All Chapters of Flames of desire. : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Damon’s POVThe drive to the Whitfield estate is long, winding through ancient trees and iron gates that have kept outsiders away for generations. I grip the wheel tighter as I get closer. The estate has always carried a weight with it, one that presses down on me even harder today. I shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Not summoned like a child who’s been caught stealing. But when Harold Whitfield calls, you go.My father no longer sits in boardrooms. He doesn’t sign contracts or watch stock tickers the way he once did. Age caught him. The empire is mine now, built higher, stronger, sharper under my hands. Yet despite everything I’ve done, everything I’ve proven, one thing hasn’t changed. His word still has the power to cut me down. By the time I park in front of the massive stone estate, my chest feels like a vice is tightening around it. I can already imagine him in the study: the fire low, the curtains half-drawn, the smell of old books and older scotch heavy in the air. I know I wo

Damon’s POVI leave the Whitfield estate behind, the heavy doors closing like a verdict. Sienna’s furious hiss echoes in my mind even as I descend the driveway, the gravel crunching under my shoes in rhythm with my heartbeat. My father’s words linger too, warnings, reminders, the weight of an empire passed down through generations. But it’s not the empire that presses at me now. It’s Claire. The thought of her quiet resilience, the way she stands her ground, the small smile that somehow pierces my defences, she dominates my every thought.The streets of Willowcreek are quiet tonight, empty but for the occasional late-night traveller, headlights flickering like distant stars in the dark. I grip the wheel, knuckles white, as I replay every moment of today. Sienna’s venom, the staff frozen in their places, the tension crackling like static electricity in the air. I can still feel it crawling under my skin. But beneath that, there’s clarity. A realisation I can no longer deny: Claire matt

Claire’s POVSunlight filters through the blinds, scattering golden lines across Damon’s chest. I blink against it, my body heavy and warm beneath the sheets, tangled with his. His arm drapes possessively over my waist, pulling me closer even as he stirs from sleep. The scent of him, faintly citrus and dark wood, mingles with the softness of the sheets, and for a moment, I can’t move. I just breathe him in, memorising the weight of him, the curve of his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest. Damon murmurs something low, half-formed, his lips brushing my hair. I shift slightly, my fingers tracing patterns along the skin of his arm, feeling the firm muscle beneath. He groans softly and rolls just enough so his face is close to mine. His eyes are still half-closed, heavy-lidded with sleep, but there’s a fire there, still flickering from the night before.“Morning,” I whisper, voice hoarse from the night.“Morning,” he replies, voice deep and warm. His hand drifts lower along my back, a gen

Claire’s POVThe late morning sun filters through the wide glass windows of the café, warm and golden, casting a sheen over the polished wooden tables and scattering shadows across the tiled floor. The air smells faintly of roasted coffee and vanilla pastries, the comforting scent wrapping around me like a comfortable embrace, but even as I sip the cappuccino in front of me, I cannot shake the odd feeling that something is not quite right. I rarely come here at this hour, preferring the quiet of early mornings or the dim calm of late afternoons, but today has unfolded strangely from the start. Damon was called away unexpectedly, his assistant sending a hurried message that he had to handle urgent business at the company, and I, left with a free morning, thought to spend it here with my notebook, catching up on half-finished thoughts that never seem to leave me alone. It is in this almost serene moment that I hear his voice. A voice that used to be so familiar, it once was my life, but

Sienna’s POVThe sharp crack of Claire’s hand against Mike’s cheek resonates through the café, a sound meant to puncture, to assert dominance, yet instead of the chaos I anticipated, a thrill courses through me, sharper and more intoxicating than I expected, because the first rule of any game is understanding that unpredictability only makes the outcome more delicious, more satisfying if you can harness it, and I feel the pulse of opportunity tightening around my chest, coiling like a living thing, a snake ready to strike, as I watch Claire step forward, spine rigid, eyes ablaze a defiance I was supposed to manipulate but now have to account for in real time, and the sudden jolt of unpredictability is a temptation, a challenge, a sweet poison that sharpens my mind like steel, making me want to press forward, to test, to see just how far her resistance can stretch before it breaks, and I relish the tension that fills the space, thick and heavy with anticipation. I am never satisfied wi