more breakable.To me, she looked heartbreakingly beautiful. Not because of the way the light caught her skin or the way her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but because of everything she’d just survived.She looked like a painting on the edge of ruin—fragile, sacred, still standing.And all I wanted to do was take care of her.Wrap her in something warmer. Feed her something real. Let her know she was safe, really safe, and that I wasn’t going anywhere.Then she said, softly, “It was your mother… wasn’t it?”My throat tightened. I’d hoped she wouldn’t ask.I didn’t want to lie to her.So I just nodded.She didn’t press. Thank God. I reached over and gently set the now-empty mug on the bedsid
Celeste’s POVThe hot water wasn’t helping.It poured down my skin in steady sheets, swirling around my shoulders, my arms, my chest—scalding, relentless. But I still couldn’t feel clean.I stood under the stream like a statue, one hand braced against the tile wall, the other moving in angry, desperate scrubs over my skin.Over my breasts. Down my thighs. Across my neck. My face.Again and again.I didn’t even notice when I started crying. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. Just silent streams running down my cheeks, mixing with the water and vanishing before they ever had a chance to exist.He touched me.I squeezed my eyes shut. The images returned immediately, burned into the backs of my eyelids like scars I’d never get rid of. His breath. His voice. His dirty hands.No. Don’t go there. Don’t let it own you.My breath hitched. I scrubbed harder.My skin was red. But still I felt filthy. Contaminated. Like I’d been smeared with something that went deeper than the surface—something invisibl
Celeste’s POVIn the sudden blinding glare from the hallway, a shadow burst through the doorway—broad-shouldered, wild-eyed, fury radiating from every inch of him.It’s Damien! “Get your fucking hands off her!” he bellowed, voice thunderous.His fist connected with a sickening crack, sending the bastard flying backward, crashing into the corner of the room. A chair tipped over. Something metal clattered to the floor.I gasped, crawling backward into the corner as shock and relief crashed into me all at once. My limbs were trembling, still numb from the drug, but my heart pounded wildly at the sight.Damien didn’t stop. He grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him against the floor before climbing on top and unleashing a barrage of blows. “You think you can touch her?!” he growled, his voice hoarse with rage. “Over my dead body, you fucking asshole!”Each punch landed with brutal force. The man barely had time to raise his arms. His nose was shattered. His lip burst open.“Damien,
Celeste’s POVMy head throbbed.A low, pulsing ache bloomed at the base of my skull, and my limbs felt like dead weight. The air smelled of mildew, piss, and something sharp and chemical—like gasoline or old cleaning fluid.I opened my eyes.The room was dim, the only light coming from a dusty overhead bulb that flickered erratically. Concrete walls. No windows. Rusted pipes running along the ceiling. A camera mounted in the corner, blinking red.Panic slammed into my chest.I tried to move—only to realize my wrists were bound to the arms of a chair with zip ties. My ankles too. Duct tape bit into the skin of one arm where the sleeve had been yanked.I groaned, trying to muster up enough strength. Just then, I heard footsteps coming. I twisted toward the sound, heart racing.A man with greasy hair emerged from the shadows. He had on a stained shirt that clung to his sunken frame. His grin sent a chill straight to my spine.“There she is,” he drawled. “Sleeping Beauty wakes up.”I sta
Celeste’s POVMy cheek stung.But that wasn’t what shattered me.It was the final, brutal confirmation that everything I’d ever hoped for—dreamed of—was nothing but a cruel lie.I stood there, frozen, one hand slowly rising to cover the spot where her hand had landed. The sharp pain was nothing compared to the hollowness that opened up inside me. A bottomless pit where longing used to live. My throat tightened.I’d spent years imagining what it would be like to find my parents again. How it would feel to be embraced, wanted, loved. But here I was—slapped across the face by the woman who gave birth to me. And for what?For daring to stand against the criminal she’d replaced me with?Viv looked horrified now, her expression contorted in a mix of guilt and rage like she wasn’t sure which one she wanted to lean into. Her lips parted, but no words came.Nathaniel quickly stepped forward, looking pale. “Celeste, she didn’t mean to—she’s not well, the doctors said she shouldn’t even be out o