Chapter 4

Damien’s eyes flicked down to the freshly signed contract, then back to me. His smirk? Gone. His usual cool, unreadable expression? Nowhere to be found.

What was left?

Obsession. Raw, unfiltered, dangerous obsession.

He lifted the contract, scanned my signature, and then, in one slow, deliberate movement, set it down on the table. His fingers tapped against the paper—once, twice—before he leaned forward, eyes locked onto mine.

"Now," he said, voice dropping into something dark and undeniably possessive, "seal it."

I frowned. "What?"

He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming. Like he was amused. Like he had been waiting for this moment.

"A contract isn't official until it's sealed, Sofia." His voice was all silk and sin. "So kiss me."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

His jaw tightened. "Kiss me," he repeated. "Or do you need me to spell it out for you?"

Oh.

Oh, this man was not playing.

I should have hesitated. Should have thought about what I was doing. But the way he was looking at me? Like I was already his, like this was inevitable?

It sent a thrill down my spine.

So I leaned in.

And then he moved first.

One second, I was just sitting there, and the next? Damien’s hand was in my hair, tilting my head back as his lips crashed against mine.

It was not a soft kiss.

It was demanding.

Possessive.

A statement.

His tongue teased my lips before he deepened the kiss, taking what he wanted, owning it, like he had been waiting for this moment for years. And maybe he had.

I gasped against his mouth, my fingers gripping the front of his shirt, but that only made him groan, pulling me closer.

The worst part?

I liked it. Too much.

When he finally pulled back, my lips were swollen, my breathing uneven, and his smirk? It was back.

"Now it's official," he murmured.

I barely had time to catch my breath before he straightened, tugged his sleeves back into place, and—like it was the most normal thing in the world—said,

“Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Blackwood.”

My stomach flipped.

I opened my mouth, but before I could even form a sentence, he stood up and walked to the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey like he hadn’t just ruined me in under a minute.

"When are you moving in?" he asked casually, sipping his drink.

I frowned. "Moving in?"

Damien’s dark eyes slid back to me. "You’re not going back to that apartment," he said simply. "You live here now."

I blinked. "I—what?"

"You heard me," he said smoothly, walking back over, stopping just in front of me. "I don’t want you taking a single thing from your place. Not your clothes. Not your furniture. Nothing."

He reached down, tilting my chin up so I had to look at him.

"I’ll buy everything from scratch for you," he said, voice low. Dangerous. "Just be here." His thumb brushed over my lower lip, his eyes darkening. "Never leave my side."

My heart was pounding.

This man was insane.

But the scariest part?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to run. I loved how he treats me but I still don't understand why

I should have said no. Should have pushed back, argued, done something other than just stand there, staring up at Damien like I was already falling under his spell.

But instead?

I accepted.

I let him win.

"Okay," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

His eyes flickered with something dark. Something satisfied.

"Good girl," he murmured.

Before I could even process what was happening, he grabbed my hand, threading his fingers through mine, and started leading me through the penthouse.

“This is your home now,” he said as we walked, his grip firm, like he wasn’t planning on letting me go anytime soon.

He showed me the living room—huge, sleek, all black-and-gold luxury. The kitchen? Equally ridiculous. Everything was expensive, extravagant, and completely untouched, like he had never actually cooked a day in his life.

But when he led me down the hall, stopping at a massive set of double doors, I knew where we were going.

"The bedroom," he said, pushing the doors open.

I stepped inside, taking in the sheer size of it. The bed alone looked big enough to drown in, draped in black silk sheets. There was a fireplace, a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city, and a walk-in closet that probably cost more than my entire apartment.

"This is where you'll sleep," he said smoothly, watching me.

I frowned. "Which room is mine?"

Damien’s expression didn’t change. "This one."

I turned to him fully. "Wait, what?"

He stepped closer, backing me up against the doorframe, his body heat sinking into me.

"We're married now, Sofia," he said, voice dropping. Dangerous. Final. "That means we share everything. Including a bedroom."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the second I did, he reached up and brushed his fingers down my arm—slow, deliberate, sending a shiver straight down my spine.

"You agreed to this," he reminded me, his voice smooth as whiskey. "And married couples? They do everything together."

My breath caught.

Everything.

I should have fought him on it. Should have made some kind of rule, drawn a line, something.

But instead?

I nodded.

And just like that, Damien’s smirk returned.

“That’s what I thought.”

We ended up back in the living room, two glasses of whiskey between us, the city lights stretching out beyond the massive windows.

I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, the adrenaline, or just Damien himself, but the air between us felt heavier. Tighter.

"To new beginnings," he said, raising his glass.

I clinked mine against his. "To terrible decisions."

He laughed—low, deep, completely unbothered. "We’ll see about that."

I took a sip, the warmth spreading through my chest. And when I glanced at Damien, he was already watching me.

Like he had been waiting.

Like he had just been giving me time to catch up.

And then?

He reached out, sliding my glass from my hand, setting it down.

"Come here," he murmured.

I didn’t even think. Didn’t hesitate.

I moved.

And the second I did, Damien was on me.

His hands gripped my waist, pulling me onto his lap, his mouth crashing into mine. Hard. Desperate. Like he had been holding back for far too long, and now? Now he was done pretending.

I gasped against his lips, and he groaned, deepening the kiss, his fingers digging into my skin like he needed me closer. His teeth nipped at my bottom lip, and when I whimpered, he growled, flipping me onto the couch so fast my head spun.

I barely had a second to breathe before he was over me, his mouth at my neck, his hands everywhere.

"You belong to me now," he murmured against my skin.

And the worst part?

I let him.