Chapter 10 Daisy
The shop was silent. Only the faint ticking of the wall clock. I sat at my desk, an old manuscript in my hands, the scent of leather and dust filling the air. My fingers turned pages mechanically, but my eyes stayed on one thing: my phone. No light. No sound. No Damian.
Two weeks. Not even a How are you? Not even an I’m busy. Nothing. As if I’d imagined it all.
I tapped the screen. Silence. Was I that easy to forget?
Was that all it had been—a rush, a game?
Over for him, while I was still trapped in it.
Anger burned—at him, at myself, at this longing that clung like a disease.
I had slept with him. I had given him everything.
And now he treated me like air. No name for it.
No certainty. No answer. Only silence—louder than any fight.
A man who had touched me so deeply, then vanished as if I had never existed.
I stared at my phone. How many times had I imagined his name lighting the screen? And then—like a cruel joke—it rang.
I jerked upright. New York area code. My heart leapt, just once. I grabbed it before the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Miss Elfhorn? This is Maria Palman, calling on behalf of Miller Antiques. You’ll be receiving an email shortly with the details for the manuscript transfer. Please confirm in writing, yes?”
Her voice was friendly. Professional. A secretary. Not Damian. No apology. No I’ve missed you.
“Thank you.”
The instructions were simple: manuscript number BL8839721 to be delivered to New York within three days. I ended the call and rang the driver. I would deliver it today.
The urge to see him was a roar inside me. My mind whispered: He doesn’t want you. Not the way you want him. But my heart screamed back: See him. Feel him. Even if it hurts. Even if it kills you.
As we drove, my eyes never left my phone. No message. No Damian. I scrolled through our old conversations, closed them, reopened them ten seconds later. Swipe. Screen on. Nothing. Pathetic.
I tried to focus on the manuscript in the bag beside me—the real reason I was here. My job. The excuse. But my gaze slid back to the phone, again and again.
Two weeks. Not a word. Not a call. And here I was, using work as an excuse to chase him. How pathetic.
I should have told Bastien to turn the car around. But I stayed quiet.
At the lobby of Miller the air itself vibrated, binding me.
“You think you can just walk away? You think I’d let you?” He shook his head, closing the distance until my back hit the door. Frosted glass pressed cold against me—a reminder of the line I’d crossed long ago.
“I’ve tried to forget you. But you’re in my head like a curse. And I’m not someone you want to curse.”
His hand came to my cheek. Heavy. Possessive.
“You are my light. And I don’t know how to hold light without destroying it.”
I looked at him. And in that instant, I knew—I had no control over how close he could get. I’d walked into his cage willingly. Again and again. And now he was ready to lock it.
“If I walk away now,” I whispered, “will you let me go?”
He stayed silent. His fingers brushed over my mouth, slow, deliberate—savoring the moment. His moment. Balanced between threat and desire.
“Are you afraid of me, Daisy?” he breathed.
“Sometimes,” I managed.
“Good.” His voice was dark velvet. “You should be.” He lowered his forehead to mine, gaze drilling into me as if he could tear out every thought I’d tried to hide. “Do you know how much self-control it’s taken not to touch you?”
“I just watched you flirt with another woman.” The words burned in my mouth.
“So what? She won’t be the one I’m about to fuck.”
“Surprise,” I snapped. “I’m not, either.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t break. Just that unbearable calm, as if he’d already scripted this.
“You’re missing something, Daisy. Giving you space didn’t change anything. You’re still mine.”
“You don’t get to call me yours unless you’re mine too. And you’re not. As far as I’m concerned, we’re done. I won’t share you.”
“Then why are you here?” His voice was quiet. Dangerous.
My jaw tightened. “Because I’m a fucking idiot.” And worse—I still wanted him. I turned for the door.
“You’re the only one who challenges me. The only one I allow to push my limits. That’s why I won’t let you go.”
I didn’t look back. Couldn’t. One glance at him and I’d forget everything—the other woman, my pride, my own damn resolve. My fingers curled around the cold handle like a cliff edge.
“Daisy.” My name was a threat and a promise. A shadow clinging to me.
I pressed the handle down. A click. A decision. And he let me go. No grip. No resistance. Just a controlled release so deliberate it didn’t feel like freedom.
I left the room. But I wasn’t free. Not really. Because he hadn’t released me—he’d only chosen a new way to hold me. In his thoughts. In his life. In his game. I was already trapped.
In an oversized T-shirt, barefoot in my kitchen, a pan of vegetables hissed while I scooped rice into a bowl. Why couldn’t I just end it? Clear words. Sober. Professional. Maybe he’d accept it—maybe not. Not because he loved me, but because he needed me in a way that wasn’t healthy.
And yet I still waited for his messages. I let him tilt my balance, let him come and go as he pleased. I remained a door that never fully closed. Was that love? Or was I addicted?
I could quit. Leave the city. Start over. Reason whispered that every day. But then I’d be without him—without his voice, his eyes, the way he looked at me. Without the darkness that wrapped me, the thing I hated and missed both.
Why couldn’t he just love me? Why wasn’t I enough?
A short, bright beep cut the silence. My gaze snapped to the phone on the counter. My heart jumped—then hammered. When it beat again, I felt it in my throat.
Damian.
Even before I opened the message, my skin tingled, as if my body already knew. That forbidden pull spread through my chest, my stomach, between my thighs. Fear. Longing. Desire. All at once. Too much.
17:53 – Damian: I let you go. No applause?
17:55 – Daisy: It was never a victory. Just a retreat.
17:56 – Damian: You’re brave, little one. But we both know that at night you still hear my voice.
17:56 – Daisy: And you hear my silence.
18:03 – Damian: Your silence is deadlier than any weapon.
18:03 – Daisy: Then be careful not to cut yourself on it.
18:04 – Damian: I’d rather cut myself on you than never feel you again.
18:12 – Damian: What are you doing right now?
18:13 – Daisy: Eating hard-boiled eggs. And rice.
I bit my lip. What a stupid answer. Why couldn’t I be cool and mysterious like any halfway normal woman?
18:13 – Damian: I hope those are the only eggs you’re eating today. Or should I show you what else can get hard if you keep this up?
18:13 – Daisy: I should’ve known that was coming. From a certain Mr. Miller I expected more… profound thoughts.
18:14 – Damian: I can be profound. But you’d have to bend, low enough for me to reach where things get truly interesting.
18:14 – Daisy: You depraved man.
18:15 – Damian: What can I say? My reputation precedes me.
My face burned. I shook my head in disbelief and smiled like an idiot—like someone walking straight into a buzz saw, heart pounding, hope stupid and steady.
I should’ve put the phone down and deleted the conversation.
Instead, I sat grinning. Cold eggs in my lap, a message from Damian Miller in my hand.
00:43 – Damian: You’re not sleeping.
00:44 – Daisy: How would you know?
00:44 – Damian: Maybe I’m ten meters below your window. Or sitting in your closet.
I shot upright in bed, staring at the screen. Part of me laughed. Another part listened. Had there been a sound?
I threw the blanket back, feet finding the cool floor.
Step by step, I padded through the apartment.
It was dark, empty. I flicked the lights on—just in case.
Like something from a bad thriller, I crept to the window.
The curtain rustled when I pulled it aside.
Nothing—just the night spread over everything like a second skin. I stepped back.
A strange pull settled in my stomach. Not exactly fear. Not quite trust. The air felt heavier, as if someone had already decided I wouldn’t be alone tonight.
00:51 – Damian: Were you looking for me?
00:51 – Daisy: You’re not funny.
00:52 – Damian: If I were trying to be funny, you wouldn’t have checked. And you wouldn’t be trembling.
00:52 – Daisy: I didn’t tremble. I didn’t check.
00:52 – Damian: You moved the curtain. Your shadow is pretty, you know that?
00:53 – Daisy: Stop it.
00:53 – Damian: Stop what?
00:54 – Daisy: If you’re trying to scare me… you’re succeeding.
00:54 – Damian: Fear is the flicker between control and desire. I burn in you, Daisy.
I set the phone down and stared at the ceiling, feeling the faint tremor under my skin—the tiny electric thrill that leapt when he reached me.
Like a shaft of light through cold fog, like a touch you can’t see but feel everywhere.
I closed my eyes, then reached for the phone again, because I couldn’t help myself.
00:56 – Daisy: You didn’t contact me for two weeks.
00:56 – Damian: Did you miss me?
00:56 – Daisy: I learned what it’s like to be air. Now I know.
00:57 – Damian: Air? You’re smoke. I try to cough you out, but you stick in my lungs.
00:57 – Daisy: You weren’t there…
00:57 – Damian: I was never far. You just weren’t looking.