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When History Knocks

Author: Bree
last update Last Updated: 2025-08-22 07:33:35

Damien’s POV

The ding came again. Sharp. Insistent. A reminder that no matter how tightly I tried to lock down my world, Cleo would always find a way in.

I turned to Isabella—no, Ariana now. My voice cut through the air like a blade.

“You’re my fiancée. From today henceforth, you sleep in my bed.”

Her lips parted. Confusion flickered in her wide, glassy eyes.

“If you want to live,” I added, softer but deadlier, “you follow my rules. Understood?”

She nodded. Hesitantly. Slowly. The same way someone nods at a loaded gun.

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the penthouse like a shotgun blast.

I didn’t move, still studied her carefully. What if she tries something funny. But she didn’t.

Isabella’s lips parted slightly, breath trembling. I could see her calculating—whether to run, whether to hide, whether she could make it to the balcony and throw herself over the edge if it meant escaping the madness she’d been dragged into.

But I was already walking.

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  • Damien's Willing Captive    Vanished

    Damien’s POVWhen Isabella didn’t return after seven minutes, I knew something was wrong.My gut twisted with a sudden violence, the way it used to on nights before a deadly meeting. I scanned the ballroom—faces blurred beneath masks, laughter like static. But one note was missing.Hers.I should have followed her.I stalked toward the ladies’ room, each step purposeful, each heartbeat louder than the last. I didn’t bother knocking—I shoved the door open, startling a pair of women at the mirror. Neither was her.The last stall was closed.“Isabella,” I called sharply. No response.The women stared. I ignored them.I kicked the door open.Empty.The breath in my lungs turned to fire.The knot in my stomach coiled tighter as a bad feeling crept into my chest, slow and cold.Empty.No sign of her.No red lips. No blood-black dress. No Isabella.Just a faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air, haunting and cruel.I stormed through the room—checking stalls, pushing open doors.Nothi

  • Damien's Willing Captive    Real or Fake?

    Isabella's POVWhen Damien said he’d send someone with an outfit, I pictured something classy. Understated. A simple cute dress. But the garment I pulled from the box was anything but.The fabric was black like ink—luxurious and impossibly soft, yet structured to perfection. It clung to my curves like it had been sewn onto my skin, wrapping around my waist and hugging the swell of my hips. The neckline plunged dangerously low, a sharp V that barely kept my breasts in place. The slit up the thigh whispered scandal. Every step promised a glimpse of sin.I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself.Ellie had come to fix my hair and makeup. She swept my hair into soft waves that framed my face and painted my lips blood red. It was a look that screamed dangerous woman—and maybe I was one now.At 7:06, I descended the grand staircase.Damien was already waiting by the car, glancing at his wristwatch. But the second his eyes landed on me, time stopped.He looked at me like he was goin

  • Damien's Willing Captive    Vivid Dreams

    Isabella’s POVThe silence stretched as he ran a hand down my arm—slow, possessive, familiar.“You’ll learn to stop fighting,” he said softly, almost like a promise. “It’ll be easier for both of us that way.”I didn’t answer. Just stared into the shadows dancing along the walls, feeling them crawl like ghosts over my skin.His breathing deepened, steady and unbothered, like this was just another night to him. But for me, it was the beginning of a war I didn’t choose.I lay still beside him, the storm raging outside mirroring the one brewing inside my chest.I will play the role.Smile when needed.
Touch when required.
Obey—for now.But inside?I will be sharpening my knives.Because six months was a long time.
Long enough to learn every crack in his armor.
Long enough to plan my escape.
And maybe… if I was clever enough… long enough to destroy him from the inside out.I closed my eyes, letting my body melt into his warmth, even as my soul recoiled.Let him think I belong to him.For

  • Damien's Willing Captive    The Contract

    “Did you just call me Isabella?” Her voice cracked like the thunder behind the windows.Damien’s gaze didn’t waver. He stood motionless for a second, then offered a dark smile, as though caught in a private joke. “Isn’t that what you’ve been screaming since you got here? That your name is Isabella?”She took a step forward, her voice steel-sharp. “That’s not what I asked. If you’re so sure I’m Ariana, your enemy’s daughter, then why call me by another name at all?”For the first time in days, Damien looked… uncertain. Not rattled, but thoughtful. He let out a slow breath and reached for her hand. His touch was warm, coaxing, but she didn’t miss the way his fingers still felt like velvet-wrapped chains.“Come,” he said, guiding her toward the velvet lounge in the corner of the library. He didn’t wait for her permission before settling her down gently and lowering himself into the seat beside her.She tensed when he pulled a crisp folder from the drawer beside him and slid it into her l

  • Damien's Willing Captive    The Storm

    Before Damien could respond, the power flickered.The overhead lights dimmed, then surged brighter, casting long, exaggerated shadows over their faces. Thunder cracked across the sky, loud enough to rattle the windows.Damien’s gaze lifted toward the floor-to-ceiling glass, brows narrowing. “Storm’s getting worse.”Ellie glanced at her phone. “It’s supposed to pass by midnight. But you know how this city gets when it rains… Everything shuts down.”“Except him,” Isabella muttered under her breath.Damien’s eyes snapped to hers, amused. “What was that?”“Nothing,” she said, picking up her fork.He leaned forward, voice dropping an octave. “You’re not afraid of storms, are you, little dove?”Isabella bristled. “Of course not.”“Good,” Ellie chimed in, pouring herself a glass of red wine. “Because this one might keep us indoors for a while.”There was something loaded in the way she said it. Something knowing.Isabella’s appetite faltered. Trapped in a mansion with Damien Voss, his siste

  • Damien's Willing Captive    soft Hands

    Damien’s POVI tossed my jacket on the marble counter and turned to her, my expression unreadable.“Come,” I said simply, motioning for her to follow me.She hesitated.“Dinner,” I added. “But first…”I didn’t wait for her answer. I turned and walked toward the room we now shared—My room. Her prison.She followed slowly, every step dragged by resistance. But she followed.Inside, the room was dimly lit, warm shadows dancing on the cream walls. I shrugged off my jacket, let it fall to the floor, then turned to her with a lazy kind of authority.“Help me change.”Her mouth fell open, eyes rounding. “Excuse me?”I didn’t blink. “Get me out of these wet clothes. I need something more comfortable.”She stifled a hiccup. A sound halfway between shock and disgust. “I’m not your maid, Mr Voss. I’m not your anything. Do I need to remind you that I was kidnapped?”That struck deeper than she probably realized.Not your anything.Not your fiancée.Not your woman.Not willing.I clenched my jaw,

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