Ch.2

Damien

By the time I got back home, my head was pounding.

I stepped out of the shower, dragging a towel across my hair, only to find Juliette standing in the middle of the bedroom. I met her eyes for only a second before darting my gaze somewhere else. I couldn't bear the way she was staring at me; like she was seeing a complete stranger.

Maybe she was.

I clenched my jaw, silently heading for the large wardrobe in the room. I yanked a plain T-shirt off a hanger, pulling on a pair of jeans. Normal clothes for a night that was anything but. I didn’t notice her moving until I caught her reflection in the wardrobe door mirror. She was slipping out of her dress, letting it pool silently at her feet. Every inch of her bare skin caught the low light, and for a second, my mind went blank.

I gripped one of the partitions in the wardrobe, my fingers digging into the wood. God, she was beautiful. Her body... was exquisite. She still wrecked me, even without trying. Our eyes locked in the mirror. She was moving towards me, her steps slow and deliberate in a way that had my hackles rising. I'd known there was no way she would agree to a divorce so easily, but that was as far as I could predict her reaction.

I knew I was only encouraging by holding her gaze in the mirror, giving her my attention, but I couldn’t stop looking even if I wanted to. And we both knew it. She stopped a few feet behind me and I finally turned to meet her eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, her voice barely carrying across the space between us.

I released a harsh, jagged breath. If she only knew the lethal trap closing in around us. I grinded my jaws, hardening my expression before the panic in my chest bled into my eyes. "The sooner you sign the papers and put us both out of our misery, the better," I said to her.

She had no idea the tightrope I was walking. I had to play the cold villain. I had to make her hate me enough to cut ties and leave New York.

Every brutal word was a blade to my own throat. Standing here, watching her bare, vulnerable, and completely innocent, the urge to tear the Hudson contract to pieces nearly suffocated me. She reached out, running a single finger down my forearm. I flinched like she burned me.

"I've already made my decision." I whispered.

"Maybe I can convince you," she whispered back, stepping even closer.

"Don’t bother," I muttered under my breath, but I didn’t move away. She slid her hand down my body, slow and torturous. I kept my gaze on hers as she loosened the towel I'd wrapped around my waist, letting it fall to the ground. I let out a low curse under my breath when she wrapped her hand around my cock. I shouldn't be allowing this. I was supposed to be severing every tie, but I'd be damned if I didn't groan before leaning into her hand.

I fisted the clothes in my hands, refusing to move my feet off the ground as she stroked my cock, increasing her pace with each passing second. If I so much as touched her... she rolled her thumb around the head of my cock, cupping my balls with her other hand. I couldn't contain it any longer. I barely had time to warn her before I came.

As I came down from my cloud nine, I held her gaze feeling bitter about the situation. It didn't matter how much I burned for her; I still had to force this divorce through. And yet the thought of some other guy seeing this side of her, enjoying her touch... Hurt flashed across her eyes at the obviously glaring look I was giving her.

"Mission failed." I remarked, my voice sharper than I'd intended. "Still not convinced."

At the tearful look in her eyes, I turned and headed for the bathroom, slamming the door harder than necessary behind me. I scrubbed myself clean under the scalding water, but it didn’t wash the guilt off. When I came back out, she was already wrapped in her robe, curled up at the far edge of the bed, staring at the wall.

She didn’t turn to look at me.

She stepped into the bathroom as I got dressed, needing to clear my head. I grabbed my keys and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind me. I stepped into the first bar I laid my eyes on; some dingy place with barely functioning lights. I sat at the counter, downed two shots, and was halfway through a third when a woman slid onto the stool beside me. I was probably too drunk to recognize her right away, but the calculated glint in her eyes gave her away.

Mandy Hudson.

Tall. Blond. Wearing a dress two sizes too small. She leaned in, her hand brushing my thigh, her voice a purr in my ear. "You look like you could use some company." I should have pushed her away immediately, but I stiffened in revulsion, trapped by the legal deal holding Juliette's life in the balance. That hesitation was a second too long. We heard it then; the sharp, unmistakable crack of a camera shutter. I stiffened instantly, my gaze immediately snapping toward the noise.

Paparazzi. Of course.

Juliette.

Juliette would see it.

Because it would hit the internet sooner or later. I wondered if she would ever forgive me. The sick part was...

I didn’t know if I even deserved forgiveness for being such a monster.