Chapter 24

Damien’s POV

The sun was barely up when I got out of bed. The room was too quiet, too heavy, the kind of silence that makes you hear your own heartbeat. My shirt from yesterday lay across the chair, wrinkled, but I didn’t care. I pulled a fresh one from the closet, slid it on, and buttoned it halfway, my hands slower than usual.

All night her scream had stayed in my head. That sharp sound, like someone ripping something apart. I’d heard plenty of screams in my life, some I caused myself, but hers had been different. Too small, too broken.

I tightened the knot of my tie, staring at myself in the mirror. Cold face. Dead eyes. That was how it was supposed to be. But the sound of her voice, the way she had shivered when I touched her shoulder, kept pulling at me. I didn’t even know why I went to her room last night. I could have told myself to ignore it. I could have left her there, drowning in sweat and tears. But my feet had moved on their own.

I shook the thought off and reached for my jacket. I had deals waiting, calls, meetings, a thousand things that didn’t care if I’d slept or not. Still, my mind wasn’t where it should be.

The soft click of the door opening pulled me out of my thoughts.

She stood there. Hair messy, face pale, wearing one of those oversized shirts she always hid in. Bare feet against the floor, quiet steps like she was afraid to wake a ghost.

I didn’t expect to speak. I don’t know why the words came out.

“How was your night?”

She froze like I’d slapped her. Her eyes darted up to me, wide, searching, unsure if I was mocking her. I wasn’t. At least not this time.People assumed the Devil couldn’t be nice sometimes.

“It was fine,” she said, but her voice was too soft, too careful.

I let out a short breath through my nose. Fine. Nothing about the way she’d screamed last night was fine. My hands stilled on my cufflinks.

“I heard you singing that again last night. The song?” I asked without turning fully toward her.

Her head tilted slightly. “What song?”

“The one you always fucking sing when you can’t sleep. The song for babies , what do y’all call it, Lullaby?

Her lips parted, and for a second she looked younger, smaller, like the girl I’d seen in her nightmare. “I don’t know where I learned it,” she said finally. “I’ve always known it. Whenever I can’t sleep, it just… comes.”

Something twisted in my chest. I felt it before I understood it. My throat was dry, and I swallowed, but the lump didn’t go away.

My face went sour like I was reminded of something heartbreaking to remember or perhaps someone. “There was a little girl who liked that too,” I said. The words slipped out before I could stop them. My own voice didn’t sound like mine it sounded far away, hoarse, dragged from some place I never wanted to touch.

Her eyes lit with curiosity. She took a step closer. “Who?”

I stiffened. My jaw clenched. My fingers itched to adjust my tie even though it was already perfect. I hadn’t meant to say anything.

“You knew her?” she asked again, softer this time.

My chest burned. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” she whispered, stubborn now. “Was it Elma?”

The name.

The sound of it snapped through my head like a whip.

I turned sharply, and before I even realized it, my hand was on her throat. She gasped, fingers clawing at my wrist, eyes wide with fear. Her breath came out in short, panicked bursts against my palm.

“Where the fuck did you hear that name?” I snarled, my grip tightening.

Her voice cracked under the pressure. “I… I heard it… yesterday… on your call.”

For a second the air around me burned. She had been listening. Prying. Poking into wounds that didn’t belong to her.

“Never,” I growled, my face inches from hers, spit leaving my mouth with the force of the word. “Never speak that name again.”

Her lips trembled. She tried to pull back, but I squeezed harder, my rage boiling over, covering the truth the truth that hearing that name ripped me open.

“You think you’re special?” My voice was harsh, ugly. “You think you can dig into my life like some fucking detective? You’re not my friend. You’re not my equal. You’re nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing but trash I paid for, a body I own. You’re here for my pleasure, for my control. Not to ask questions. Not to get too fucking comfortable.”

Her nails dug into my skin, not strong enough to break me but desperate enough to make me notice. Her eyes shone with tears she refused to let fall.

I hated it. I hated her stubborn silence, hated the way she still looked at me like she wanted to understand.

With a shove, I let go. She crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, clutching her throat. I turned away, my hands shaking though I kept them at my sides, fists clenched.

The mirror caught my reflection again—tie straight, jacket sharp, face unreadable. Perfect. Except for my eyes. They burned with something I couldn’t smother.

I didn’t wait for her to speak. I didn’t want to hear her voice again.

But at the door, I stopped. I didn’t even look at her when I spoke.

“Get the fuck up. Clean yourself. A doctor’s coming later for your medicals.”

Then I grabbed my briefcase and walked out, the door slamming behind me.

The silence I left her in was worse than the scream that had woken me last night.