003

Noelle

The first thing that hit me was the light. It spilled in through the floor to ceiling windows, and I couldn't help the groan that slid past my lips. The light was blinding, relentless, and seared straight through my eyelids. I groaned again, just before rolling onto my side, and pulling the sheets higher over my head.

For a moment, everything felt right, until it didn't. I felt the silk dig into my skin, and I could only come up with one explanation. These weren't my sheets, I wasn't in my bed either.

My lashes fluttered open, and the room came into focus slowly, like a cruel joke. I caught sight of the white marble floors, the crystal chandeliers, and modern art that screamed money. The bed beneath me was enormous, draped in sheets that probably cost more than my rent.

My rent, my apartment, my life, none of it, absolutely nothing matched any of this.

My stomach plummeted as my gaze swept over the room. My dress was crumpled in a heap by the door, my bra dangled from the back of an armchair, and one heel lay by the window, while the other tipped over near the nightstand. The air itself still smelled of sex, sharp, musky, and thick enough to taste.

A gasp lodged in my throat, and I forced down the shudder that raced down my spine. Without thinking, I shoved the covers down and looked. I had no idea what I was expecting, but I didn't think I'd be naked. Completely, recklessly, and utterly naked.

“Oh, God,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my face as my eyelids fluttered shut. Fragmented flashes slammed through me and I almost recoiled in equal parts want and equal parts shame. I remembered his mouth on mine, hands gripping my thighs, the sound of laughter and whiskey, his voice like velvet dipped in sin, and then, nothing. Just darkness.

Did we…did we go all the way last night?

My phone buzzed sharply beside me, jolting me out of my haze. I grabbed it like a lifeline, just to come face to face with a new notification.

It was from the dating profile my mother had created, and I almost rolled my eyes, till I really took in the message in front of me.

Damian: Sorry you didn’t show up. I waited but left. Let me know if you're up for another date.

Wait, what?

The words blurred, then snapped into place again. My chest hollowed out, and for the next couple of seconds, I totally forgot how to breathe. M

If my date had been waiting all night, then who the hell had I gone home with?

My mind whirled with a million and one thoughts, and even though the urge to gag hit me like a fucking tidal wave, I managed to keep it in check.

The man from last night, the one who kissed me like he owned me. Who had carried me on his lap and whispered promises I couldn’t even repeat without blushing, who undressed me piece by piece, and the one whom I wasn't sure if we'd fucked or not.

I shot upright,my pulse ricocheting through my ribs. My throat went dry immediately, but I'd already figured out what to do next.

I needed clothes. I needed to leave. Now.

Scrambling, I grabbed the first thing I saw draped over the nearest chair. It was a crisp white shirt, still faintly warm, that carried that scent, a mix of cologne, smoke, and something dark that I already knew belonged to him.

I tugged it on, buttoning only the middle, the hem brushing my bare thighs. The fabric clung to me like a reminder, and I hated that my body hummed at the thought of it. I hated that my body craved a repeat of last night, even though I was still unsure of the details.

Clutching my phone, I padded barefoot across the marble floor. I had no idea where I was going, and it didn't help that the hallway stretched like a labyrinth, every step echoing louder than the last.

I was this close to giving up hope when I heard them. Voices, loud pitched ones that weren't too appropriate for a setting like this.

“…you can’t keep making moves like this,” one man snapped, low and sharp, but I could tell whoever it was, had to be doing his own fair share of the scolding from the other side of the phone.

“Watch your tone,” came the reply and I recognized whom the voice belonged to. His reply was smooth, dark, unmistakable and I found myself drooling again.

I froze, not because of the effect he had on me, but because of what I'd just seen. My breath caught in my throat as I edged closer, heart hammering, until it fully came into view. It was a portrait, massive and unmissable, hanging along the corridor wall, not just any portrait, but a portrait of him.

Him.

He was suited and powerful, his blue eyes captured in paint as sharp as in reality. Beneath it, a small gold plaque bore a name I knew too well.

Damian Blackwood.

My stomach dropped clean through me. My legs wobbled so hard I gripped the nearest wall for support.

Blackwood. The name was whispered in the city with fear, for scandal, violence and whatever deals you could frown upon. It was the kind of name you didn’t say too loud, because power like theirs reached everywhere.

My pulse thundered in my ears. I stumbled back a step, bumping against the wall, and that's when he appeared.

Damian stepped into view like the shadow of every dangerous fantasy I’d ever had, fresh from the shower, his damp hair pushed back, shirt undone halfway to reveal ink curling down his chest. His gaze landed on me instantly, roaming from my bare legs to his shirt swallowing my frame.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he drawled, like he’d been expecting me all along. “How was your night? How are…”

“Stop.” I sucked in a breath as I cut him off immediately , my fingers clenching the hem of the shirt. “Who are you?”

“Answer me.” My voice cracked, brittle with panic. “How did I get here?”

“You followed me.” He tilted his head, amused. “And I told you last night.”

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head, the phone in my hand trembling. I doubted he could see my screen, but right now I needed everything I could get to prove this was all his fault. “You’re not the man I was supposed to meet. Who are you really?”

He closed the distance with a lazy step, his smirk cutting deeper, sharper, until my lungs forgot how to work.

“Damian,” he said softly, eyes locking on mine. “Damian Blackwood.”

The name crashed into me, confirmation slamming every thought out of my head.

I was standing naked under his shirt, in his penthouse, in the orbit of a man the city feared, who had a million scandals with multiple women, yet I had no memory of how far I’d let him take me.

And worse, the way he was looking at me now, like I was already his, made it terrifyingly clear, this was only the beginning.

“You can't be serious.” I shook my head furiously. “You can't be Damian Blackwood, you can't. It's not possible….”

“But it is.” His smirk widened. “And that makes you Mrs Blackwood.”

“What?” I felt all the color drain from my face in an instant. “what does that even mean? How can you …”

“We're married now.” He cut me off again,like he was reminding me to pick up the groceries, Instead of a fucking wedding. “And you're my wife.”

No. How the fuck did I actually get here?