5

There was a knock on the door.

I grunted but drag myself off the bed and open the door. It’s the same old woman from before, the quiet one with the calm, empty eyes.

She flashes her eyes quickly on me but brushed them away as though scared of me“Mr. Damien requests your presence downstairs for breakfast.”

I hesitate, looking at her connfused. but she just stands there, still as stone. So I nod and shut the door, my pulse tapping against my throat.

What the fuck does that asshole wants from me?

The mirror catches my reflection as I change into a clean shirt and jeans. I look… tired. I placed my hand on my breast and the memory of when Damien fell on me and I could feel his hardness flash in my head .

“Fuck!” I shook my head and shrugged off the thought.

When I finally step into the hallway, I almost forget how big this house is. The staircase curves like something out of a movie, the walls lined with portraits of people who look too powerful to smile.

The dining room is worse—massive, echoing, and quiet until the moment I walk in.

Damien sits at the head of the long marble table, calm as ever, cutting into his food like the world outside doesn’t exist. Across from him, his brother—Lucian—leans back in his chair, shirt halfway unbuttoned, smirking like he already knows how to make me uncomfortable. But then he was uncomfortably hot because that chest of his was killing me.

And at the far end, Elara, beautiful, poised, and cold. Her spoon stirs her tea in slow, perfect circles.

“Hi” I manage, even though my throat feels dry.

Lucian grins. “So the sleeping beauty finally decided to join us.” His voice drips with mockery, deep and amused. “You look better when you’re not fainting all over the place.” He bit his lower lip.

“Lucian,” Damien says quietly.

That one word silences him—but not for long.

Breakfast starts. The sound of silverware against porcelain fills the air. I try not to look at Damien, but I can feel his presence, calm and heavy beside me and I couldn’t help to still some glances.

Lucian breaks the silence again. “So, Claire… what exactly are you to my brother? A guest? A project? Or—”

“Lucian.” Damien’s tone sharpens.

Lucian chuckles, but I see the faintest flicker of irritation in Damien’s eyes. Elara watches me the entire time, and when she finally speaks, her voice is sugar-coated venom.

“You’re very quiet,” she says. “Where did you say you were from again?”

“I didn’t,” I reply.

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Right. Of course.”

The rest of breakfast is a performance—a dance of silence and sarcasm. By the time it’s over, I’m exhausted, my stomach tight, my chest buzzing with anger I can’t show.

When I finally make it back to my room, I throw myself on the bed and stare at the ceiling. These people—Damien’s people—they’re dangerous in different ways. Lucian wants to see me flinch and stares at me as though he wants to me unclad. Elara wants to see me disappear. And Damien… I still can’t tell what he wants.

Evening falls quick

I try to read, to sleep, to think of anything else, but my mind refuses to settle.

At some point, I hear faint music from downstairs. Something slow, unfamiliar. Curiosity—or maybe defiance—pulls me out of bed.

The lounge glows softly with lamplight. Damien sits on one of the couches, his long frame relaxed, a half-empty wine bottle beside him, eyes on the television. He was wearing a blank tank top and gray pants.

He looks up when I step in. “You should be in bed.” Oh those eyes!

“I couldn’t sleep,” I say, walking further in. “You don’t look like you’re sleeping either.”

His lips twitch—almost a smile. “That’s not an invitation.”

“Didn’t sound like one.”

Still, I sit.

The movie keeps playing, but I barely register what’s on screen. One part of me wanted to pin him to the wall and stab him to death and other part of me wanted to be pinned to the wall by him and that hot body his pressing right to mine.

After a few minutes, I reach for the bottle. “Mind if I—?”

He stops me with a look. “You shouldn’t.”

I pour anyway. “You shouldn’t keep people locked up in your house either without telling them why.”

His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t answer. I take a sip. It burns, but I don’t stop. Another sip. Then another.

He sighs. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“Maybe I don’t want to.” I hissed.

The wine blurs the edges of everything—fear, anger, reason. I laugh too loudly, talk too much, tease him because I can. Because it’s the only way to feel like I still have some control.

He doesn’t react, not really. Just watches, quiet and unreadable. Until I say his name wrong. Twice. Then he stands, slow, deliberate.

“Enough,” he says, voice low.

I try to rise, but my balance betrays me. His hands are on my arms before I fall, steady, warm. My heart jumps.

“Let go,” I whisper, though I don’t really mean it.

He doesn’t.

His breath brushes my temple. My fingers clutch his shirt without thinking. For a moment, everything in me pulls toward him—the fear, the confusion, the strange heat that’s been building since the first day I saw him. And my wet thighs.

Then I blink—and I see something in his eyes. I couldn’t prove it yet but I saw it that he wanted me just as much as I did.

I shove him, hard. “Don’t.”

His voice drops lower. “You should sleep, Claire.”

But he doesn’t move. Neither do I.

The space between us crackles—anger, tension, something i can’t name. I could feel his lips burning so close to mine and his breath burning right through my soul. How his body pressed on me made me notice his hardness growing bit by bit till it was pressing hard to my body.

Then, like a spark snapping, I do the stupidest thing imaginable.

My knee jerks up swiftly and hard and I bang on his cock.

He groans, sharp and quiet, his grip loosening.

And I run.

Barefoot and Breathless. My Heart pounding like it’s about to burst out of my chest.

I slam the door behind me, twist the lock, and sprint down the hallway. The house seems endless—doors, shadows, echoes. Somewhere behind me, I think I hear him curse under his breath, the sound too calm to be reassuring.

I don’t look back.

Not until I reach the front door—massive, cold, impossible to open. My fingers fumble with the lock as thunder rolls again outside.

I don’t know if I’m escaping or just running toward another trap.

But I know one thing—whatever Damien is, whatever this place is…

I can’t stay here another night.