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Who Wrote this Script?!

Penulis: Bree
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-09-12 23:12:12

ISABELLA’S POV

You know those moments where you think your brain misheard something? Like maybe the universe glitched for a second?

Yeah. That’s what this felt like.

Because surely, surely Jace didn’t just call me his fiancée in front of his aristocratic mother, a villainous socialite, and a woman who literally just oozed “I-own-him” energy.

Right?

Except… everyone was staring.

At me.

At us.

The chandelier didn’t fall. No lightning crashed through the window to save me. No fire alarm miraculously went off to grant me an escape.

Just silence.

Anastasia’s nails tapped once against her wine glass. A single, sharp click that sounded like the beginning of a war.

Mrs Salvador’s lips were pressed into a line so thin it could’ve sliced marble.

Jessie was the first to move, dabbing the corner of her lips with a napkin, doing her best to hide her wicked little grin like this was the best dinner theater she’d ever witnessed.

“You’re engaged?” Mrs Salvador’s voice came
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  • Damien's Willing Captive    Who Wrote this Script?!

    ISABELLA’S POV You know those moments where you think your brain misheard something? Like maybe the universe glitched for a second? Yeah. That’s what this felt like. Because surely, surely Jace didn’t just call me his fiancée in front of his aristocratic mother, a villainous socialite, and a woman who literally just oozed “I-own-him” energy. Right? Except… everyone was staring. At me. At us. The chandelier didn’t fall. No lightning crashed through the window to save me. No fire alarm miraculously went off to grant me an escape. Just silence. Anastasia’s nails tapped once against her wine glass. A single, sharp click that sounded like the beginning of a war. Mrs Salvador’s lips were pressed into a line so thin it could’ve sliced marble. Jessie was the first to move, dabbing the corner of her lips with a napkin, doing her best to hide her wicked little grin like this was the best dinner theater she’d ever witnessed. “You’re engaged?” Mrs Salvador’s voice came

  • Damien's Willing Captive    Fiancée? But I Just Got Here!

    ISABELLA'S POV The doors opened and the interior of the mansion hit me like a blast of royalty. Gold accents. Massive chandeliers. A staircase that probably led to Narnia. And a floor so shiny I could see the shame in my reflection. He led me to the dining room, which looked like the royal court was about to convene. Long polished mahogany table. Crystal wine glasses. A vase of orchids that probably cost more than my rent. And there she was. The Devil’s mother. Perched at the far end of the table, perfectly manicured, powdered, and pressed. When her eyes met mine, her lips curled like I’d tracked mud into the Louvre. “Good evening, Mrs Salvador,” I greeted politely with a forced smile. "You made me wait for her?" she hissed at Jace. He gave her a smile that was half sarcasm, half ice. "Calm down, Mother. You heard what the doctor said during his last visit. Anger’s not good for your health." She shot him a death glare. He pulled out a chair for me like this was

  • Damien's Willing Captive    Unknown Number

    ISABELLA'S POV My heart stopped before my breath did. The screen glowed coldly from where it lay face-up on the floor, and my lungs refused to expand. Just five words. All caps. Like someone screaming in silence. I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE. My fingers twitched, useless for a full second before I slowly bent and picked the phone up, hands trembling. I stared. Read it again. The number was unknown. No contact name. No context. Just that message. And suddenly, my entire office felt too quiet. I sat frozen, phone in hand, heartbeat thudding like war drums in my ears. A cold sweat began to crawl down the back of my neck. I locked the screen. Then unlocked it again. The message was still there. “What the hell…?” My throat dried up like cotton. Before I could process what the hell this was— Another notification. My fingers flinched so violently I almost dropped the phone again. This time I didn’t wait. I tapped it open like I was defusing a bomb.

  • Damien's Willing Captive    Of Course It Gets Worse

    Isabella’s POV By the time I settled into my chair and calmed my racing heart, I’d already convinced myself the morning had been a vivid hallucination triggered by some stress-induced brain worm. None of it happened. Then Linda strolled into my office with the confidence of a woman who hadn’t just threatened to rearrange a Botoxed socialite’s face and flirted shamelessly with my nipple nemesis. When I first started working here, Linda and I were not friends. In fact, she hated me on sight. She used to call me “the spineless curly girl”—loud enough for people in the break room to hear, too. Said I looked like I cried when I ran out of almond milk and probably kept crystals in my bra. Every time I tried to talk to her after meetings or even said hi, she rolled her eyes so hard I worried they might get stuck. To be fair, she was probably right about the crystals. But all that changed in the second week, when a customer tried to corner me in the storage hallway after hou

  • Damien's Willing Captive    Whispered Scandal

    Isabella’s POV My jaw dropped. Wait. She’s his mother? Jace Salvador stood at the threshold of Display Room Two like sin in a tailored suit. His messy brown hair was tousled in that effortless I-just-woke-up-and-still-look-like-sex way. His sleeves were rolled up, forearms veined, watch gleaming. He looked like the villain in a telenovela that everyone rooted for. And worse—his eyes found mine immediately. Oh! No. Not the slow, lingering kind of glance. It was recognition. Instant. Sharp. His mouth twitched. Dear Lord, please don’t let him say anything. Do not, under any divine circumstance, let this man open his gorgeous mouth and yell something like: “Hey, nipple-sucker!" But no. He just stared. A glint of mischief lit his eyes like a spark in gasoline. His mother, in full Karen regalia—pearls, pastel heels, power hunger—turned to him with the flourish of a woman about to throw a tantrum at Buckingham Palace. “Wild animal?” Linda muttered under her breath.

  • Damien's Willing Captive    Tantrum in Heels

    Isabella’s POV I woke up to the intrusion of sunlight. Yes, sunlight. That wicked bastard had the audacity to stream straight through the open curtains, stabbing my eyelids like a thousand tiny knives. My brain throbbed against my skull like it was trying to break out. I winced, groaned, curled up, then groaned again. For five full minutes, I lay there like a sacrificial offering to the Hangover Gods, whispering silent apologies to whatever divine being I had offended last night. A slow, pulsing ache settled behind my eyes. My mouth tasted like guilt and tequila. I blinked, blurry and disoriented, staring at the ceiling fan rotating above me like a lazy executioner. Where… the fuck… am I? My head lolled to the side. Big bed. Soft sheets. High-end hotel decor. Not my room. Not my house. Panic slammed into my chest like a damn freight train, as fragments of last night poured in. My heart raced. I threw the covers off— Naked. Stark. Naked.

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