Damien POV:
"Sir, I don't understand," she said, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Do you want to get revenge or not?"
"Of course, sir, I do." I smiled inwardly. She's the perfect target—broken and willing.
I didn't have to worry about her falling for Xavier. Right now, her heart was already shattered. Love was the last thing on her mind.
I sat down, ready to have a serious conversation with her. She followed me and sat down, her eyes eager but uncertain.
"I want you to make Xavier happy," I said, my words blunt yet leaving room for confusion.
She blinked, her long lashes fluttering, and looked at me like she was trying to piece together a puzzle.
Gosh, she was beautiful.
"I don't understand, sir. Mr. Grey looks happy," she said, her voice laced with confusion.
"Is that what you think?" I asked, but she fell silent.
"When you're ready..."
"Oh no, no, no, sir, I'm ready!" she interrupted, her voice shaky now.
"Sir, I just don't understand what you mean by 'making him happy,' and besides, Mr. Grey hates every sight of me. There's no way I can make him happy," she added, her words desperate. I chuckled.
"Then you'll have to make him like it," I said, my tone turning cold. I paused. "You said you were willing to do anything, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Even if it means using your body?" I asked.
Her jaw dropped, and I watched the shock flood her face.
Scarlett's POV:
What? How could he say something like that? He knew I'd been used before. Was he just trying to take advantage of me?
Tears blurred my vision, and I could feel them threatening to spill. My heart tightened in my chest.
"Excuse me?" I asked, hoping I hadn't heard him right.
"You heard me right. Are you willing to give your body to get what you want?" he asked, his voice devoid of any compassion.
"Sir, how can you say such a thing?" My voice broke, thin and fragile.
"I thought you said you were willing to do anything," he replied, his tone flat, his eyes unreadable.
"Please, sir, don't..."
He cut me off, his voice sharp.
"Just answer the damn question."
My heart skipped a beat. I felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath me.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't do that."
He didn't flinch. "Well, I'm sorry, too, but I can't help you." He stood up, turning toward the door.
My chest constricted. I closed my mouth, fighting the scream that almost escaped. Hot tears slipped down my cheeks.
He paused at the door, his back to me. Without looking at me, he dropped his card onto a flowerpot.
"Here's my card. Call me if you change your mind." His voice was indifferent.
Without a second glance, he walked out.
I stared at the closing door, my breath hitching in my throat.
Just when I thought I could finally trust someone, he shattered every bit of hope I had left.
Was this how all men were? They take advantage of women when they're at their most vulnerable—when they need help. They use us and discard us when they're done.
I thought Mr. Cross might be different, but he proved me wrong. Men were always just men.
I would never fall in love again. Never.
I wiped my tears away and stood up, feeling like someone who had lost everything—except this time, it happened in broad daylight.
Ironic, right? I laughed bitterly at myself.
I walked out of the room, not even sparing a glance at the business card. There was no way I was selling my body. Not for him.
I went upstairs, my feet heavy. My body moved like that of a ghost as I headed straight for Mr. Grey's room. I knocked firmly, but there was no answer.
Curiosity gnawed at me, and I pushed the door open, just a crack. To my surprise, it was unlocked. Part of me screamed to stop, to turn around and walk away, but the other part urged me to enter. I hesitated, then stepped inside.
I intended to write a letter, leave it, and leave. That was all. But when I stepped into his room, something stopped me.
His bedroom was—well, it was incredible. I had been in here twice before, but I'd never truly taken the time to admire it.
It was huge. The high ceilings made it feel like the room went on forever. A royal blue rug lay at the center, its deep color complementing the white walls, which had hints of the same blue.
A king-sized bed sat neatly in the center, two glass tables on either side, each with a delicate, expensive-looking lamp. A low-profile sofa rested near the window, a perfect spot for a nap, or to look out at the world from the height of luxury.
A glass table sat beside the sofa, its surface neat and clutter-free, save for two laptops and three phones, all in perfect order.
I had to admit, the guy was living in a dream. So why wasn't he happy?
No, I knew. Mr. Cross just wanted to use me. He didn't care about me at all.
I sank down onto the sofa, staring out the window, lost in thoughts of freedom. When could I be as free as a bird? Travel the world without a care? The idea seemed impossible, like some far-off dream.
The cool breeze from the open window brushed my face, but it did nothing to ease the heaviness in my chest.
What the fuck is this?
The voice made my heart freeze. I turned slowly, my breath caught in my throat.
Mr. Grey stood a few feet away, his wet hair clinging to his forehead, a towel wrapped around his waist.
I couldn't help it. My eyes involuntarily flicked down his body, taking in the contours of his chest, the sharp lines of his abs. God, he was beautiful.
I quickly looked away, forcing myself to focus on anything else, but the image of him—so perfect, so unreachable—kept flashing behind my eyelids.
I heard him sigh in frustration. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Grey, I just wanted to talk to you," I stammered, my voice shaking.
"Without my permission?" He raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with annoyance.
I flinched, but he didn't seem to care.
"Go away. I don't like talking to dogs," he said coldly.
Did he just call me a dog? How dare he?
I felt my blood boil.
"I'm a civilized lady. Referring to me as a dog is incredibly rude," I retorted.
He scoffed. "Civilized lady? More like an uncivilized dog that bites."
My anger flared. The bite from last night—the one he was still holding against me—wasn't the real reason for his cruelty.
"I'm sorry. I was choking. I didn't mean to bite you," I said, though the apology felt hollow.
"If you'd just kept your damn mouth shut, I wouldn't have had to stop you." He exhaled sharply. "You know what? Just get out."
I couldn't believe it. After all of this, he was just going to throw me out like nothing?
"Mr. Grey, please, hear me out just this once."
He turned his back on me, his words cold as ice.
"I'm not interested. You're leaving by the end of this week. I've had enough of your nonsense."
I called after him, but he didn't even spare me a glance.
Defeated, I turned and made my way back to my room, my heart a lead weight in my chest.
I only had six days to convince him.
I sat on the bed, staring at nothing. My eyes were swollen from crying, and even though my heart still ached, I couldn't cry anymore. There was only one name that kept echoing in my mind:
Damien Cross.