6. The Prince, Unraveled.

DAMON’S POV

I decided to leave her just then—because even with a desk, a dozen steps, and the weight of my restraint between us, she still felt too close.

I didn’t look at her. Not really. But I felt her eyes on me, clinging to the back of my neck like heat.

She breathed differently when I was near—tight, careful, like she didn’t want me to hear the way I affected her.

This girl.

Wrong type. Too soft, too sweet. The kind of woman who brought muffins to the office and smiled like the world hadn’t tried to eat her alive. But her eyes—those sharp, curious eyes—made it impossible to ignore her.

I shouldn’t have noticed the way her sweater clung to the dip of her waist. Or how she chewed on her lip when she was nervous, like her mouth didn’t know it was driving me insane.

I shouldn’t have let my eyes flick to her thighs when she crossed her legs, or how the hem of her skirt lifted just enough to tempt.

But I did.

And the worst part?

She looked at me like she felt it too. Like something passed between us—something neither of us wanted to name.

I was trying to challenge her. Waiting for her to say one thing I could use to get rid of her. I wasn’t kind. I wasn’t fair. Cool tone. Sharp words. A loaded warning.

Hoping she’d snap.

She didn’t. She stayed.

And that should’ve annoyed me. But it didn’t. Not entirely.

One thing I knew for sure—if I didn’t leave, I might do something incredibly stupid. And sinful.

Of course, I’d tell myself it was just my nature. Minds in the gutter. Always chasing the high of physical release. And I should be loyal to one partner.

But with this girl? I felt something strange… different.

And I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

The city lights bled across my windshield in messy streaks—pinks, whites, flickers of neon that looked more like bruises than beauty.

Everything outside was blurred. Muffled. Cold. But it matched how I felt, so I let it be.

Let the world smear past while I sat behind the wheel, hands loose on the steering, the other hovering near the gearshift.

The engine hummed beneath me—low, steady, like a breath I didn’t have to think about.

I don’t usually drive myself.

That’s what I pay drivers for—distance. Detachment.

But tonight, I needed something else. The illusion of control, maybe. The quiet.

The feel of leather under my palms and the sting of cold rain on the glass.

Something real. Something I could grip without it slipping through my fingers.

I pulled into the underground garage of my residence, the tires hissing slightly on wet concrete.

And still, her voice wouldn’t leave me.

“To be fair, you were the one who splashed us first…”

That tone—half-daring, half-wounded—should’ve irritated me.

Instead, it echoed. It stayed.

A dry, humorless breath escaped me. I wouldn’t even call it a laugh. Just a flicker of something I didn’t want to name. I should’ve fired her. God knows I’ve done worse for less.

But I didn’t.

I let her stay. Gave her a warning, not a punishment. Gave her mercy.

And now, hours later, I was still thinking about the mud on her dress… the defiant tilt of her chin… the wild way she clutched that ridiculous shoe like she was going to throw it again.

Sadie Summer.

She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t flatter. She didn’t fawn. She looked me in the eye and spoke like she had nothing to lose—like she’d rather be ruined than be silent.

Most people shrink when I walk into a room.

She didn’t.

She should’ve.

A flicker of something sharp twisted in my chest—not quite anger, not quite desire. Just awareness. The kind I hated. The kind that made me feel too human. Too touchable.

She doesn’t know who I am. What I am. What it’s taken to become Damon Prince.

The silver nameplate on the doors, the silence that follows when I speak—that’s not luck.

That’s blood.

Legacy.

Discipline.

I was raised in a house where love was just a tool.

My mother smiled like glass and cheated like it was her birthright. My father retaliated in kind—always calm, always cruel. Our dinner table was a war zone disguised with silverware and crystal.

I learned early how to wear control like armor. No feelings. No softness. Only power.

And Bella? She fit the image. My fiancée. Perfect on paper. The woman any man would envy. Polished, poised, calculated. I could predict her every reaction before she opened her mouth. She never made me feel anything, and I was fine with that.

I didn’t need feeling. I needed efficiency.

But tonight...

Tonight some drenched, barefoot assistant with a bruised ego and a mouth full of attitude had gotten under my skin.

Sadie Summer had no status, no clout.

She didn’t even realize the rules of the game we’re all forced to play.

But she still looked me in the eye. Called me out. Got in my head.

And the worst part?

I didn’t hate it.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, jaw ticking as I tried to shove the thought away.

This ends here. It has to.

I didn’t come to this branch for chaos—I came to fix things. To make decisions, clear the rot, and move on.

She’s noise.

Disruption.

A distraction I can’t afford.

And yet...

She’s not forgettable.

Not like the others.

And that? That unsettles me more than I’ll ever admit.