The air between us still crackled; it was sharp with all the unsaid words from breakfast. My pulse was unsteady, but Damian? God, Damian looked like he'd won some invisible war. He was calm, smug, and shirtless until he finally decided to put on clothes and drag me along.
Minutes later, we were sliding into the backseat of a sleek, black car. Of course, it wasn't just any car—it had leather seats that smelled like money and windows tinted so dark the outside world disappeared.
Damian slid in beside me, silent, adjusting his cuffs like nothing had just happened. I bit back a comment, because if I said one more thing, it would spiral into another fight. And honestly, I wasn't sure I had the energy for Round Three this early in the day.
The car hummed to life, and for a while, there was only silence. Not the other kind of silence but the kind that weighed heavily, like the pause before a storm. Then, without looking at me, Damian spoke.
"You've never seen the mansion before, have you?"
I blinked. "The mansion?"
How was I supposed to see the mansion? Ever? I didn't even know I would get tangled in this mess, and here he is, asking me about seeing the 'mansion'.
His mouth curved, faint amusement breaking his otherwise stone face. "De Rossi estate. You'll see it soon enough."
I scoffed under my breath. "Of course, you live in a mansion. Figures."
That earned me a sideways glance, sharp but not unkind. "It's not just a house. It's history. Think of it this way: every brick, hallway, and even soul inside the mansion carries weight. And it comes with… rules."
"Rules?" I echoed, raising a brow.
"Mm," he hummed, leaning back. "Certain rooms are off-limits. Certain people you don't speak to unless spoken to first. You'll learn fast."
"Oh, fantastic," I muttered. "Sounds less like a mansion and more like a royal prison."
He chuckled low; even the sound vibrated through the car. "Call it what you want, Selene. But once you step inside, you'll understand."
I still don't understand why does he want me to come with him after that night? Couldn't he have left and pretended nothing happened? Oh yeah, I remember, he doesn't want me to call him later on and say he's the baby daddy. Figures.
I didn't answer, but my stomach twisted anyway. Rules. Off-limits rooms. People I wasn't supposed to talk to. What the hell had I gotten myself into?
The car slowed, tires crunching on polished gravel, and then—there it was.
The mansion loomed ahead, impossibly tall, marble-white with iron gates that looked like they'd been forged in some gothic fever dream. The windows glimmered in the morning light, endless rows of them, and the gardens looked like something stolen from a palace.
"Holy sh*t," I whispered before I could stop myself.
Damian smirked. "Told you."
The car door opened, and a cool breeze swept in. I stepped out, my sneakers crunching against gravel as my eyes tried—and failed—to take in everything at once.
And then…
"Damian."
The voice sliced through the air, cold, precise, dripping with disdain. I turned just in time to see her.
A woman—elegant, regal, terrifying—stood at the top of the stairs, her heels clicking like a countdown as she descended. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her dress spotless, her eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
"Where," she said, pausing mid-step, "have you been?"
Damian's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. My chest constricted, because even without knowing her, I already felt the weight of her disapproval—and it wasn't even directed at me. Yet.
-----------------
Damian hadn't even opened his mouth yet, and I already knew this woman—his mother—was going to hate me. It was written all over her polished smile and dagger eyes.
"Mother," Damian said smoothly, stepping forward with the kind of confidence only someone born into wealth could manage. "This is Selene Hart."
Her gaze slid to me like a blade drawn from its sheath. She didn't extend her hand. She didn't smile. She just… looked. From the top of my slightly messy hair to the scuffed tips of my sneakers, she assessed me like I was a stain on her white marble floors.
"Selene… Hart," she repeated, her voice cool, deliberate. "And what exactly are you doing here, dressed like… that?"
I stiffened; even my mouth went dry. Damian, of course, cut in before I could bite back. "She's with me."
He knew what I was capable of saying to his 'mum'
"With you?" His mother arched a perfectly plucked brow. "Darling, women like this aren't 'with you.' They're… temporary."
I choked on air. Did this woman just call me disposable to my face?
"Mother." Damian's tone sharpened, a warning under the smoothness. "Don't."
She ignored him, her eyes never leaving me. "I suppose it doesn't matter what I say, does it? You always did have a taste for trouble. But this—" she gestured to me with a flick of her manicured hand "—this is hardly the caliber of woman who could stand at your side."
My nails dug into my palms, as anger burned under my skin. But Damian stayed calm, too calm, and that made it a lot worse.
"She's not what you think," he said firmly.
"Oh, I know exactly what she is," his mother snapped. "A distraction. A liability. A girl with no breeding, no polish, no purpose here other than to ruin you. And if you can't see that, then perhaps you're more foolish than I thought."
I opened my mouth, ready to rip into her, but Damian cut me a quick glance—sharp, warning me to hold back. My blood boiled.
"I said she's with me," Damian repeated, voice low, steady, but tight with restraint.
His mother's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. More like mockery. "Then pray, Damian. Pray you survive against your rivals while dragging this… girl behind you. Because if you don't—" she let her gaze rake over me one last time, "—she'll be the very thing that destroys you."
The silence after her words was deafening, thick as smoke. I could feel my pulse pounding in my throat, my chest, everywhere.
And for the first time, I wondered if maybe—just maybe—she was right.