She’s Here

Damien’s breath caught in his throat as he turned toward Isabella, the heat from the woman’s lips still lingering on his own. Time seemed to freeze, every muscle in his body tensing with disbelief.

He had thought this was a night like so many others—a distraction, a momentary indulgence to drown out the haunting memories of one night long ago. But now, here she stood, her wide, shocked eyes boring into his.

He exhaled sharply, pushing the other woman aside. She stumbled slightly, a smirk playing on her lips as she adjusted her dress. “We’re done. Get out,” he said flatly, his voice suddenly devoid of the heat it held just seconds earlier.

“Is that how it is?” She sauntered closer, placing her palm on his chest. “You’re paying for the wasted night, darling.”

Damien slipped a wad of cash into her hand, his gaze never leaving Isabella. “Take it and get out,” he said through clenched teeth.

She leaned up on her toes, brushing her lips against his in a lingering kiss. “Call me,” she whispered before walking away, her heels clicking softly against the floor. He barely noticed her. His entire world was now reduced to one person, one moment.

How the hell is she here?

Isabella took a step back, the bright light of the hallway revealing the fear in her eyes. She seemed to shrink under his intense gaze, her arms wrapping protectively around her body. Damien strode toward her slowly, every step echoing with purpose.

It seemed as though he was hallucinating…or imagining her.

The memories he’d tried so hard to bury surged forward—the taste of her skin, the way she’d trembled beneath him, the desperate moans that still haunted his nights, even the feel of her plump breasts on his large hands.

He wanted her then, and he wanted her right now, but this was different. There was something more savage inside him now—a twisted cocktail of longing, regret, and fury.

He reached her, his chest heaving. “It's you,” he said, his voice rough with desire and accusation. She flinched as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. But there was no spark of recognition in her eyes, no flicker of the woman who had once shared his bed. The woman who had given up her virginity to him, a total stranger.

“Who are you?” Her voice was soft, trembling. “What am I doing here? Please… let me go. I don’t know you, I—”

Her words were like a dagger to his chest.

His jaw clenched. “You don’t know me?” he repeated, incredulous.

She shook her head frantically. “I swear, I—I don’t even know how I got here! Please, I just came home for the holidays. I don’t want trouble.”

Damien’s grip tightened at his sides. His mind raced.

She doesn’t remember?

Her words were like an arrow piercing his chest. How could she not remember? The torment that had driven him to seek out countless faceless women all for a fleeting echo of her touch—now twisted into something deeper.

Fury.

Desperation.

A twisted sense of possession.

"Never," he growled, his voice vibrating with something dark and primal. "You can never leave."

Her breath hitched. She turned suddenly, making a break for it.

But Damien was faster. His arm shot out, wrapping around her waist. Her body collided with his, and the heat of her skin sent a bolt of electricity straight through him.

She struggled, her fists pounding against his chest as she screamed, but her strength was nothing compared to his. Every movement, every brush of her body against his only fanned the flames raging inside him.

He wanted to take her. To feel her naked skin on his. To drive inside her till they both collapse.

“Stop,” he demanded, his voice dangerously low. But she didn’t stop—couldn’t stop. The fear in her eyes was real, and it tore at him in ways he didn’t understand.

He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her down the dimly lit corridor. She kicked and twisted, but he held her firm, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

He kicked open a door, stepping inside and setting her down. She stumbled backward, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Damien shut the door behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the tense silence. He leaned against the wood, struggling to regain control of himself. To calm his racing heart.

On the outside, he was all cold steel and indifference. Inside, he was a storm, his pulse racing and his body aching with desire. The mere sight of her, the feel of her skin beneath his hands—it was enough to drive him to the brink.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I swear on my life, I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t want any trouble and I'm not gonna tell anyone, so just let me go. Please.”

He had given clear orders—Osmond’s daughter was to be taken from the airport as leverage. So how did Isabella end up here instead?

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay still when every fiber of his being wanted to close the distance between them. “You think I’d let you go?” he asked, his voice harsh, almost cruel. “After everything your father did?”

This wasn’t Osmond’s daughter—he knew that. But he needed a reason to keep her by his side until he figured out how to make her stay… forever.

“You knew my dead father? What the fuck did he do?” Isabella cried. She pressed herself against the far wall, her gaze darting around the room as if searching for a way out. He could see her chest rising and falling rapidly, the pulse at her neck pounding. He wanted to touch her, to feel her beneath him again, but the fear in her eyes held him back.

“Rest, Ariana” he said finally, his tone softening just a fraction. “You’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

Her eyes flared with defiance. “I am not Ariana! You have the wrong person!”

He ignored her.

“Your father fooled me once. I won’t let that happen again.”

With that, he turned and left the room, locking the door behind him. His hands were shaking as he walked away, his body thrumming with adrenaline and unfulfilled desire.

He needed answers. Needed to know where she had been hiding and why she doesn't have any memory of their passionate night together.

In the living room, he grabbed his phone and dialed a number, his fingers trembling. “I have no idea how it happened but…thank you, for bringing her to me.”

There was a pause. “Boss? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The lady you kidnapped? That's not Osmond's daughter,” Damien replied.

“Fuck! Should I arrange for—” the person began but Damien cut him off abruptly.

No.” Damien cut him off.

Another pause.

“Then… what should we do?”

Damien's lips curled into a dangerous smirk.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”

He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the couch. Running a hand over his face, he tried to steady himself.

Isabella was here.

And she wasn’t going anywhere.

That was for damn sure.