The Observer

---

POV: Damian

---

I watched her walk away.

One step, then another.

Every step a knife in my chest. The sway of her perfectly set hips, one she had carefully covered all these years. The set of her shoulders. The way she held her head high, like she hadn't just given me everything and then torn it all away. Violently.

I should have stopped her. Should have grabbed her, pinned her against the wall, made her understand.

But I didn't.

Because I knew that if I pushed her now, she'd shatter. I would shatter her. For now, I was just part of her humiliation trial, And I'd already broken enough things in my life.

I leaned against the cold stone wall, my hands shaking. The blood on my skin was drying, flaking, turning brown. Her blood. I'd taken her virginity like an animal. Rough. Brutal. Desperate. Unforgiving.

And she'd asked for it.

"You think I wanted gentle?"

Her words echoed in my head. The broken laugh. The tears streaming down her cheeks. The way she'd looked at me like I was the only person in the world who could make her feel anything.

She'd been so tight. So perfect. Wrapped around me like she was made for me.

And now she was gone.

I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes. I could still smell her on my skin. Still taste her on my tongue. Still feel the clench of her cunt around my cock.

"Fuck."

The word was barely a whisper. But it was enough to break the silence.

I pushed off the wall and walked to her locker. It was still open, the door hanging crooked. Inside: a pair of shoes. A worn paperback. A photograph taped to the inside of the door.

I reached for the photo.

It was old. Faded. A picture of a little girl with braids and a gap-toothed smile. She was sitting on a stone bench in a garden, a tin of balm in her hands.

My garden. My bench. My balm.

I slipped the photo into my pocket. A piece of her. Another piece of her that I could hold onto.

Two now. One that reminded me of her fucking tight pussy, that let me be a savage. And one that held her beautiful innocence that I had just ripped out of her as she begged for it

I walked out of the hallway. Out of the school. Out of everything I'd ever known.

But I didn't go far.

Because I knew exactly where she was going. I heard Alistair’s conversation with my father. And I exactly how to see her again. If I wanted.

She thought she was running. She thought she could escape me.

And I am never coming back. I smiled remembering her confidence.

She was wrong.

I was the Future Don of The Seven

I'd been watching her for years. I'd been waiting for years. And now that I'd finally touched her, finally tasted her wetness, heard her moans. When I had finally claimed her—

I wasn't letting her go.

Not now. Not ever.

You can run, Seraphina Blackwood. But I'll find you. I would always find you.

I walked to the window at the end of the hall. Through the glass, I watched her cross the courtyard. Her steps were steady. Certain. She didn't look back. She didn't hesitate.

But I saw her hand reach up. I saw her touch the jacket she was still wearing. My jacket.

She was wearing me. Even as she walked away, she was covered in me.

And that was enough.

I won’t follow her. Not yet. I needed to let her go. I needed to let her think she'd escaped.

But I was patient. I'd been patient for fifteen years. A few more years wouldn't kill me.

And I'd be there when she was ready. When she stopped running.

I'd be there.

---