[Chapter 3] - Tangled In Lies And Lust

The CEO's Desperate Bargain

Elara stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror of Damien’s penthouse, staring at the stranger looking back at her. The red designer gown hugged her curves like a second skin, the deep V-neckline exposing the valley between her breasts and the faint red marks Damien had left there last night.

Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her neck bearing a fresh hickey that makeup could barely hide. She looked expensive. She looked owned.

A single tear escaped before she could stop it.

“Stop crying,”

Damien’s deep voice rumbled behind her. He stepped close, his tall frame dominating the reflection. His fingers brushed the tear away, then trailed down to cup her breast possessively through the silk.

“You look fucking perfect. Exactly what I paid for.”

Elara’s breath hitched. The words hurt, slicing deep into her chest, yet her body leaned into his touch like it had a mind of its own.

“I feel like a whore,”

she whispered, voice breaking.

“My mother is fighting for her life in that hospital bed, and here I am… dressed like this… letting you fuck me every night like it’s nothing.”

Damien spun her around, pinning her against the mirror. His gray eyes burned with something dark and stormy.

“You are not a whore,”

he growled, forehead pressing against hers.

“You’re mine. There’s a difference.”

His hand slid up her thigh, pushing the gown higher until his fingers found her bare pussy. No panties—just as he had ordered.

“And this…”

he slipped two fingers inside her without warning, making her gasp, “this gets wet every time I touch you. So don’t lie to yourself, little lamb. You hate it… but you crave it too.”

Elara moaned, her head falling back against the glass as he pumped his fingers deeper, curling them against that spot that made her knees buckle. Tears continued to fall, mixing shame with raw pleasure.

“I hate you,” she sobbed, even as her hips rocked against his hand.

“Good,” Damien whispered, biting her earlobe.

“Hate me while you come.”

He dropped to his knees, pushed the gown up to her waist, and buried his face between her thighs. His tongue was merciless—lapping, sucking, fucking her with long strokes while his thumb circled her swollen clit. Elara’s hands flew to his hair, pulling hard as her orgasm crashed over her. She cried out his name, legs shaking violently, juices coating his chin.

He stood up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and kissed her roughly, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

“We’re late for the gala. But remember—smile like you’re in love with me. Or your mother’s new treatment gets canceled tomorrow.”

The threat was ice water on her heated skin.

The charity gala at the Grand Hyatt was filled with Manila’s elite. Cameras flashed the moment Damien stepped out of the Maybach with Elara on his arm. He kept one hand possessively on her waist, fingers digging into her flesh through the silk. Every smile he gave her was calculated, but his eyes… his eyes held something real when he looked at her.

Rafael Vargas was already there.

The rival CEO was just as tall as Damien, but with a dangerous charm—sharp features, easy smile, and eyes that promised destruction. When he approached them, Elara felt Damien’s body tense like a coiled spring.

“So this is the mysterious wife we’ve been hearing about,” Rafael said smoothly, his gaze sliding over Elara’s body like a slow caress.

“Beautiful. Damien, you’ve been hiding her. Afraid I might steal her?”

Damien’s grip tightened painfully on her waist.

“Touch her and I’ll bury you.”

Rafael laughed softly.

“So protective. How touching. Tell me, Mrs. Torres…” He leaned closer, voice dropping.

“Does he fuck you as coldly as he runs his company? Or do you scream for him every night?”

Elara’s cheeks burned. She forced a sweet smile, pressing herself closer to Damien.

“I scream his name until I lose my voice,”

she answered, voice husky. Then she turned and kissed Damien deeply in front of everyone, pouring all her confusion, anger, and unwanted desire into it.

Damien responded instantly, one hand cupping her ass, the other tangled in her hair as he claimed her mouth like he was fucking it. The crowd murmured. Cameras flashed wildly.

When they pulled apart, Rafael’s smile had vanished.

“Enjoy your honeymoon phase, Torres. It won’t last.”

The rest of the night was torture. Damien barely left her side, but his touches grew bolder—hand slipping under the table during dinner to stroke her thigh, fingers teasing her wet folds while he talked business with investors. Elara sat there biting her lip bloody, trying not to moan, tears of overwhelming sensation and humiliation pricking her eyes.

By the time they reached the penthouse, Damien was feral.

He didn’t even make it to the bedroom. He bent her over the back of the leather couch, yanked her gown up, and slammed into her in one brutal thrust. Elara screamed, the mix of pain and pleasure making her see stars.

“Fuck… so wet for me,”

he groaned, pounding into her hard and deep. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room.

“You’re mine, Elara. Say it while I fuck you.”

“I’m yours!”

she cried, tears streaming down her face. Every thrust pushed her closer to the edge—physically and emotionally.

“Only yours, Damien… please…”

He reached around and rubbed her clit furiously. Her orgasm exploded, walls clenching around his thick cock as she sobbed his name. Damien followed with a guttural roar, burying himself to the hilt and flooding her with his hot release.

They slid to the floor afterward, still connected. Damien pulled her against his chest, breathing heavily. For long minutes, neither spoke. Elara cried quietly against his shirt, her body spent, her heart in pieces.

“Why me?”

she whispered finally.

“You could’ve chosen anyone.”

Damien was silent for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then his voice came, low and rrough

“Because when you stood in the rain that day… you looked at me like I wasn’t just money and power. You looked at me like you were terrified… but still saw something worth saving.”

His arms tightened around her.

“I’m not a good man, Elara. I’ve done things that would make you run. But with you… I almost want to be better.”

Her heart clenched painfully. She hated how those words made her feel warm inside. She was falling. God help her, she was falling for the man who bought her.

But the illusion shattered at 3 AM.

Damien’s phone rang. He answered, voice instantly alert. Elara only caught pieces:

“…Vargas knows about the contract… leaked documents… your grandfather’s condition is worsening… if the board finds out the marriage is fake…”

Damien ended the call and threw the phone across the room. It shattered against the wall.

Elara sat up, pulling the sheet to her chest.

“Damien… what’s happening?”

He looked at her, eyes haunted.

“Rafael has proof that our marriage is a business deal. He’s planning to expose it at the board meeting in two weeks. If that happens, I lose everything. And your mother’s treatment…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Elara felt the ground disappear beneath her. She crawled to him, cupping his face.

“Then we make it real,”

she said, voice trembling but determined.

“No more pretending. We become what they think we are.”

Damien stared at her, something raw and vulnerable breaking through his ice. He pulled her into a desperate kiss—different from before. Not just lust, but need. Fear. Hunger for something neither of them dared name.

He made love to her that night. Slow. Deep. Passionate. Every thrust was a promise and a plea. Elara clung to him, crying into his shoulder as wave after wave of pleasure and pain washed over her.

When they came together, it felt like their souls touched for the first time.

But as Damien held her in the aftermath, stroking her hair, a dark thought lingered in Elara’s mind:

How long before the lies destroy them both?

And how much of her heart would be left when this desperate bargain finally ended?

End of Chapter 3