Damian Robin Costume Novels & Stories

Chapter 108 Sunday rolled up faster than anyone expected. Damian was standing in front of the mirror with his suit on. He had to admit, that he liked it and Xavier had very good taste. His suit was modest. Not too flashy and not too dull. "I just want this to all be over. And I have to wear this ridiculous bow tie." Damian adjusted the bow tie for the umpteenth time. He really hated it. He just wanted to wear a regular tie now he was struggling with the annoying little thing on his neck. He heard a soft knock on his door and it opened slightly.

Damian stood tall, powerful, the kind of man who looked like he could break worlds in half—and yet, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at me made me feel like the only thing he wanted to hold was me. He was wearing a deep yellow tunic with intricate gold embroidery down the sides. It hugged his torso, emphasizing the breadth of his chest and the slimness of his waist. The color… it was so unlike him. But it worked. Damn, it worked. “You…” I breathed. “You look breathtaking.” He grimaced immediately. “My brothers forced this on me. Something about tradition and sunshine and symbolism,” he grumbled with a roll of his eyes. I laughed. “They were right. It’s perfect.”

That was the same night he left and never came back. "So you bought your colleague this beautiful dress she is wearing?" Damian asked frank after some moment of silence. you can tell from his voice that he was getting tipsy, or maybe I noticed it because I know he is not a heavy drinker. "No" frankly answered honestly. "It's a shame then, I enjoy picking my woman's clothes," He said jokily. Truthfully Damian has eyes for good clothes, some of the clothes he bought me back then in school are still my favorite.

A beat of silence—then Silas’s voice echoed back: “We’re here to get you out, Your Majesty!” Damian exhaled through his nose—half tension, half relief. He unclasped his cloak, the heavy, emerald-lined fabric falling loose. He draped it around Rowan’s shoulders, pulling it tight so nothing could be seen, nothing exposed. “Keep it on,” he murmured. Then, without warning, he swept Rowan up into his arms—one arm under his knees, one around his back. Rowan stiffened.

Damian. He walked in late, which was a power move in itself. He wasn't in a standard tuxedo; he was wearing something custom in deep midnight blue velvet, which somehow made him look bigger, sharper, and utterly untouchable. His black hair was slicked back, and his eyes, slate gray and instantly calculating, cut through the crowd noise and found me instantly, standing next to Julian. The contact was immediate, electric, and terrifying. The cold, corporate mask was back in place, but beneath it, I felt the sharp, possessive rage radiating across fifty feet of polished marble floor. The wolf in my core thrummed a dangerous, savage rhythm.