Let me love you

Two weeks have passed in a blur, and my life is back to being sad, boring, and miserable. Damon is barely around, as he seems to be spending most of his time with Penelope. I see her texting him endlessly about their upcoming vacations, dinner dates, shopping sprees, and the amazing sex they commemorate their days with.

As much as it yanks my heart into shreds, I still can't bring myself to confront Damon about it. Having a one-night stand with his father rid me of the right to confront him because I feel just as guilty. I can't confront Penelope either. I love that girl to bits and I fear I may just break down to tears if I do go to meet her. Because no matter how badly she’s hurt me, I still have a massive soft spot for her. It’s stupid of me but it’s there, just for her.

So yeah, I’m bottling up the guilt, pain, heartbreak, and agony. I try not to spend much time alone as it always makes me backpedal into conjuring the images of the night I spent with Victor. I end up touching myself while I recall how bold and fierce he had claimed me. Doing all that leaves me more drained, guilty, and shamelessly wanton, so yeah, I avoid being alone. So much as I can.

Instead, I sink myself into my Luna duties, giving it as much time in my days as I can. Like right now, I’m having coffee on the terrace with three rich, business ladies of our Pack. 

We’re trying to launch another clothing brand mainly for the elegant women of the pack, who crave the clothing style from the 90s. In simpler terms, we’re trying to come up with a clothing style not too usual, not for the Gen Zs, elegant and bold. 

We’re going through every single detail we will be needing for the project, ranging from the materials, texture, colors, seamstresses, partners, and even models for the launch. 

"Here. We made a list of the top ten models in the fashion world. Take a look," one of the women hands me a catalog.

I smile gracefully, taking it and swiping the pages, reviewing the models and every detail about them the catalog had to give.

The beep sound from my phone incites another spasm through my spine. I sit up, trying so hard to look comfortable when my heart is beating into splits and the sleekness between my thighs is getting heavier.

Subtly, I grab my phone from the table, peering at the screen. A new message. I already know who it’s from and that’s why I’m feeling this crazy erotic rush inside of me.

I click on it.

Victor: you’re gonna have to see me, one way or the other.

I read the message a million times in my head as it sends my heart racing. I always feel so breathless and aroused whenever I get his messages. 

Ever since that night, he’s relentlessly tried to see and talk to me again. He’s visited a lot of times but I keep making up excuses and sending the maids to dismiss him. He spams my phone with messages, and I, for the millionth time, decide to go through his messages again right now. There's a load of them.

Victor: please call me. I need to know that you’re alright.

He’d sent this after he came to look for me the next day and I refused to leave my room to go see him, so he had to leave. I scroll past some of the messages and stop at another.

Victor: you can’t pretend like it didn’t happen cause it did. Ignoring me won't change shit.

This was sent a week later after his countless calls and visits.

I scroll again and stop at another message.

Victor: you’re on my fucking mind, Anastasia. Please call me. I beg you.

This message almost, al-fucking-most made me grab my phone and dial his number. It took a lot of self-restraint to stop myself from doing that, but I cried so hard that night. I craved him so badly. It still baffles me that I pulled through without giving him a call.

I scroll back to the message he just sent. I read it again, savoring each word. He said I was gonna talk to him one way or the other. Why does that have some sort of a hidden threat to it? Like a twisted promise. It seems as if he’s done begging and vying to see me. 

He's kinda implying that at this point, he'll make sure I see him, whether I want to or not. I can’t even try to fathom what’s going on through his mind, but I hope he doesn’t do anything crazy.

A part of me craves to see him again, but the logical side of me keeps me from indulging that craving. The second time may get me permanently trapped in his dark, possessive web. I dread that a lot.

"Hi, honey." Damon’s voice makes me quickly turn off my phone and snap my head up with a forced smile. He approaches us and lowers to kiss my lips. I pick up the taste of red wine on his, and also a fresh lemon mint. Penelope’s.

Knowing that I just kissed lips she ravished Goddess-knows-how-many-minutes ago, gets me disgusted to my bone. He turns to greet the ladies while I swiftly wipe my lips with the back of my hand to get rid of the taste. 

"I’ll be inside, honey." Damon flashes one of his sweet, faux smiles at me. "Ladies," he tips his head at them and they bow. He heads inside, taking his pathetic Penelope’s stench with him.

"Did you choose the model you’d want for the launch?" The shorter and the only blonde between the ladies asks.

"Sure, uh, her…" I point at the model on the third page. Her astute and confident gait is just perfect for the clothing idea. 

"Brillant choice, Luna," they commend with wide smiles.

The meeting ends and they leave. I retrace my steps to the bedroom. Damon is on the phone, chuckling and whispering in an erotic whisper. 

Penelope's giggling comes from the other end of the line. I stand on the threshold, forcing down my pent-up outburst. 

His eyes find me and he mutters something about calling her back later. Then he flings the phone on the bed.

"Should I have the maids prepare dinner?" I ask, trying so hard not to let my raging emotions slip. It's terrifying how much chaos a woman can hold in. 

His fingers work on his cufflinks, and then his button, until he's taking off the shirt, flexing his biceps. I don't find them attractive. Not anymore. Not after running my fingers on Victor's.

God, Anastasia. Get him out of your head!

"No need. We won't be having dinner here." Damon replies too busy with undressing. 

"What do you mean?"

"My father invited us to come over to his house. He's having an exclusive dinner party. So get ready." 

He struts into my bathroom, not even glancing back. Thank goodness he didn't, or he would have noticed how pale I went. 

Victor invited us for dinner. His text had been a warning to this. He wanted me to know that I'd be seeing him again and I had better prepared for it. 

Oh, God!