Kissing her was the only way out. At least, it felt like the only way to save both of us from what was about to come next.
My lips collided with hers—not out of desire, but desperation. It wasn't soft. It wasn't sweet, just something I did to cover up our sins.
And then the door creaked open.
Shit.
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. I could feel the weight of that stare at the back of my skin.
Father.
His silence screamed. A quiet gasp escaped him, and I heard the door slam shut again. Not hard enough to wake the other members of the family,but just enough to make his point clear.
Privacy granted.
I pulled away from her, my breath ragged, heart pounding like a fucking war drum. Her eyes blazed with fury. She opened her mouth to yell, but I wasn't in the mood to be yelled at. Not with my father standing on the other side of that door.
I pinned her to the wall with one hand, the other covering her mouth gently—but firmly.
"Shhh," I hissed, my voice low. "Calm down."
Her eyes flared wide, but I pointed toward the door. A shadow loomed beneath it. He was still there. Listening. Waiting.
Waiting for me to explain why I had a half-naked stranger in my bed.
I let go of her and stepped back, running a hand down my face. My palm was damp, sweat trickling down my temples.
"Get dressed," I muttered, my voice flat. "Now."
She stared at me like I was some lunatic with the way I acted, maybe shocked that I kissed her.
Her body—God, her body—was distracting. Smooth curves. Red marks blooming like flowers where I'd kissed her. I had to look away. I couldn't afford another mistake.
I pulled on my briefs, grabbed a shirt off the chair, and left.
The hallway outside was colder than I remembered. My father stood at the far end, arms crossed, lips drawn into a tight line.
He looked at me the same way he used to when I broke a window with a baseball bat at eleven. Disappointment and patience fighting hard to dominate his features.
"Who was that?" he asked without flinching.
How do I explain to him that I had no idea who the hell the lady was? I'd thought it was Eden. After being away from home for six years, I came back and unfortunately, that was the day my aunt decided to celebrate her birthday. I'd avoided the party, and walked into the room.Arranged the bed so that I'd have fun with Eden. And now her?
I swallowed, as if I had rehearsed what I said, I spoke,
"My girlfriend."
The hallway felt quiet, safe from the beating of my heart. My lips quivered slightly, my breath Uneven. The silence which hung heavy in the air was deafening.
"Who now?"
I nodded slowly. "My girlfriend."
I wanted to be sick. I prayed he wouldn't ask for her name. I had no idea who she was or how she got into my bed.
He exhaled, long and controlled, then gave a nod,
"Good. Come to the study. Bring her."
Then he walked away, his footsteps echoing down the marble corridor.
When I walked back into the room, she was bent over, slipping her gown over her shoulders, her back turned to me. She didn't know I was watching her. And for a moment—just a moment—I saw a flicker of vulnerability in her posture. The soft curve of her spine. The tremble in her fingers. The way she wore her gown in haste, fear evident.
She turned to face me. Her eyes were sharp again, and I cleared my throat.
"I need your name," I said, bluntly.
She blinked.
"What?"
"Your name," I said again, slower this time. "Tell me what it is."
She hesitated. Her eyes fixated on the floor. "Selene," she whispered.
I sighed. "Selene," I repeated, as if tasting it. "Well, Selene, I just told my father you're my girlfriend."
Her brows furrowed.
"You what?"
"I lied," I said. "To protect myself. And maybe you too."
Her arms tightened around her hips, her entire body rigid.
"You can't be serious."
"Oh, I'm very serious," I snapped. "My father doesn't tolerate shit like this. Random girls in my bed? Half-naked and uninvited? You think he'd let that slide? You think he won't ask who you are or where you came from?"
She looked away, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"If he finds out you're not my girlfriend," I continued, "you'll be arrested for trespassing. And I—I'll be disgraced. Stripped of everything I've worked for."
Her mouth parted slightly, the color draining from her face. I let the words sink in, so that she'd understand the gravity of her offense before I continued.
"You don't understand," I said, voice softening just a fraction. "My father is the kind of man who smiles as he destroys you. He will bury you under legal paperwork and scandal. Your face will be on every headline. And your mother—whoever she is—will suffer for it."
I watched her expression crumble.
That got her. She looked a little bit familiar, but I couldn't place my hand on where or when I had met her. Maybe after meeting my father, I'd find out more about her. And if she was one of those ladies trying to sneak her way into the mansion, then she'd be done for.
"I… I didn't mean to be here," she murmured.
I felt my temper flare instantly and I struggled to keep them in check. I shouldn't snap now. Maybe later. Judging by what she wore, I could decipher she was one of these street ladies who wanted a taste of wealth. She had managed to crawl into the heart of the mansion impersonating someone.
"I don't care. You have an explanation to do after this, and if I find out that you are one of those street girls," I paused, my brow knitting. "Then, I'd deal with you. Now, all you have to do is pretend."
She shook her head.
"I can't—"
"You have to," I cut in. "For both our sakes."
Her knees buckled slightly, and she reached for the dresser to steady herself.
I didn't wait for her to agree. I turned, pulling on a pair of pants and leaving the shirt loose on my shoulders. My jaw was clenched.
As I opened the door, I glanced over my shoulder.
"Do I need to ask you to follow me?" I asked coldly before walking out. I heard her footsteps, soft and gentle.
I stood at the threshold for a while before walking in. The study room reeked of the scent of fresh books, the hum of the printer filling the air. Heavy mahogany shelves lined the wall,crowded with books.
My father sat behind the table, maintaining a stoic expression, keeping a distance between us, the same distance he'd kept ever since I was a child.
"Sit," he instructed, his voice cold.
My shoulders sagged as I walked up to him, sitting on the chair reluctantly, Selene sitting close to me. From her stiffened posture, I could tell she was nervous…probably terrified. My father exuded this fear and a powerful aura.
"Young lady," he said, adjusting the glasses which perched on his pointed nose before continuing,
"You are Damian's girlfriend?" he asked.
The air was heavy with tension, the deafening silence stretching. Her fingers drummed nervously on her laps, and I found my patience wearing thin, my chest tightening.
The urge to grab her by the jaw and press it so hard that she pleaded overwhelmed me.
God, why wasn't she speaking? Christ.
"Y…yes," she replied, her words faltering.