บททั้งหมดของ you are mine only mine: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 29

His eyes did it before his hands did.Pinned her. Held her completely still without touching her. That red glow barely contained behind the green, watching her body betray every word coming out of her mouth.She held his stare anyway."Why do you even care." Not a question. Flat. Defiant. "You don't own me. You don't have the right to ask me anything."Damien leaned in.Slow. No rush. Like he had all night and knew it.His breath hit the side of her neck and her skin tightened immediately, a full-body response she had zero control over."Really, kitten." His voice was quiet. That particular quiet that was worse than loud. "That's what you think."His eyes dropped — deliberate — down her body and back up."Your body's saying something different."Her breath seized in her chest.He straightened. Eyes back on hers."I'll ask you one more time." No heat in it. Just the words, landing clean and final. "Who gave it to you."A beat."You don't answer — I take that as a yes." His gaze didn't

The first thing Rose noticed when she woke was the emptiness beside her.Damien was gone.She reached over, pressing her palm flat against his side of the bed — still warm. He hadn't been gone long. She exhaled slowly, blinking up at the ceiling, when the bathroom door swung open and he stepped out.Just a towel.Water trailed down the hard planes of his chest, following the cut lines of his abdomen before disappearing beneath the white fabric knotted low at his hips. He ran a hand through his damp hair, unbothered, completely unaware — or pretending to be — of the way Rose had gone utterly still.She couldn't help it. Her eyes moved over him slowly, hungrily, tracing every ridge and curve. She thought about those arms. How they had held her down. How certain they had felt around her body. The memory of the night before rushed back in a wave — the way he had taken her apart, piece by piece, until she had shattered completely — and heat bloomed low in her stomach, spreading fast."Like

Chapter 23: The PhotographThe mirror told me nothing at first.I stood in front of it and looked. Really looked. Searching for whatever Charles had seen in eleven years of watching us both move through the same house.Just my face. My eyes. My hair.Nothing remarkable.Then I went still.And saw it.The way I was standing — weight slightly forward, head tilted a fraction to the left, every muscle completely motionless while my brain worked.Exactly the way Damien stood.I hadn't learned it from him. I'd known him days.Which meant I came with it.I stepped closer to the glass.Pressed my palm flat against it.The mirror fogged. Not from breath. From my hand. The glass responding to the contact like it recognized it — a perfect fog print spreading from my palm outward.I yanked my hand back.Watched the print fade slowly.Stood there breathing.No.I shook my head. Said it out loud to the empty room.No. I'm exhausted. I haven't slept properly in days. I'm in a strange house with a st

Chapter 25: Follow The RosesThe door opened without knocking.Two maids walked in. A third behind them. Between them — a dress. Red. The kind of red that didn't ask permission.I sat up in bed."Mrs. Rose." The first one smiled. "The boss asked us to get you ready."I looked at the dress. Then at them. "Get me ready for what. Where is he."My phone buzzed on the nightstand.I picked it up.Don't ask too many questions kitten. Get dressed and come down.Heat moved up my neck before I could stop it.I put the phone down."Fine," I said. "Let's go."One hour later I stood in front of the mirror and didn't recognize myself.The dress fit like it was made specifically for this body on this night. Red. Floor length. The kind of cut that was somehow both modest and devastating at the same time. My hair was pinned up with pieces falling loose around my face. The makeup was minimal — just enough to make my eyes look like they meant something.I stood there and stared.Then I walked out.With

Chapter 27: His TerritoryI woke up to the smell of smoke that wasn't smoke.It clung to the sheets, to the pillow, to my own skin — something dark and warm and faintly like a struck match, and I understood, lying there with my eyes still closed, that it was him. That it had always been him. That I'd been breathing in the scent of whatever he actually was since the first night his hands found my waist, and I'd simply never had the word for it before.I am the devil.The memory hit before I'd even opened my eyes. His voice, flat and certain under a sky with no light pollution because he'd told a city block to go dark. The wind stopping mid-breath. The way he hadn't blinked.My stomach dropped and lifted at the same time. Two feelings that should have cancelled each other out and instead braided together into something I didn't have a clean name for. Fear. And underneath the fear, close enough to touch it, something that wanted.He'd carried me here after. I remembered that much — his a