Chapter 19 Daisy
Damian drove me to work, his hand locked tight around the steering wheel. The ride was steeped in silence, heavy and pressing, broken only by the worried glances he kept throwing my way.
“Are you sure you can go back to work?”
“That’s the fourth time you’ve asked, and my answer hasn’t changed.”
“You could take some time off.”
“Damian.” His name slipped from my lips softer than I intended—contradictory, the way he always was.
I had spent the last few days with him, and he hadn’t touched me once.
No demanding hands, no hungry eyes, no orders, no dark, consuming kisses that usually stole the ground from under me.
Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was exactly what I needed: space, breath, a pause.
But then why did everything feel so unbearably empty?
I hadn’t asked him to keep his distance, and I knew he only did it because he thought it was right. Because he believed I was broken.
But I wasn’t broken. I was furious. Exhausted. Done with feeling weak. I wanted his hands on me again. I wanted to be wanted by him—pulled back to us, back to myself, back to the part of me Mason could never take away. I wanted myself back, and that was only possible if I let Damian in.
Yet he held me at arm’s length, acting as if I might shatter in his hands.
And still, I could feel something inside him pulled taut, his control sharpening like a steel cable ready to snap.
And every time my mind touched the memory of that night with Mason, a shadow slid between us.
No clear images. No screams. No blood. Just a sickening weight of powerlessness I couldn’t shake.
I had given in because I thought I had no choice.
Because fear was stronger than disgust. Because I wanted to protect Damian.
But that didn’t make it consensual. Not really.
It had been coercion disguised as choice, and it burned inside me like acid.
And still my body ached for closeness—for Damian’s closeness. I craved his grip, his voice, the dark pull of him. Maybe because wanting him meant taking back control. Maybe because needing him proved I wasn’t just a victim anymore.
When we reached the store, I immediately noticed the extra guards Damian had stationed. Four stood out front, Ference among them.
“I’ll pick you up later,” Damian said. I nodded and stepped out.
“And remember to eat something real.”
“I do.”
His gaze slid over me, then lingered with a raised brow. “My hoodie looks good on you. Just a little big.”
I half-turned back toward him, letting a grin tease across my lips. “Maybe that’s because I’m not wearing anything under it.”
His expression darkened—just slightly, but I caught it. His fingers curled into a fist, his jaw tightened.
“Daisy,” he warned, low and sharp.
I leaned closer, letting my smile sharpen. “I’m hungry. But not for food.” Then I shut the car door in his face with a sweet little smile. I could feel his gaze burning into me until I disappeared inside the store. And I knew my words would eat at him all day.
By the afternoon, I was buried so deep in work that I didn’t notice my coffee had gone cold.
When I finally took a sip, it sloshed over, spilling across my documents.
“Damn,” I muttered, snatching a tissue to blot it up.
Before the last corner had dried, my phone buzzed. Damian’s name lit the screen.
16:02 — Damian: Did you eat?
16:02 — Daisy: Depends. Does chocolate count as a proper meal?
16:07 — Damian: Only if you didn’t wash it down with coffee.
16:07 — Daisy: Oops.
16:07 — Damian: You know you’re driving me insane, don’t you?
16:08 — Daisy: I was hoping you liked it when I’m reckless.
16:11 — Damian: Miss Elfhorn, I don’t like being provoked.
16:13 — Damian: Only if I get to punish you for it.
16:13 — Daisy: I’m trembling with fear already. ??
16:14 — Daisy: You’ll never find out.
16:16 — Damian: Are you really wearing nothing under the hoodie?
16:17 — Daisy: Maybe I want you to lose control, Mr. Miller.
16:17 — Damian: Careful. You’re waking something that’s better left asleep. I’m considering… whether I’ll even let you work today.
16:19 — Daisy: You mean you’re considering whether to throw me across your desk for every cheeky word?
16:19 — Damian: Wrong guess. I’m considering taking you on the floor—on your knees. Because you’re practically begging for it.
16:19 — Daisy: Want to show me? Or would you rather stay the gentleman who secretly undresses me in his mind?
16:21 — Damian: I’m not a gentleman, Daisy. And I won’t undress you in secret. I’ll tear it off your body.
A shiver ripped across my skin. No gentleman. No, he never was. And that was exactly my downfall. My fingers tightened around the phone, a heated smile tugging at my mouth. The kind of ache only he could stir bled through me, sharp and undeniable.
Not an hour later, the store door swung open. I looked up—and froze. Damian stood there, his expression carved in stone, his movements too fast, too deliberate. The air between us vibrated with tension.
“Everything all right?” he asked, but his eyes swept the room immediately, as if he expected Thomas Mason to crawl out of the shadows.
“Everything’s fine.”
He stepped toward me, fingers closing hard around my wrist. “You’re done for today. We’re going home.”
“Absolutely not… Damian, wait—”
I didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence. In the next second, he spun me around, my back slamming against one of the shelves. The sharp clatter of objects hitting the floor was the only sound that pierced the charged silence.
“Daisy.” His voice was low but laced with such tension that my heart faltered. “Don’t challenge me.” I caught the scent of his aftershave, felt the heat of his breath against my cheek.
He lifted my hands above my head and pinned them against the shelf with one hand. A fleeting smile flickered across his lips—cold, desperate.
“You scare me,” I whispered. And it wasn’t a lie, because he shifted between brutal and tender like the beat of a wing.
My pulse hammered; I didn’t know whether I wanted to shove him away or cling to him.
His eyes gleamed with something dangerous.
“Damian You scare me when you look at me like that—because I can’t tell if you’re saving me or choosing how to break me. ”
He pressed a finger to my lips. “Shh… it’s all right.”
My breath caught as his touch moved slowly, agonizingly, from my chin down my neck. Gentle yet commanding, his fingers wrapped around my throat.
“You know I’ll protect you, Daisy. No matter what it costs.”
A shiver coursed through me as I saw the sudden emptiness in his eyes.
Unease spread like a tide. Did I truly know the man in front of me, or was he a madman who might strangle me in the next breath?
Fear and desire tangled, rising inside me.
Damian was unpredictable, unreadable. My mind screamed at me to run, but my heart begged me to stay.
The intensity of his touch unraveled my senses while his words dragged me deeper into a whirlpool of conflicting emotions.
“And who protects me from you?”
“No one,” he whispered. “That’s why you should run.“ He tightening his hold before devouring my lips with a greedy kiss. “I can’t,” he rasped. “I can’t control myself anymore. Can’t hold back. I want you so badly.”
He shut his eyes, as if wrestling with himself. When they opened again, something flickered there—pain, anger, desire—all at once. “I can’t touch you without feeling like I’m losing my mind.”
Then he released my throat and wrists—but only to grip the hem of my hoodie. His fingers clenched the fabric, yanking me forward until I stumbled against his chest. Our bodies collided; my breath hitched. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll tear it off your body.”
A shudder went through me. Not from fear, but because I knew what was about to happen. And because I wanted it more than I would admit.
“You provoked me quite a lot today with your words,” he murmured, “and I swear to you, I’m not the man who caresses you right now. I’m the one who takes you until you scream my name.”
My heart pounded. I wanted that; I wanted him so badly.
“Do it,” I whispered, rough with anticipation. “Do whatever you want with me.” There’s a line you cross only once. I asked him to find it. “I need to feel you—need to feel myself again.”
He froze. Just for a moment. And then… I saw him fall—into himself, into that deep, black abyss of rage, obsession, and hunger that I called love.
I turned the key in the lock of my apartment. Damian stood close behind me; his presence was both calming and electrifying.
“This is the first time I’ve been at your place,” he said quietly as he stepped in behind me.
“I just need to grab a few things,” I said, disappearing toward the bedroom to pack my bag.
“You’ve got some very interesting things here,” he called, loud enough for me to hear.
I stuffed a few clothes into my bag and returned to the living room. Damian held a small antique mirror in his hand.
“Yes, you know, I have a weakness for old things.”
He smiled and set the mirror down.
“Do you want something to drink? Water, Coke, soda, wine?”
“Not at the moment, thank you.”
I took a bottle of soda from the fridge and walked back to him. He had pulled out a book and was studying it.
“Frankenstein?” he asked.
I twisted the cap off, let the bottle rest in my hand, took a small sip, and nodded toward the book on the table.
“It’s a first edition by Mary Shelley.”
Damian’s eyes widened. “Daisy, that’s incredible,” he said, sitting beside me on the couch and carefully leafing through the pages. “Where did you get it?”
“It was pure luck. I found it in a little junk shop in Edinburgh. The owner didn’t know what he had, and I bought it for a bargain.”
He flipped through the yellowed pages. “This really is an incredible find. The story itself is a milestone in literature.” He looked at me, his gaze soft, full of admiration. “You truly have a rare gift for finding things. It’s as if they were waiting for you to take them.”
I smiled. “So that means you’re happy to have me as your employee?”
“Happy? Is that a joke?” He closed the book carefully and set it on the table. “Having you as my employee is like winning the lottery. I also wanted to tell you what happened at the gala. I waited because—”
I nodded. I understood why he had waited to talk about that day.
“First, I had to apologize to people for you not being there. I told them you were sick,” he explained, his voice gentle. “But I plan to host another event in your name, because you were the one who discovered the origin of the Phoenix pendant.”
“And did the gala change anything for you?”
“The discovery of the pendant changed everything,” Damian said. “I’m flooded with offers from very high-ranking people in the industry. Suddenly they all want to work with me. The papers reported on it, and my value has doubled.”
I smiled. Pride burned in my chest. “You deserve this.”
He took my hand and pressed it gently. “That’s not true. I owe it to you. Without your sharpness, none of this would have been possible. You have a gift, Daisy, and I’m glad we can use it together.”
“It means a lot to me that you say that, but won’t what you did with Mason ruin all of it?”
The museum’s vast halls stretched around us, cloaked in a reverent stillness. Soft light gave statues and paintings a borrowed life, as if history breathed through them.
“The whole museum just for us. This is a special moment for me,” I whispered.
We moved from gallery to gallery, Damian leading with a casual certainty, as if the place belonged to him.
The museum felt like a collision of past and present, and in that collision, he grew more magnetic.
I watched him—how he moved, fluid and precise, each step deliberate, each gesture measured.
His presence filled the room; he knew it.
Damian didn’t merely speak to women; he ensnared them with dangerous grace.
He built walls of desire and control, brick by brick, until escape felt impossible.
Every smile carried a double-edged promise, every glance a veiled command.
He knew exactly what they longed to hear—what they wanted before they even knew it themselves. That knowledge frightened me.
“Do you see this statue?” Damian asked, stopping before a Greek sculpture. “It’s a copy of Phidias’ work, one of the greatest sculptors of ancient Greece. He breathed life into stone.”
“It’s breathtaking. And I’m amazed at how much you know.”
“My passion for history and art never fades. I have the privilege of working with some of the best experts alive. But enough about me—what’s your favorite piece in this room?”
I scanned the space and pointed to a painting. “That one. The colors, the technique—everything about it fascinates me. The way the hues blur into each other feels alive. It’s raw emotion on canvas.”
Damian studied me, as if committing every word to memory. “You see art in a way very few do, and that’s why you captivate me completely.”
His voice was sweet poison, pulling me deeper into his orbit.
I never knew whether he would be the charming seducer or the cold manipulator; that uncertainty kept me taut.
And yet I couldn’t break free. I was trapped in his undertow, desire and dread braided so tightly I could no longer tell which pulled harder.
He didn’t just curate artifacts. He curated people.
And I was already on a plinth.