All Chapters of Damien's Willing Captive : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Damien’s POV I’m losing it. Losing myself. This wasn’t the plan. Not even close. She was supposed to rot in here for three days…no food, no water, no human voice to cling to. I wanted her mind to unravel in the dark, wanted her to wake up not knowing where she was or who had her, wanted her body so starved for relief that when I finally stepped in, she’d cling to me out of pure survival. By day three, she should’ve been sprawled on the floor, lips cracked, barely breathing. But here I am…first thing in the morning…carrying two bottles of water like some lovesick idiot who forgot she’s the enemy. Pathetic. Weak. And worst of all? She did this. She’s the one who put this split in my head, who made me forget the plan, forget why I took her in the first place. I should hate her for it. And I do. Just not enough to turn around. It wasn’t even her hand on my cock that undid me earlier…no, I could almost rationalize that as some pathetic fluke. But that moment…

Damien’s POV I blinked once, slow, measured, and leaned back in my chair. “Excuse me,” I said smoothly, “but you are…?” Mr Peterson cleared his throat, a little flustered. “Ah…my daughter, Vivienne. Vivienne, this is… Damien Voss. You should say hi.” She stepped forward, tilting her head, eyes narrowing like a cat sizing me up. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she purred, voice smooth and dripping with flirtation. “I didn’t expect you to look… real.” I raised a brow, voice low and deliberate, dry as a desert. “Well, I’m glad I could disappoint. Not a hobby of mine to live up to hype.” She giggled…too loud, too rehearsed…before sliding into the chair right next to mine instead of the one across the table. The scent of her perfume hit…sweet, calculated, expensive. Then came the manicured hand, nails sharp and blood-red, curling possessively high on my thigh under the table. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. I fixed her with a stare that could cut steel. She leaned in, h

Damien’s POV The air hit me like a slap as I stepped out of the station, the fluorescent buzz of the interrogation room still ringing in my head. Olivia was beside me, her stride sharp, her phone pressed against her ear as she rattled off orders to someone on the other end. Gerard trailed behind, muttering about motions and injunctions, his gravelly tone carrying a kind of lethal calm I’d grown to admire. Me? I was vibrating with an energy that refused to settle. Rage wasn’t even the right word anymore…it was venom, pumping through my veins, begging for release. I wanted Mark on his knees, begging the way Ellie must’ve begged him to stop. I wanted him destroyed, not with fists, but with something permanent, undeniable, irrefutable. “Damien.” Olivia’s hand cut across my chest, stopping me at the curb. She’d hung up, her expression pinched, controlled. “You need to get a grip. You’re two seconds from going nuclear and that’s exactly what he wants.” I turned my head, jaw tig

Damien’s POV “Her?!” The way Olivia’s voice cracked made the air in the room shift. I turned to her sharply, my chest tightening. Isabella began sitting up, clutching her head as she looked between us with glassy confusion, like she was caught in the wrong script. I couldn’t stop myself…my legs moved before my mind caught up. The moment I saw the flicker of pain crease her face, it was like some invisible chain yanked me to her side. I adjusted the pillow beneath her with a care I had no right to give, steadying her like a man who belonged there, like a husband…which I damn well wasn’t. My hands lingered a second too long on her cheek before I pulled back, forcing distance, forcing the mask on again. Only when I was certain she was settled did I turn to Olivia, pretending I hadn’t just betrayed myself. “What do you mean by her, Liv? Do you know her?” My voice was sharper than I intended, but I needed answers. Olivia didn’t move at first. Her stare was pinned on Isabella

Damien’s POV Minutes later, the room was on fire…figuratively. Everyone talking at once, screens lighting up with breaking headlines, phones ringing so loud it felt like sirens. But this time… it wasn’t panic clawing at my chest. It was victory, crawling slowly and deliberately through the chaos. “Sir, The Guardian just published an article…headlined ‘Brother or Brute? New Evidence Suggests Damien Voss Was Protecting His Sister.’” Another voice chimed in: “MSNBC just ran a clip labeling you a ‘heroic older brother who stepped in against an abusive cheat.’ It’s shifting, sir. The tide’s turning in our favor.” On the big screens, hashtags began flickering, changing shape like wildfire redirected: #BigBrotherVoss #ProtectYourOwn #FamilyOverEverything The sound of it all was a symphony. A storm I had bent into my rhythm. Phones buzzed and chimed again, but this time the tone was different. Investor lines that had gone cold hours ago were lighting back up. Staff were wh