21. Damien
21
DAMIEN
The morning sun is barely creeping through the tall windows when I step into the dining room, finding my mother already seated.
She looks up, smiling warmly. “There he is. I half thought you’d sneak out before breakfast.”
I grunt, sinking into the chair across from her. “Not this time.”
Truth is, I barely slept. Not with Sasha in the same house. And definitely not after tasting her lips, whiskey still burning on my tongue, only to walk away like an idiot.
My mother sets her cup down delicately. “It’s good to have you here, Damien. Really.” There’s something softer in her voice, something that pulls at a part of me I don’t let many people touch.
I nod once, clearing my throat. “Yeah…it’s been a while.”
She studies me over the rim of her teacup, that knowing glint in her eyes she’s always had. “I have to admit, though,” she starts, tilting her head, “I never imagined you going for someone like her.”
I freeze. My jaw clenches. “Yeah, Mom. I get it. She’s young.”
She chuckles, setting the cup down with a soft clink. “That’s not what I meant, sweetheart.” Her eyes twinkle, like she’s enjoying watching me squirm. “I meant she’s…bright. There’s something about her. Doesn’t look at you like the world does. That’s rare for a man like you.”
Before I can respond—before I can even process that—there’s a faint sound behind me.
A soft throat clearing.
Shit.
I turn just as Sasha steps in, her eyes wide but polite, face unreadable. She gives my mother a small smile. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Fuck. How much did she hear?
My mother, ever the graceful one, smiles warmly. “Nonsense, dear. Come. Sit.”
Sasha moves toward the table, glancing at the absurd spread—eggs, bacon, pastries, fruit, things no one has time to cook on a regular morning. Her eyes go wide.
“Woah,” she mutters, blinking at the sheer volume of it. “That’s…a lot of food.”
“Feel free to have whatever you like,” I say.
“Damien!” my mother reprimands me before turning to Sasha, laughing. “Sit down, dear. We don’t do things halfway around here, and I’m definitely not letting you out of here till we’ve fed you.”
Sasha gives me a quick glance—half-awkward, half-curious—but she sits down quietly.
And for a moment…it almost feels normal.
If only it were.
My mother gestures toward the spread, all calm and collected like this isn’t the most uncomfortable breakfast of my life. “Eat, Sasha. I hate wasting food, and the chef gets offended if no one touches his pastries.”
Sasha lets out a breathy laugh and reaches for a croissant, tearing a piece off. “This is…way fancier than my usual breakfast. I’m more of a gas station coffee and a granola bar kind of girl.”
My mother chuckles. “That explains why you’re so tiny.”
Sasha glances at me, cheeks pink. “Yeah, well…New York rent doesn’t exactly leave room for fancy breakfasts.”
My mother, of course, takes the silence as an invitation to keep talking. “Damien used to be just as bad,” she hums. “Wouldn’t eat. Always rushing off somewhere. Though I doubt it was rent he was worried about.”
Sasha lets out a small laugh, shooting me a look. “I can’t imagine him rushing anywhere.”
“You’d be surprised.” My mother smiles. “As a boy, he was reckless. Never told me where he was going. Always getting into fights, always thinking he could fix the world on his own.”
“Still does,” Sasha mutters, almost too quiet to catch—but I hear it.
My mother hums, pleased. “Well, it seems you’ve gotten under his skin, dear. I haven’t seen him like this…maybe ever.”
Sasha freezes mid-bite, eyes wide. “Oh, uh…I don’t…think that’s?—”
“Relax.” My mother smiles, saving her. “I mean it as a good thing.” She turns to me. “I like her.”
I grunt. “That’s new.” She never liked Nina, never liked it when I brought her around. After her, there was a girl here and there, but nothing lasted.
My mother laughs, sipping her tea. “I know when a girl’s temporary, Damien. And this one…I don’t know. She feels different.”
Sasha blinks at me, then quickly looks down at her plate. She’s flustered, chewing on a piece of croissant like it might save her life.
I lean back in my chair, watching her. Watching them.
Maybe bringing her here wasn’t the mistake I thought it was.
But it’s only a matter of time before she finds out everything.
And I don’t know what the hell I’ll do when she does.
* * *
I don’t see Sasha again till later that day.
I find her near the library, barefoot, pacing the hallway like she’s considering which window to jump out of. She’s wearing a plain white tee and a pair of sweatpants rolled at the waist, and she still manages to look like a dream that wandered into the wrong castle.
The second she sees me, she stops short.
Here we go.
“You bought me clothes,” she snaps, like I handed her a knife instead of silk blouses.
“You needed them,” I say, not breaking stride.
She catches up to me, falling in step, arms folded. “They’re exactly my size.”
I glance at her. “Yes. That’s how clothes work.”
Her eyes narrow. “No one gets sizing right on the first try unless they’ve secretly measured me in my sleep or hired a tailor with psychic abilities.”
“I have people who know things,” I say simply.
She mutters something that sounds a lot like creepy , and I don’t disagree.
“Convenient,” I counter.
“So what now? You’re dressing me?”
“I prefer undressing you.”
That gets her. She stops walking entirely, standing there in the hallway with her mouth slightly open and a pink flush creeping up her neck.
I keep walking. Smirking.
A second later, she groans and follows. “You’re so annoying.”
“Yet you’re talking to me.”
She rolls her eyes hard.
“Are we done here?” I ask her.
“Not yet,” she says.
Of course not.
“How long,” she says, voice low but firm, “are you planning on keeping me captive here?”
I arch a brow. “Captive?”
“You brought me to your house against my will?—”
“You got attacked in the middle of the street, Sasha.” I take a step closer. “Excuse me for not letting you skip home like nothing happened.”
She folds her arms, not backing down. “You don’t get to make decisions for me.”
“I made one decision,” I say through clenched teeth, “and it was to keep you breathing.”
Her nostrils flare. “You keep saying that. ‘Keep me safe.’ But from what, Damien?” She jabs a finger toward the front of the house. “Those guys? You think they were after me?”
“No,” I snap. “They were after me.”
The words hang in the air like a blade between us.
Her brows furrow, her voice softer now. “Then why am I in danger?”
Because you’re not just some girl anymore. Because you got too close. Because I dragged you into a world that doesn’t play fair.
I exhale, raking a hand through my hair. “You’re connected to me now. That’s all it takes.”
She studies me like she’s trying to crack a code, something behind her eyes flashing—curiosity, frustration, something I can’t name.
“Is that what this is?” she says. “You feel responsible for me?”
I hate how unsure she sounds.
I take another step forward, voice low. “I feel a lot of things for you. Responsibility’s not even in the top five.”
That finally gets her to blink. She shifts her weight like she doesn’t know what to do with that answer.
God, she’s maddening. Stubborn.
Always arguing, always questioning?—
And I fucking love that about her.
“What’s wrong with you?” she mutters under her breath, like she’s wondering it out loud.
That’s the million-dollar question.
I smirk, just a little. “That’s a long list, printsessa. Not sure you want the full tour.”
She rolls her eyes, but I see the corner of her mouth twitch.
And just like that, the fire in her dims—just a bit—but it’s enough to make me want to touch her again.
Instead, I step back. “You’re not a prisoner, Sasha. But I’m not letting you go until I know you’re safe.”
She doesn’t like it. I know she doesn’t.
“I don’t think this is just about keeping me safe. You don’t trust me.”
I don’t say anything.
Because she’s right.
Trust has never come easy for me—not in my business, not in my past, and especially not with someone who could break through everything I’ve carefully built. And she already has.
“You keeping me here isn’t going to make me like you, you know?”
“That’s not my intention at all,” I say softly.
She exhales sharply, then glances away. “I know what it feels like to be controlled. To be told where I can and can’t go. What I can and can’t say. My dad was like that. My whole childhood was…” She trails off, then laughs bitterly. “Let’s just say, you’re not the first man to decide what’s best for me without asking.”
My chest tightens.
I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know.
She rubs her arms like she’s cold. “He’d smash things when he got mad. Lock me in the bedroom just so the house stayed quiet. My mom never said a word. She just kept wiping down the kitchen counters like she couldn’t hear him screaming in the next room.”
She’s not crying, but I see it—the way her voice shakes just enough, the way she keeps her eyes on the floor.
And it kills me.
Because I’m the reason she’s feeling like this again.
Like she’s trapped. Like she’s powerless.
I don’t know what to say.
I want to fix it, fix everything, but all I’ve done is make her feel caged.
So instead, I offer her the only goddamn olive branch I can think of.
“I can have your laptop brought here,” I say. “So you can work. At least feel normal.”
She looks up at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You want me to work from your mansion? Like I’m…what, your live-in intern?”
The corner of my mouth twitches despite everything. “Technically, it’d make you the highest-paid remote employee in the company.”
She stares at me for a long beat. Then slowly, finally, she lets out a breath and shakes her head, a laugh breaking through her frustration.
“You’re out of your damn mind.”
Yeah, maybe.
Sasha shakes her head again, muttering something under her breath as she walks toward the window. “I don’t want to be your prisoner, Damien. Or your secret. Or whatever it is you think this is.”
“I don’t want you to be any of those things,” I say quietly.
She turns back to me, arms still crossed. “Then let me go.”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
She studies me a second longer, eyes blazing. “You say you want to keep me safe, but all this—this house, this isolation, your half-truths—it doesn’t feel safe. It feels like I’m walking into something I’ll never get out of.”
Then she storms past me, brushing against my shoulder without another word, bare feet silent on the marble floor as she disappears down the hall.
I let her go.
Because I don’t have the right words yet. And forcing her to stay with no answers isn’t going to make her trust me—it’ll make her hate me.
I exhale, rubbing my temples just as Oleg’s voice pipes up from the corner.
“Word around the house is you brought a new toy home,” he says, shrugging. “That’s new. Usually you just ruin ’em and leave ’em in the city.”
I stare at him flatly. “You done?”
He smirks. “Just saying. We’ve known each other a long time. But I’ve never seen you look like a kicked puppy after a girl calls you out.”
“I will shoot you,” I deadpan.
Oleg laughs. “Okay, okay. She’s not a toy. Got it. I mean, hell, judging by that vein popping in your forehead…holy shit.” He points, eyes going wide. “You like her.”
I say nothing.
“Like, like -like her.”
I grind my teeth. “Oleg.”
He holds up both hands, backing off like I’ve pulled a gun. “Message received. Lips zipped. I was never here.”
I narrow my eyes. “If you ever call her a toy again?—”
“You’ll shoot me. Got it. Yeah, yeah. No one touches the girl, no one talks about the girl, no one looks at the girl.” He starts walking backward down the hall.
But even after he’s gone, I stand there, jaw tight, staring at the spot where Sasha stood just minutes ago.
He’s not wrong.
And that’s the most dangerous part of all.