Isla's POV
I can't move.
Damien's walking toward me, and everyone in the ballroom might as well be invisible. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can hear it.
He stops in front of me, and I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. He's so tall, so commanding. Everyone else fades into background noise.
Happy birthday. His voice is low, controlled like always.
He hands me the small wrapped box. Our fingers brush, and electricity shoots through me. His jaw clenches. Did he feel it too?
I unwrap it with shaking hands, aware of everyone watching. Inside is a diamond bracelet—delicate, sparkling, beautiful.
And completely cold. Like everything else he gives me.
My chest tightens with disappointment. This is something you give a business partner. Not someone you've lived with for six years. Not someone you might actually care about.
Harper squeezes my hand in silent support.
Thank you, I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. It's beautiful.
The words I really want to say stick in my throat: Do I mean anything to you? Do you see me at all?
Will you put it on me? The request slips out before I can stop it.
Something flashes in his eyes—surprise, maybe hunger—before his mask slams back into place.
He takes my wrist without a word. His fingers are warm against my skin, and they linger. His thumb presses against my pulse point, and I know he can feel how fast my heart's racing.
The moment stretches too long. Someone coughs awkwardly. People shift.
But Damien doesn't let go. His eyes are locked on where his hand holds my wrist, like he's memorizing the feel of my skin.
Damien, I whisper.
He releases me so quickly I almost stumble. Steps back like I burned him.
Enjoy your party. The words are clipped, dismissive.
Then he's gone, retreating to the shadows at the edge of the ballroom with a fresh glass of scotch.
But I feel his eyes on me. Every second. Every breath.
Harper pulls me aside later, her voice low. Girl, the way that man looks at you is not legal.
Stop. My cheeks burn.
I'm serious. That's not a guardian looking at his ward. That's a man who wants to devour you whole. She grabs my shoulders. What's going on between you two?
Nothing. He's just protective.
That's not protective. That's obsessed. Harper glances at Damien, who's watching us with dark eyes. Be careful, Isla. Men like him don't do anything halfway.
The party continues, but I'm hyperaware of Damien in the corner. Every time I laugh, his fingers tighten on his glass. When a guy from school asks me to dance, Damien's entire body goes rigid.
I dance anyway, just to see what he'll do.
The boy—Tyler, I think his name is—pulls me close. Too close. His hands drop to my waist, and I'm about to step back when I feel it.
Damien's presence behind us, cold and threatening.
The dance is over. His voice could freeze fire.
Tyler drops his hands like I'm made of hot coals. Sorry, Mr. Blackwood. I didn't mean—
Leave.
Tyler practically runs away.
I spin to face Damien, angry and thrilled in equal measure. What are you doing?
Protecting you.
From a dance?
From boys who don't know how to keep their hands to themselves. His eyes are storm clouds. You're eighteen, not twenty-one. No alcohol, no inappropriate touching.
You're not my father.
No. Something dangerous flashes across his face. I'm not.
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning I don't quite understand.
Before I can respond, he walks away again, leaving me breathless and confused.
The party ends around midnight. Harper hugs me goodbye, whispering, Call me if you need to escape that fortress.
After everyone leaves, the mansion feels too quiet. Too big. The staff cleans up while I stand in the empty ballroom, still wearing my white dress, the diamond bracelet cold on my wrist.
I should go to bed. Tomorrow I start my gap year before college, and I need sleep.
But I find myself walking toward his study instead.
The door's cracked open, light spilling into the dark hallway. I know I shouldn't go in. Nothing good can come from being alone with Damien when the air between us feels this charged.
But I can't help it. I need to know if tonight meant anything to him.
I push the door open.
Damien's at his desk, tie loosened, looking exhausted. A half-empty bottle of scotch sits beside him—unusual, since he rarely drinks this much.
He looks up sharply. You should be in bed.
I wanted to thank you. For the party. For everything. I step inside, closing the door behind me. The click sounds too loud.
You already thanked me.
Not properly.
Isla. Warning fills my name. It's late.
Why won't you look at me? The question bursts out. During the party, you watched me constantly. But now that we're alone, you can't even meet my eyes.
His hands clench on the desk. Go to bed.
No. Courage—or maybe champagne—makes me bold. I'm eighteen now. You're not my guardian anymore, not legally. You're just Damien. So stop treating me like a child and talk to me like a person.
You want me to talk to you like a person? He stands abruptly, and suddenly the room feels smaller. Fine. You're reckless. You let that boy touch you when you barely know him. You drink too much at parties. You make decisions without thinking about consequences.
Each word stings. That's what you think of me?
That's what I observe.
Then why do you care? If I'm so reckless and stupid, why does it matter what I do?
Because— He stops, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking.
Because what? I step closer, my heart pounding. Say it, Damien. For once in six years, just tell me the truth.
The air between us crackles with tension. Damien's control visibly fractures. His eyes drop to my lips, then snap back to my face.
You don't know what you're asking.
Yes, I do. Another step. I'm close enough now to smell his cologne, see the shadow of stubble on his jaw. I'm asking why you took me in. Why you've controlled every aspect of my life. Why you destroy any boy who looks at me twice. Why you watch me like— My voice drops to a whisper. Like you're starving and I'm the only thing that can satisfy you.
His breath catches. For one electric moment, I think he'll close the distance. Kiss me. Finally admit what's been building between us.
Instead, he moves around the desk, putting space between us.
I took you in because your father's will named me your guardian. I control your life because you're my responsibility until you're twenty-one. And I watch you because it's my job to keep you safe. His voice is ice. That's all. Nothing more.
The rejection hits like a slap. You're lying.
Excuse me?
You're lying. I point at his clenched fists, the way he won't look at me, the tension in every line of his body. You feel it too. This thing between us. You're just too controlled to admit it.
There is no 'thing' between us. But his voice wavers, just slightly.
Then prove it. I don't know where this boldness comes from—maybe desperation, maybe champagne, maybe six years of wanting him. Look me in the eye and tell me you feel nothing. That I'm just a responsibility. Just a child.
Damien finally meets my gaze, and what I see there steals my breath.
Hunger. Need. Torment.
What I feel— He stops, shakes his head. What I feel doesn't matter. You're eighteen years old. I'm thirty-six. I raised you. Wanting you would make me a monster.
But you do want me. It's not a question.
His silence is answer enough.
The confession should scare me. Instead, it sends heat through my entire body.
Damien
Get out. The words are harsh, final. Get out of my study before I do something we'll both regret.
I should listen. Should run.
But I take one more step toward him instead. What if I want you to?
His control shatters.
He crosses the room in two strides, backing me against the wall. But he doesn't touch me—just cages me in with his arms on either side of my head.
You don't know what you're saying. His voice is rough, desperate. You don't know what I am. What I'm capable of.
Then show me.
For one breathless second, his face dips toward mine. His lips are inches away. I can feel his breath on my skin.
Then his phone rings, shattering the moment.
Damien jerks back like he's been electrocuted. He grabs his phone, his mask slamming back into place. What?
I can't hear the other person, but I watch Damien's expression shift from desire to cold fury.
I'll be there in twenty minutes. He hangs up and looks at me, his eyes unreadable. Go to bed, Isla. This conversation never happened.
But
Now.
He walks out, leaving me trembling against the wall, my whole body aching with want and confusion.
I make it back to my room somehow. Lie in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment.
He wants me. He admitted it.
But he won't let himself have me.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Probably Harper checking if I'm okay.
But it's an unknown number.
Did you enjoy your birthday gift? The bracelet is lovely—almost as lovely as the way Damien looks at you when he thinks no one's watching. But some gifts come with strings attached. Some guardians aren't what they seem. Sweet dreams, birthday girl. Tomorrow, ask him about the accident. The REAL story.
Ice floods my veins.
I stare at the message, my heart racing.
Someone's watching us.
Someone knows Damien's secrets.