Morning After

Chapter 4: Morning After

Morning light stabbed through my curtains like an accusation.

I woke up tangled in damp sheets, Damien’s jacket still draped over the chair beside my bed. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to move it. His scent clung to the fabric dark spice, smoke, and something unmistakably him. Every time I breathed, I remembered the way he had looked at me last night. Not like I was fragile. Not like I was someone’s girlfriend.

Like I was something he had already decided belonged to him.

My phone was dead. I plugged it in and waited, stomach twisting. When it finally powered on, the notifications flooded in.

Alex:17 missed calls.

Alex: Isla, where the hell are you? We need to talk.

Alex:This is ridiculous. Come home.

Alex:Bianca said you left with my dad?? Call me.

I stared at the screen until it blurred. Three years. Three years of being the understanding girlfriend, the good girl who never made scenes, who smiled through every red flag. And one night one single night where he chose her over me had shattered it all.

A soft knock at the door made me flinch.

I padded over in my robe, heart hammering. When I opened it, a sleek black garment bag hung on the handle with a small cream envelope pinned to it. No delivery person in sight.

Inside the envelope, one line in bold, masculine handwriting:

Wear this today. D

I unzipped the bag. A soft cream sweater dress, modest but expensive, the kind of piece that cost more than my monthly rent. Silk lingerie underneath delicate, barely-there, clearly chosen with intention. No note explaining. No options.

Just his command.

My thighs clenched involuntarily. I should have been angry. I should have sent it all back. Instead, I found myself stepping into the lingerie, the fabric cool and luxurious against my skin. The dress fit perfectly, skimming my curves like it had been measured on me.

Another knock sharper this time.

I opened the door again, expecting another package. Instead, Damien stood there in a tailored black suit, looking like sin dressed for a boardroom. Freshly showered, hair still slightly damp, he filled my doorway completely.

“You wore it,” he said, voice low. His gaze dragged slowly down my body, appreciative but restrained. “Good girl.”

Heat flooded my face. “You can’t just… send things like this. Or show up unannounced.”

“I can.” He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind him. “I already did.”

He didn’t crowd me this time. He walked to my small kitchen counter, set down a takeaway coffee and a paper bag that smelled like fresh pastries, then turned to face me.

“Alex has been calling you,” he stated. Not a question.

I nodded, arms wrapping around myself. “He’s angry.”

“Let him be.” Damien’s tone stayed calm, almost indifferent. “He had three years to treat you right. He chose wrong. Now he gets to live with it.”

I swallowed. “And you? What do you get?”

His stormy eyes met mine. For a long moment he said nothing, just studied me like I was a puzzle he intended to solve at his own pace. Then he crossed the room slowly, stopping just close enough that I had to tilt my head to look up at him.

“I get to show you what it feels like when someone actually sees you, Isla.” His hand lifted, knuckles brushing a stray strand of hair from my temple. The touch was feather-light, gone too soon. “No more drowning. No more second place.”

My breath shook. “This is insane. You’re his father.”

“I’m the man who pulled you out of the water while he watched someone else.” The words were quiet, but they carried weight. “Titles don’t change facts.”

He glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting in thirty minutes. Wear the dress. Eat the breakfast. And Isla?”

I waited, pulse racing.

“Don’t answer Alex’s calls today.” It wasn’t a request. It was delivered with that same quiet authority that made resistance feel pointless. “If he wants to talk, he can talk to me.”

He turned to leave, then paused at the door. “One more thing.”

I held my breath.

“You look beautiful in what I chose for you.” A faint, dangerous smile touched his lips. “I knew you would.”

The door clicked shut.

I stood there in the middle of my apartment, wearing his gift, surrounded by the things he’d left behind, feeling more claimed than I ever had in three years with his son.

And the worst part?

I didn’t hate it.

I picked up the coffee. It was exactly how I liked it oat milk, one sugar. He’d noticed. Of course he had.

My phone buzzed again. Alex.

I silenced it.