002

DAMIEN

This girl—whatever her name was—was getting on my nerves. Bad. The kind of bad where every word that came out of her mouth scraped against me like nails on glass. She stood there with her chin lifted, acting like she had the right to challenge me. Seriously. She needed to know her place. I kept wondering when, exactly, I’d given her the impression she could talk back to me.

The sharpness in her tone when she threw shade at Macey? That was it.

That was the line no one crossed. I didn’t care about much, but disrespecting Macey in front of me was like walking into a fire and daring me to throw gasoline on it. Macey was untouchable. Everyone knew that. Everyone but her.

She glared at me like she was testing how far she could push before I snapped. Her eyes were dark and challenging, almost begging me to put her in her place. “She’s the one, isn’t she?” she hissed, every syllable dripping with venom. “The reason you touched me that night. She’s blonde. Like me.”

Her words landed like a stone in water, rippling through me, but not enough to move me. I let out a sharp breath, deliberately slow, keeping my expression steady, unreadable. “So what? Now that you know, what are you going to do about it?”

For a moment, she froze. Her mouth opened, ready to spill whatever rehearsed speech she thought would cut me deep. But I wasn’t in the mood for her games. Not today. Not ever. I leaned forward slightly, letting the weight of my silence hit her, and then cut her off cold.

“You know what? Don’t say anything.”

That was it. My patience had run out. I reached for her arm. I didn’t yank, didn’t bruise—just firm enough to show this conversation was over. She stiffened under my grip but didn’t pull away, like some part of her wanted the fight but another part knew she’d already lost.

I steered her outside, away from the noise, away from the heat of the room. The afternoon air hit us—cooler than I expected, almost crisp, biting at the edges of my skin.

The street was quieter, a car passing now and then, the low hum of life moving on. It made her anger look small against the backdrop of a world that didn’t care.

I pulled my phone out, thumb moving fast as I ordered her a ride. She stood there with her arms folded, tapping her nails against her elbow, waiting for me to say something else. Anything else. I didn’t. I wasn’t giving her more than she deserved.

Instead, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a few notes of cash, slipping them into her palm. Not a gesture of kindness—just practicality. I didn’t want to hear her complain later about rides or bills or favors owed. Clean break.

“That’s all?” she asked, her eyes wide, like she couldn’t believe how casually I’d just ended her.

“Yes,” I said simply, with no hesitation. My voice was flat, final. “I wish you well.”

The words came out softer than I expected, but they weren’t for her. They were for me. Closure. Done.

Something in her shifted. Her shoulders dropped, her anger drained, replaced with something fragile. Like that tiny sentence was the kindest thing anyone had ever told her. Her lips curved into the ghost of a smile, almost shy. “My name’s Cynthia, by the way.”

I nodded. No smile. No interest. Just acknowledgment. She wasn’t important enough for more. Then I turned and walked away, each step sealing the distance.

Back in the office, I buried myself in numbers. Numbers were safe. Predictable. They never shifted their meaning based on mood or tone. They didn’t leave you guessing. Add, subtract, divide—it was clean.

That was my part of the business, the finance side of Seams & Touch. A massive operation that demanded control, precision, and discipline. Running it with my sister was exactly the future I’d mapped out for myself.

I’d been carrying responsibility since nineteen, when the judge dropped custody of her into my lap and basically said, “Don’t screw this up.” From that day on, every decision I made was about survival, stability, success. No distractions.

But then there was Macey.

And Macey was chaos wrapped in blonde hair, blue eyes that stripped me bare, and curves that were illegal for me to even notice at first. She was temptation dressed up like innocence, and God help me, I fell for it long before I admitted it.

I glanced at the clock: 10:47 p.m. My eyes burned from staring at spreadsheets. The numbers blurred, the rows and columns swimming until I had to lean back and press my palms to my face. I should’ve shut it down, should’ve gone home, and gotten a few hours of rest before the next grind started. But I knew myself too well.

The moment I got home, I’d lose. I’d throw myself onto the couch, phone in hand, and before I could even think twice, I’d be opening I*******m. Typing her name into the search bar. Scrolling through her pictures like an addict swearing every time that this would be the last hit.

I hated myself for it. The late-night scrolling, the restless energy crawling under my skin. The way I had to fight not to touch myself like I was some horny teenager, not a man with responsibilities and a business empire on his shoulders. But every single picture of her twisted something inside me.

She didn’t even try. That was the worst part. She wasn’t one of those girls posting for attention, staging every angle. She could post a half-blurry selfie, a photo of coffee on her desk, a random shot of her shoes—and I’d still find myself staring, memorizing, and replaying. I couldn’t look away.

Zinna warned me a year ago. She’d caught me looking too long and seen the shift in my expression when Macey first walked into the office. “Stay away from her,” she told me, sharp and knowing. “Don’t ruin this.” I laughed it off, called her dramatic. Said Macey was too young for me. Pretended she didn’t interest me in the slightest.

But that was a lie, and I think Zinna knew it. Hell, maybe everyone knew it but me.

Because Macey was a temptress, whether she knew it or not. 

The way her clothes hugged her body without her trying. The sway of her hips when she moved, natural and unbothered, like gravity itself bent differently around her. The sound of her laugh when she didn’t hold back—bright, addictive, the kind of sound that hit you in the chest. Her lips when she spoke, when she bit down on the corner of her smile like she was holding a secret.

Every little thing about her ruined my control. She ruined my sleep. She ruined my carefully built walls, the rules I’d lived by since I was nineteen. And still—I couldn’t stop.

I sat there in the silence of the office, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound, fighting a war I knew I was losing. The numbers on the screen didn’t matter anymore. The company could’ve collapsed in that moment and all I would’ve thought about was Macey. Her hair in sunlight. Her laugh in the next room. Her eyes when they met mine and lingered too long, like maybe she felt it too.

I scrubbed my hands down my face and let out a bitter laugh. I’d spent years building discipline, self-control, focus. And all it took was one girl—one blonde, blue-eyed distraction—to tear it apart.

And the worst part?

I didn’t want her to stop. 

I rubbed a hand over my face, pushed back my chair, and packed my bag. I needed to get out before I did something reckless. I locked my laptop, swung the strap over my shoulder, and walked toward the elevator.

And then I heard it.

At first I thought it was my tired brain making things up, but no. The sound was too sharp, too real. A low, breathy moan carried through the corridor, faint but impossible to miss.

I froze.

Who the hell was moaning in the office? At this hour?

Another sound followed—rhythmic, unmistakable. The sound of wetness. Fucking. Someone was actually fucking in here.

I should have turned around. Should have left and minded my business. But my feet stayed rooted, my pulse ticking faster with every noise. My jaw clenched as another moan echoed off the walls.

And then I heard it. Clearer than anything else.

My name.

“Damien…”

The sound of it on a moan, dripping with need, made every cell in my body snap awake.

I staggered back a step, breath caught somewhere in my chest. Who the fuck was in there—and why the hell were they moaning my name?