(Isla's POV)
I entered the code and let myself into my sister's apartment like a thief. Like I didn't belong. Like I was smuggling in guilt.
The lock clicked behind me. Silence wrapped around my shoulders like a thin blanket. The lights were off except for a soft glow in the hallway a motion sensor that blinked on as I stepped out of my shoes and stood there, barefoot again, holding my phone like it might save me.
I didn't call to say I was close. Didn't text. I wasn't ready to talk yet. The apartment smelled like lavender and eucalyptus. Clean. Airy. Nothing like mine. Nothing like his. Here, nothing carried the weight of obsession or the taste of his mouth.
I padded into the guest room quietly. She'd made the bed. Neatly tucked sheets, a small stack of folded towels on the edge. A bottle of water on the nightstand like she already knew I'd need something to hold onto. God. She was too good. I didn't deserve her.
I closed the door behind me, leaned against it, and finally exhaled. This wasn't my place but it was safe. And tonight, that was all I needed. I sat on the edge of the bed. Didn't cry. Didn't move. Just… sat. Trying to understand what the hell just happened.
His hands on me. His mouth. The way he'd said my name like it broke him. The way I let him. I should've said no. I should've stopped it before it started but I didn't and now I couldn't pretend it hadn't happened. Couldn't pretend that I was unaffected or untouched. My skin still carried the memory of him like an echo. My body still pulsed with his ghost.
I pulled my legs up and hugged my knees. This wasn't just sex. Not for me. Not with him and maybe that was the most terrifying part. Because the moment I let myself want Damien Valerius truly want him was the moment I knew I'd never get to want anything else again. Not without comparing it to him. Not without craving more of what already shattered me.
I rested my forehead on my knees, eyes shut tight. I didn't even know what we were now. Enemies? Lovers? A cautionary tale in the making? My phone buzzed once. I lifted my head, heart dropping like a stone when I saw the name.
DAMIEN.
I stared at the screen, jaw tight. He didn't say he'd call. He didn't owe me anything but part of me thought he'd try to reach me sooner. Chase me. Lie to me with something sweet. The silence had been louder than the sex and the call came too late. I let it ring.
No voicemail. No follow-up. Just that one buzz. Like he needed to remind me he still could. I dropped the phone face-down and crawled under the covers fully clothed. I wasn't ready to talk to him and I wasn't sure if I ever would be again.
The sheets smelled Soft. Feminine. Safe. Everything I hadn't been last night. I curled into my side, eyes wide open in the dark, and tried to slow my breathing.
But it was impossible. Every time I blinked, I saw him again. Damien. Towering over me. Pressing into me. Looking at me like he owned me like his blood ran colder than the room but his need was fire. I swallowed hard. Why didn't I stop it?
I didn't want to. Because the moment he touched me, every piece of resistance inside me folded like paper to flame. I was starving. Not for a man. Not for sex. For him and now I felt disgusting for it.
I kicked the sheets off, suddenly too hot. My skin was burning, my insides raw and restless. I sat up. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't even lie still. Not when every nerve in my body screamed with memory. His hand wrapped around my throat, tightening just enough to make me gasp but not enough to make me fear. The way his breath hit my skin just seconds before his mouth did. The way he whispered my name like it was a fucking prayer.
Like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. I shook my head hard, as if I could rattle the thoughts out but they didn't leave. They clung to me like sweat, like the bruise blooming between my thighs a beautiful, damning reminder of just how hard I fell for a man I couldn't afford to want.
I paced the room, arms folded tight across my chest, biting down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. What did I think would happen? That I could walk away from him unscathed? That he'd let me go after tasting me like that? I pressed my palm to the wall to steady myself.
Damien wasn't the kind of man you survived. He was a lesson. A detour into madness. An addiction that started with a single taste and ended with ruin. I had let him in. I'd unlocked that door with my own fingers. Now I couldn't shut it.
The next morning came in shades of pale gold, seeping in through the gauzy curtains like a mercy I hadn't earned. I hadn't slept. I just… drifted. In and out of memory. Half-asleep. Fully haunted. I sat on the edge of the bed, brushing knots out of my hair with trembling fingers, when I heard a soft knock on the door.
I didn't move at first. Then I remembered where I was. My sister's place. A second knock followed — light, hesitant.
"Isla?" she called gently. "You hungry?"
I opened the door, and there she stood hair in a messy bun, holding a mug of something that smelled like cinnamon and oats. Her brows knitted together when she saw me.
"I made you something," she said, offering it without pushing. "I didn't know if you'd want to talk, but… I figured you might not have eaten."
My throat burned. She didn't even ask questions. She just… showed up. Like she always did. I took the mug with both hands and nodded.
"Thanks."
She lingered for a moment, eyes soft. "You can stay as long as you need."
"I know."
I waited for her to ask what had happened. Why I showed up in the middle of the night. Why I looked like I hadn't slept in years. But she didn't. She just reached out, gave my shoulder a squeeze, and stepped back into the hallway, leaving me to crumble in peace.
I showered in silence. Let the water burn my skin until it almost matched the heat of his touch. Scrubbed myself clean with her soaps. Tried not to cry but as soon as I looked at my own reflection the bruised lips, the red mark at the base of my throat where his mouth had sucked too hard I shattered.
I braced my palms on the sink and stared. What the hell did I become? A toy? A pawn? A woman who sold herself for comfort and craved it so deeply she forgot her own name? I pressed my fingertips against the mark.
Damien.
I could still feel him inside me. The way he held me down like I might vanish. The way his rhythm changed when I moaned. The way he almost whispered something at the end — something I couldn't catch. A part of me wanted to call him. Ask what it meant. Ask if I was just another body to him. If he meant any of it.
The smarter part the smaller, quieter part said no. He wanted control and the moment I begged for answers, I'd give it right back to him. I dressed in borrowed clothes from my sister's drawer. An old oversized tee and leggings that didn't hug but hid. My hair in a loose braid. No makeup.
I didn't want to be looked at. Not by the world. Not by myself. That afternoon, I sat by the window with a blanket over my knees and my phone on the table beside That screen dark, mocking. No new messages. No missed calls. No voicemail. He didn't follow up. He hadn't come after me. That should've been a relief. Should've meant I was free but it didn't feel like freedom. It felt like suspense.
Damien Valerius didn't let things go. He didn't leave doors half-open. He finished things and the silence was a warning. A pause before the next move. I sipped my tea and tried to calm the storm in my chest but I already knew whatever came next wouldn't be gentle.
I didn't leave the apartment that day. I Couldn't. I wasn't ready to see the world again. Not while I was still leaking pieces of myself all over this borrowed space. Not while my hands still shook when I reached for a glass. Not while I was waiting breath held, heart on edge for the other shoe to drop. Damien wasn't done with me.
He never let things end on someone else's terms. Not even mine. So I waited. Stared out the window like it might give me answers. He had a way of getting inside your head and making it his playground. And even without him here — without his voice, his presence, his touch — I was still tangled in him. Still his. That realization came with a nausea I couldn't shake.
It was almost dusk when the buzzer rang. I jumped, sloshing tea onto the blanket as my heart bolted into my throat. Who the hell…? I crept to the intercom, throat dry. "Hello?" Silence.
Then a sharp click the front door unlocking downstairs.
I blinked. "Hello?
Still no answer. My pulse skittered. Maybe it was my sister. Maybe she forgot her keys. But she would've called. I stood frozen for a second, debating whether to lock the guest room and hide like some kind of child but something dragged me to the front door instead.
A knock came — soft, measured. I looked through the peephole. Nobody. I opened the door slowly and there it was. A box. Black. Matte. With a crimson ribbon around the top like a gift. I stared at it, afraid to touch it, afraid of what might be inside.
I knew before I even bent to pick it up that this had his fingerprints all over it. I brought it inside carefully, like it might explode. Set it down on the coffee table I didn't open it right away. I just… stared. The way it was wrapped. Deliberate. Luxurious. Like it had come from somewhere expensive intimate. The kind of place where they wrapped silk lingerie or perfume in tissue and gold foil.
My hands hovered over the lid Shaking. I don't know what I was hoping for — an explanation? An apology? Some twisted proof that what happened meant something? I opened the box and everything inside me broke all over again.
There was no note. No words at all. Just… items. A black silk scarf — the same kind he'd used to bind my wrists the first time we touched. The same kind I'd left tangled in his sheets when I ran. A necklace. Fine. Delicate and at the centre? A small charm shaped like a dagger. Sterling silver. Razor-sharp edge. Beautiful. Dangerous.
I lifted it with trembling fingers. The chain felt cold. Heavier than it looked. The kind of gift that meant something but I didn't know what. At the bottom of the box, beneath the scarf, was a key card. No hotel name. No room number. Just the unmistakable shimmer of an invitation. My breath caught in my throat.
Was it a demand? A trap? A choice? Or was this him playing god again — controlling the board, waiting to see if I'd make the move he wanted? I dropped everything back into the box and slammed it shut. My body buzzed like static. Adrenaline. Fear. Want.
The sickest part of me — the traitorous, aching part — wanted to go. Wanted to know what he'd say. What he'd do. Why he sent this instead of himself.
I didn't sleep that night either. I Just lay on the couch under a too-soft blanket, staring at the ceiling, wondering how far I'd fallen and how much further I might still go. Damien Valerius wasn't done with me and as much as I hated it… Neither was I.