Elena.
I woke to the faintest trace of sandalwood and smoke. It wasn't mine.
My eyes flew open, and sure enough there he was. Damien. In my bed.
He was lying on his side, one arm stretched over my waist like it belonged there, his breathing slow and even. His hair was tousled, his shirt gone, the faint line of muscle visible beneath the sheet draped low over his hips.
I froze, afraid to move. Not because I thought he'd hurt me, but because if I woke him up, I'd have to deal with his inevitable smugness.
How the hell had he gotten back in here without me noticing?
Carefully, I started to shift out from under his arm. That's when his arm around me tightened.
"Running away already, sweetheart?" His voice was rough with sleep, deeper, slower—sin wrapped in silk.
"I wasn't running," I lied. "I was… going to make coffee."
His lips curved, eyes still half-lidded. "You don't drink coffee in the mornings."
"You don't know anything about me."
That woke him up fully. His eyes opened, dark and sharp even in the early light. "I know enough. Like how you bite the inside of your cheek when you're lying. Like right now."
I clenched my jaw. "Get out of my bed, Damien."
He didn't move. "You think you can draw lines between us, but you can't, Elena. This is your bed, my bed… doesn't matter. You're mine either way."
I sat up, shoving his arm off. "In your head, maybe."
He stretched lazily, completely unbothered, before swinging his legs off the bed and standing. Almost naked with just his shorts on his waist, my eyes slowly traced down the length of his body, stoping at the outline in his pants. I swallowed. When my eyes finally made its descent back to his face, I saw a smirk on his face, I looked away quickly, reprimanding myself for having being caught staring.
"Get dressed. We're leaving in an hour."
I blinked. "Leaving to where?"
"The gala," he said, getting his shirt off from the floor and pulling it on over his head. "High-profile charity event. I want the world to see Mrs. Blackwood."
"I'm not your trophy," I snapped.
"You're worse," he said with a faint smirk. "You're the one thing I can't take my eyes off, until I totally own and destroy you."
He left me sitting there, pulse hammering, half furious and half… God help me… curious.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, hands clutching the silk of my dress as if I could wring my nerves out of it. Damien had chosen this dress deep crimson, slit high enough to make my thighs burn under his gaze earlier, and a back so bare it felt like an invitation to sin.
I hated it.
I hated how breath taking I looked.
I hated even more that he knew it.
The sound of his voice floated in from the doorway, low and taunting.
"Stop glaring at yourself, Elena. You look like you're trying to pick a fight with the mirror."
I spun to find him leaning casually against the frame, tuxedo tailored to his sinful perfection. His black hair was slicked back, jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and his eyes… God, those eyes. They held the kind of danger that made smart women run and stupid ones fall to their knees.
"You didn't tell me we were going to a gala," I said, folding my arms. "And you sure as hell didn't ask me if I wanted to wear this."
His lips twitched in a smirk. "I don't ask, Elena. I decide."
I bristled. "You're not—"
He pushed off the doorway, closing the space between us with the predatory ease of a man who always got his way. "Not what? Your husband?" He leaned in, his cologne invading my senses, dark and intoxicating. "Oh wait but… I am."
You're my husband on paper,and nothing else " I shot back, even though my voice betrayed the smallest hitch. "Not in reality, never in reality.
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and for a second, I swore I saw something raw flash in his eyes—anger? Hurt? I didn't get to decide because his smirk returned, much colder this time
"Tonight, reality doesn't matter. Tonight, you'll smile, you'll hold my arm, and you'll play the role of the perfect Mrs. Blackwood."
"And if I don't?"
He didn't blink. "Then I'll remind you why you married me, why you're in this, in my house in the first place… starting with your little brother rotting in a cell."
The air between us went still. My nails bit into my palms.
"You're a bastard, a fucking bastard." I whispered.
"Always," he murmured, and then, with an infuriating gentleness, offered me his arm. "Now shall we?"
By the time I made it downstairs, Damien was already waiting, leaning against the sleek black car parked in the driveway. He looked infuriatingly perfect in his suit, the morning sun glinting off the watch on his wrist.
"You're late," he said, opening the door for me.
I brushed past him without a word, sliding into the leather seat.
The ride was silent, but not comfortable. His gaze kept sliding to me, and every time it did, I felt it like a touch. By the time we pulled up to the grand hotel hosting the gala, my nerves were frayed.
The moment we stepped out, cameras started flashing. Damien's hand found my lower back. The gala was a glittering nightmare—crystal chandeliers, champagne flowing like water, and a crowd that smelled like old money and secrets.
As we walked in, every head turned. Damien thrived on it, the subtle shift in posture, the whispers. He owned the room without saying a word. And me? I was just the woman on his arm… the woman everyone was dying to know the story about.
"Damien Blackwood, I thought the rumors were exaggerations," a tall, blonde socialite purred as she approached. Her gaze flicked to me with polite disdain. "And this must be your… fiancé ?"
"Elena," Damien said smoothly, pulling me closer. "My everything."
I shot him a warning glare, but he ignored it, enjoying the way the blonde's lips thinned.
The night was a parade of fake smiles and sharper-than-diamond conversations. Every time I tried to step away, Damien's hand found my waist, grounding or trapping me. I couldn't tell which anymore.
Then, halfway through, I spotted him.
My father.
He was across the room, drink in hand, laughing with a cluster of CEOs. My stomach twisted violently. The man who destroyed Damien's family. The man whose betrayal started this entire nightmare. The man who left my brother and I for good.
I didn't realize I'd stopped moving until Damien's voice brushed against my ear.
"Ah. I see you've spotted the ghost."
I turned to him sharply. "Don't. Not here."
"Oh, sweetheart…" He smiled without warmth. "Especially here."