Isla's POV
The second Julian's car disappears down the driveway, I storm toward Damien's study.
He's already there, pouring himself a drink with sharp, angry movements. The scotch splashes against the glass like his control is fracturing.
Good.
I slam the door behind me. We need to talk.
Not now, Isla. He doesn't even look at me.
Yes, now. I cross my arms. You practically attacked my uncle. Squeezed his throat in front of a restaurant full of people. What's wrong with you?
He was baiting me.
So what? You're supposed to be the controlled one. The ice king who never loses his temper. I step closer. But you lost it tonight. Because he touched my hand.
Damien's jaw clenches. He was manipulating you.
Or maybe you just can't stand the thought of another man touching me. The accusation hangs in the air between us. Why do you care so much, Damien? Why does it matter who I see? Who I touch?
This isn't about that.
Then what is it about? My voice rises. You don't want me, so why can't anyone else have me?
Don't be ridiculous.
I'm not being ridiculous! I'm being honest! I'm shouting now, six years of frustration pouring out. You control everything—who I talk to, where I go, what I wear. You make boys disappear from my life. You watch me constantly. But you won't tell me why!
Because it's my job to protect you.
Protect me from what? From living? From being a normal eighteen-year-old girl? Tears burn my eyes. You're suffocating me, Damien. And I can't take it anymore.
Then leave. His voice is ice. You're eighteen. You have access to your trust fund. Get your own apartment. Live your own life. I won't stop you.
The words should feel like freedom. Instead, they feel like a slap.
You want me to leave?
I want you to do whatever makes you happy.
Liar. I move around his desk, getting in his space. If you wanted me happy, you'd let me make my own choices. You'd stop controlling everything. You'd—
You have no idea what I want. He finally looks at me, and the intensity in his gray eyes steals my breath. No idea what it costs me to maintain this distance. To watch you grow more beautiful every day and know I can never—
He stops, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking.
Never what? My heart pounds. Say it, Damien. For once, just say what you're thinking.
You want the truth? He slams his hand on the desk, making me jump. Fine. You want proof that I care who touches you? That I can't stand the thought of you with anyone else?
Yes!
Then here it is.
He crosses the room in three strides and backs me against the wall. He doesn't touch me—doesn't lay a single finger on me—but his presence is overwhelming. I can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his body.
My back presses against the cold wall. There's nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.
And I don't want to.
You think you want freedom? His voice is rough, dangerous. You think some college boy can handle you? You'd eat them alive, little one. You're too much—too smart, too willful, too intense. They'd bore you in a week.
And you wouldn't?
I'd consume you. His eyes drop to my lips, then snap back to my face. I'd own every thought, every breath, every piece of you. Because I'm not some boy who'd be satisfied with holding your hand. I'd want everything.
My breath catches. Then why
Because you're eighteen years old and I'm thirty-six. Because I raised you. Because wanting you the way I do makes me a monster. His hand slams against the wall beside my head, and I flinch. Because you deserve someone good and kind and age-appropriate. Not a man who's spent six years trying not to fall in love with his ward.
The confession crashes over me like a wave.
You love me? I whisper.
Damien's eyes close like the words caused him physical pain. I didn't want to. God knows I fought it. But somewhere between teaching you to defend yourself and watching you become the most extraordinary woman I've ever known, I fell anyway.
Then why
Because loving you doesn't make it right! His eyes snap open, blazing with emotion I've never seen before. You think I don't know what this is? Obsession. Possession. Sickness. I've controlled your life, isolated you, destroyed anyone who got too close. That's not love, Isla. That's madness.
Maybe I want your madness. The words slip out before I can stop them.
Damien goes completely still. You don't know what you're saying.
Yes, I do. I reach up slowly, giving him time to pull away. My hand touches his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath my palm. I've wanted you for so long. Watched you, waited for you to see me as more than a child. And now you're telling me you love me, but you won't do anything about it?
Isla
I'm not asking you to be appropriate or good or right. My other hand joins the first, both palms flat against his chest. I'm asking you to be honest. To stop running from this. To finally, finally let yourself want me the way I want you.
For one breathless moment, I think he'll kiss me. His head dips, his eyes dark with hunger.
Then he grabs my wrists and removes my hands from his chest.
No. The word is final. This can't happen. I won't let it.
He releases me and steps back, running a hand through his hair. The distance between us feels like miles.
I'm going to my room, I say quietly, fighting back tears. And tomorrow, I'm going to start looking at apartments. You're right—I need to leave. Because staying here, wanting you, knowing you'll never let yourself have me... it's killing me.
I walk toward the door, but his voice stops me.
If you leave, I'll follow you.
I turn back. What?
You think I can let you go? Live in some apartment alone, unprotected? His laugh is bitter. I'll buy the building. Put security on every floor. Monitor every person who comes near you. You'll never be free of me, Isla. Never.
That's insane.
I know. He meets my eyes, and what I see there terrifies and thrills me in equal measure. I told you—I'm a monster. And monsters don't let go of what's theirs.
I'm not yours.
Yes, you are. The certainty in his voice makes my knees weak. You became mine the moment your father's will named me your guardian. And nothing—not your age, not propriety, not even my own self-loathing—will change that.
Before I can respond, his phone rings. He answers it, his face going hard.
What? ...When? ...I'll handle it. He hangs up and looks at me. Julian's attorney just filed an emergency petition with the court. He's claiming I'm emotionally unstable and requesting immediate removal of guardianship.
My stomach drops. Can he do that?
He can try. The hearing is tomorrow morning. Damien's expression goes cold and calculating. Which means I need to make a phone call. One that will destroy Julian before he can destroy me.
What are you going to do?
What I should have done the moment he showed up. He walks past me toward the door. I'm going to remind him why nobody crosses Damien Blackwood and lives to regret it.
The threat in his voice sends chills down my spine.
Damien, wait
But he's already gone, leaving me alone in his study with my heart racing and my mind spinning.
I sink into his desk chair, trying to process everything that just happened.
He loves me. He's obsessed with me. He'll never let me go.
And some twisted part of me doesn't want him to.
I'm still sitting there when Elias appears in the doorway, looking worried.
Miss Isla, I think you should see this.
He hands me his tablet. On the screen is a news article, just posted five minutes ago:
BILLIONAIRE GUARDIAN UNDER INVESTIGATION: Anonymous Source Claims Damien Blackwood Murdered Business Partner to Gain Control of Orphaned Heiress.
The room tilts.
Below the headline is a photo—Damien and me at my birthday party, his eyes on me with unmistakable hunger.
And underneath, a quote from an anonymous source close to the family:
He killed Marcus Hartley to steal his company and his daughter. And now he's grooming that daughter to be his next victim. Someone needs to stop him before it's too late.
My hands shake so badly I almost drop the tablet.
Who did this? I whisper.
We don't know. But Miss Isla... Elias's voice is gentle. The article mentions evidence. Police reports, witness statements, financial records. Someone's been building a case against Mr. Blackwood for months.
I look up at him, my whole world crumbling. Is it true? Did he kill my father?
Elias's silence is answer enough.
The study door slams open. Damien stands there, phone in hand, his face white with rage.
Someone leaked everything, he says flatly. The accident investigation. The offshore payments. All of it.
Did you do it? My voice breaks. Did you kill my parents?
Damien looks at me, and for the first time since I've known him, he looks broken.
We need to talk, he says quietly. About that night six years ago. About what really happened.
About what I did.