Chapter 14 Daisy #3
Her eyes softened. “I’ll admit, I was surprised when Damian introduced you as his girlfriend. I’ve known him for years, and I’ve never seen him do that before.”
Her words echoed in my head as I followed her. Never before. Never. I could have laughed or cried—maybe both. My heart gave a reckless leap, clinging to a spark of hope too fragile to hold. Maybe I was more than a phase to him. More than a game. More than a distraction.
I had no idea how to respond, so I said nothing. Instead, I let her words wash over me like water over someone who had been parched for too long. And still, a whisper curled inside me: What if I’m the first one he’s truly trying with?
Later that afternoon, Christopher led us through a shaded forest to a small lake, its surface catching the sunlight like glass.
Elis spread a blanket and began unpacking the picnic.
She laid out an array of dishes: smoked salmon and mozzarella sandwiches, a cheese platter, antipasti, mini quiches, and a colorful plate of fruit.
“Rosé or soda?” Elis asked as I sat beside her.
“Rosé.”
“Of course.” She poured into two champagne glasses. Christopher handed Damian a beer, then held one up himself.
“Or would you prefer beer?”
“No, rosé is fine, thanks.”
“And how long have you lived here?” I asked.
“Seven years now. Before that, New York. It was hectic and draining. Out here we finally found the peace we needed.”
“I can imagine that’s a big change.”
“We both worked in finance,” Elis said. “That’s how we met. But city life eventually wore us down. The kids were always stressed, and we barely saw each other. Now they’re grown, and when they visit, it feels even sweeter.”
“And what are your kids doing now?”
“Our daughter Anna is finishing her degree in architecture,” Elis said with pride. “And Max is studying cultural anthropology and mythology.”
I frowned slightly. “I’m not sure I know what cultural anthropology really means.”
“It’s broad,” she explained. “The study of myths, their history, and how they shape cultures.”
“That does sound fascinating. You must be proud of them.”
“We are,” Christopher said, lowering himself onto the blanket beside Damian. “But we’d be proud no matter what path they chose—whether it’s trade, construction, cooking. If it fulfills them, it’s the right thing.”
Damian settled in behind me, pulling me between his legs, his arms wrapping around me.
Christopher’s gaze lingered. “You seem different, Damian,” he said, then shot me a knowing look. “What have you done to my brother?”
“She’s enchanted me with her charm, her intelligence, and her uncanny eye for artifacts,” Damian said, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
For a moment, I let myself forget the complications of us—whatever us was—and simply lived in it. Even though deep down I knew it would fade, like mist dissolving the instant you reach for it.
As the sun bled into the horizon in shades of orange and pink, we packed up and walked back to the house. Damian held my hand the whole way.
That evening, we gathered around the oak table with a few of Christopher’s close friends.
“Thank you again for the invitation, Christopher,” said Michael Caldwell, sharp in a tailored suit and clearly no stranger at this table. From Damian’s stories, I knew he was one of Christopher’s oldest friends.
Conversation over dinner shifted between current events and family anecdotes. When the main course was served, Caldwell turned his attention to Damian.
“You know, Damian, I hesitated for a long time before doing business with you. Mostly because I’ve heard every story from Christopher. You know I’m conservative to the bone, and, well, let’s just say I despise your liberal lifestyle and the way you’ve treated women in the past.”
Damian, who had just taken a sip of wine, set his glass down and met Caldwell’s gaze. “Yes, I’m aware of that, Mr. Caldwell.”
Caldwell’s piercing gaze shifted to me. “But now that you’ve settled down and gotten engaged, I can see you’ve changed. And I must say, your fiancée is enchanting.” He raised his glass. “To our partnership—and to your marriage.”
The words hit like a slap. I choked. The liquid burned my throat as the meaning sank in. Damian’s hand pressed lightly against my back—soothing on the surface, but wrong at the core—like a gesture rehearsed for show rather than born from care.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his concern polished, practiced.
Not a flicker of genuine emotion in his eyes—just that calm, glassy surface hiding whatever lay beneath.
Christopher and Elis exchanged puzzled looks, their eyes darting between us, trying to decipher what had just happened.
Fiancée. The word echoed, heavy and foreign, like something that had never belonged to me.
My chair scraped back with a sharp sound as I rose. “Please excuse me.”
Each step toward the bathroom felt like a flight, every breath a battle against the vise tightening in my chest. So that’s what this was. No romantic weekend. No attempt to truly know me. Just a damn chess move.
Staring into the mirror, I hardly recognized my own reflection.
Fiancée. For tonight. For this deal. A role I hadn’t even been asked to play.
And I had believed—so stupidly—that there was something real.
A spark. But no. This was strategy. A facade.
I was nothing but a prop in Damian’s carefully constructed plan. So na?ve. And so damn hurt.
“Daisy.” His voice came soft behind me as he stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door.
“You never wanted this weekend with me. You wanted Caldwell—and your brother—to believe you had a stable life, so Caldwell would agree to partner with you.” My head shook of its own accord. “Unbelievable, Damian. Every time I think you’re taking a step toward me, you shove a knife in my back.”
He closed the distance, eyes like tempered steel. “I did what I had to do. Caldwell would never have done business with me otherwise. And my brother would never have lied for me.” His voice was cold, controlled, so devoid of feeling it made my blood boil.
“Do I really mean so little? Am I only ever a means to an end? Was that all I was from the start?” My throat burned with the words.
He reached for my arm. I held my ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction of retreat.
“You’re not nothing to me, Daisy. But you don’t understand what’s at stake. My business, my life—everything rides on my decisions, my alliances. If I lose that control, I lose everything. And I have too many enemies waiting for that.”
A bitter scoff slipped out, quiet and sharp. “So what am I? A glossy facade? Proof of your credibility? Another pawn on your board?”
“I know,” he said low, almost to himself. “I know you’re more than that. But I can’t help it. This is who I am. Who I have to be.”
I turned away. Not because I was weak, but because I knew if I kept looking at him, I’d forgive him. Again.
“You know what’s sick? The more you hurt me, the colder you get, the more I crave you.
It’s like a poison I drink every single day.
I wish I could stop. I wish I could walk away, never look back.
But I can’t. Not yet. Because some part of me still believes you’re not only this man.
And that’s what’s breaking me. That’s what you deserve, too—for me to leave.
To walk out and never give you another thought.
But you’d just move on, close your next deal, pull another woman into your arms, and erase me like I never existed.
” My voice trembled on the last words. “Something is broken in me. But I swear to you, one day, I won’t let you get away with this. One day, I’ll be gone.”
His face turned to ice. No flicker, no blink—just that lethal calm that screamed louder than any rage.
In two swift strides, he was in front of me, his hand gripping the back of my neck.
Fingers where tenderness should have been.
His mouth crashed against mine—greedy, almost desperate—as if that kiss could stop him from doing something no one could ever undo.
“I’d rather…” He stopped short. His pupils blew wide, his breath faltered.
For a fleeting second, horror twisted his features—not at me, but at himself, at whatever thought had just flared through him.
Then he tore back, putting distance between us like he had to restrain something inside from breaking free.
“Rather what?” I asked, quiet, steady.
His eyes locked on me—not like a man with his lover, but like a predator torn between sparing its prey or finishing the kill.
“We should go back.”
“Give me a few more minutes. I’ll follow.”
He moved toward the door. I stopped him.
“And Damian.” He froze, tension rippling through him. I lifted my hand, slow and deliberate. “I don’t even have a ring yet.”
His expression darkened. His eyes narrowed, razor-sharp. For a moment, there was nothing human in him—only control, madness, and the abyss coiled deep inside. Without a word, he left the bathroom.