Chapter 20 Daisy
Isat behind my desk, entering new arrivals into the system.
The store was quiet—the low hum of the AC, a rustle of paper, nothing else.
Yesterday, we’d wandered the exhibitions for hours and lost ourselves in what we said and what we didn’t.
His smile promised too much and held back even more.
He wore a mask I would probably never fully penetrate.
And still, the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, was unlike anything I’d ever known.
His words wrapped around me like a sweet spell.
His glances captivated. His touch aroused.
This man was my downfall, and I loved him.
He’d told me he had a meeting today with Mason’s lawyers about the assault.
The whole thing would likely cost him a fortune.
I couldn’t stop wondering what Mason’s next move would be.
Fear for Damian pressed heavy in my chest. With painful clarity, I realized the sacrifice I had made for him had been in vain.
Mason would only seek revenge more fiercely now.
I pulled my phone from my bag and typed out a message to Jenn.
I had barely set my phone aside when it vibrated again.
14:53 – Damian: What are you doing?
14:53 – Daisy: Working.
14:54 – Damian: Much to do?
14:55 – Daisy: Quite a bit. What about the hearing?
14:56 – Damian: I’ll pick you up at 6 p.m. We’re going out to dinner and then to the NYX.
The candlelight on the restaurant table flickered against the polished curve of my wineglass.
Outside, rain tapped softly against the windows, a muted rhythm beneath the low hum of music drifting through the room.
I looked across at Damian. His eyes never left me—steady and intent—as he lifted his glass, took a slow sip, then set it carefully back down.
“Will you tell me what came out of the meeting with the lawyers?”
“Mason’s lawyers want $850,000,” he said. “But that bastard won’t get a dime from me. If it goes to court, we play the hotel footage and he eats the charge. If the press gets it, he’s finished.”
“Would you testify?”
I hesitated, then slowly shook my head. “Only if there’s no other way. I want it behind me.”
“I’ll stand by you—whatever you decide.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, heat stirring in my chest.
A waitress arrived with bread and an appetizer platter. I spread a thin layer of truffle paté across a slice and took a small bite.
“It was clever of you to use the recordings against him. I doubt Mason will risk court. You approach everything with such strategy,” I said, sipping my wine.
Damian only shrugged. “That’s why I’ve come this far.”
“I’ve wondered how you became who you are now—so much control, strength, power. Was it always like this? Did it come from growing up with the Millers?”
He speared a shrimp, chewed thoughtfully, then set down his fork. “The Millers taught me that discipline, hard work, and perseverance can get you almost anywhere. But that wasn’t all. They also made me understand that sometimes you have to be ruthless, unyielding, if you want to reach your goals.”
He said it like fact—then looked away, as if the cost still had teeth.
“That sounds like a heavy weight to carry as a child.”
“It made me stronger.”
“Do you remember much of your life before them?”
“Only fragments. I remember once, when I was very young, I spilled a beer mug. My father lost it. He beat me so hard I couldn’t sit for a week.
Another time, maybe when I was four or five, he lifted me out of the car, set me on a bench by the highway, and told me to wait there until they came back.
My mother didn’t even step out of the car.
She didn’t say goodbye. I never saw them again. ”
A bitter lump tightened in my throat. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was the best thing they ever did for me.”
We ate in silence for a while.
“My father once took me to one of his meetings,” I said quietly. “The room had peeling brown wallpaper. His friends were there—drinking, doing drugs, smoking cigars. God knows what else.”
I paused, my chest tightening. “He made me sit on one of his friends’ laps the whole time.
All I could feel was his cock pressing under my dress.
Every time I asked to get down, he pulled me back, stroked my hair, told me to be quiet.
It wasn’t the only time. When my father finally found out…
I never saw that man again. I think he killed him. ”
Damian’s face darkened, fury flashing in his eyes.
“That explains so much, Daisy. Why you’re drawn to men like me—because you’ve never known safety.
Not as a child. Not as a woman.” His voice dropped lower as the waitress slid another glass of wine in front of me.
He didn’t look away. “Your childhood was a nightmare. Your father taught you powerlessness. It became familiar. And what’s familiar feels like safety.
So you chase it again—in different shapes, same undertow.
You look for men who control you because control reads as safe. It’s twisted. It’s real.”
His words cut deep, stirring something I didn’t want touched. The way he saw me—so clearly, so unflinchingly—both terrified and mesmerized me. He could name the things I tried hardest to bury.
“I know I’m no good for you,” he said quietly. “I know the way I love is destructive. But I can’t stop. Control is the only way I feel safe.”
“I don’t care, Damian. I want you—all of you. Your darkness, your strength, your control. But I can’t share you. I can’t stand it when you’re with other women.”
He leaned back, face tightening, walls sliding into place.
But behind his eyes, I saw the fight burning.
“And that’s the problem, Daisy. The distance is the only thing that protects me from you.
Because I’ve already let you too close.” He clenched a fist against the table, as if he needed the anchor.
“Don’t you see? I’ve never lost myself with anyone else.
But with you—it’s already happened. Mason wasn’t just about rage.
It was about you. You made me lose control, and that’s something I can’t allow.
You’ve already crossed too far inside, and that’s why I need to keep you at arm’s length. That’s why I need freedom.”
I closed my eyes, letting his words settle heavy inside me. Still, I knew the truth—I wanted him. No matter how many times he warned me, I couldn’t turn away. He’d never be the man who stayed, but I still couldn’t let him go.
“There are so many things you don’t know about me.
Things you wouldn’t understand—things that would make you see me in a way you couldn’t bear.
There’s a part of my life where there are no gray areas, only violence, power, and control.
A part of me you’d despise if you knew how deeply I’m tied to it. ”
“Then tell me,” I demanded, my fingers drumming restlessly against the tablecloth.
Damian leaned closer, caught my hand, and squeezed it hard. “I can’t.”
We stepped into NYX, the music and lights crashing over me in a wave of heat and sound.
Damian pulled me through the crowd, his grip firm, his presence magnetic as he greeted guests with easy charm.
Women’s eyes lingered on him—hungry, covetous—and the reminder of how many wanted him burned inside me.
“We’ll sit in the lounge,” Damian said, steering me toward an oasis of leather couches and polished wood. He stopped here and there to greet acquaintances, his hand never loosening on me.
“This is Daisy Elfhorn,” he introduced, and suddenly every gaze—polished men, flawless women—shifted to me. Instinctively, I searched for the guy who had hit on me last time, but he wasn’t there. Thank God.
Damian guided me into a cushioned corner. “Sit here.”
The moment I did, a waitress appeared, balancing champagne and glasses with rehearsed precision. Damian poured, clinked his glass against mine, and held my gaze.
“What does a manager actually do to keep a place like this running?” I asked.
“It takes planning, precision. Booking the right artists, keeping security airtight, making sure the guests leave with a night they can’t forget.”
“That sounds like a lot on top of your other work. How do you keep it all together?”
“I have a team I trust. Everyone knows their role. I watch the money, the bookings—everything.”
“And when do you find the time?”
“It’s about priorities. About being efficient. If you love something, you find the time.” His eyes skimmed my body. “By the way, you look stunning. I can’t wait to tear that dress off you tonight.”
A smile touched my lips, but it died when a woman slid onto the couch beside us like she owned the world. Long legs, perfect makeup, a dress that screamed money. She leaned in and kissed Damian’s cheek. My stomach knotted.
“Luisa,” Damian said.
She extended a manicured hand toward me.
“Daisy,” I murmured, forcing a polite smile. Instantly, I felt like a fraud. I wasn’t one of them. I was just a store clerk who happened to be sitting beside Damian Miller.
Luisa’s smile was perfect, practiced, glacial.
“It’s lovely to meet Damian’s friends,” she purred, silk hiding the barb: What does he want with you?
Damian nodded, and she slid into business talk—projects worth millions tossed off like nothing. I stayed quiet. Each laugh, each polished remark, shrank me smaller.
Damian gestured toward the group opposite. “They were at the gala too. They want to hear about the woman with such incredible talent.”
So I told them. I tried to sound steady, to hide the cracks splitting inside me. They listened politely, but behind their eyes was disbelief. How could someone like her matter?
I searched Damian, but he was absorbed in another conversation. Loneliness swept through me, sharper than the bass rattling the room.
“Excuse me for a moment.” My knees wobbled as I walked to the bathroom. Inside, I leaned against the sink, breathing hard. What was I thinking? That I belonged here? That I was special?