Chapter 6
I never wanted to leave her,he confesses, his voice thick with regret. I loved her, and I still do. I think she loves me too, but... He trails off, his gaze distant. Andreas trapped, consumed by fear.
Of what? Who is she afraid of? The interviewer is eating out of the palm of his hands.
Her manager.
Logans confession escapes his lips, each syllable weighed down with regret. His face contorts with anguish, as if the very act of speaking these words is a betrayal of his soul.
The captivated audience hangs on his every word, sensing the depth of his turmoil.
Hes a fucking bastard, but a very good actor. I’ll give him that.
The interviewer looks troubled. “Brandon Stanton?”
Logan nods, and the woman scribbles on her cue cards.
She looks as contrite as he does. She pities him, you can see it in her eyes, and I hate him for it.
The rest of the audience is probably in a similar state, pitying my ex-boyfriend while he spouts all sorts of lies about me.
His elbows rest on his knees and his hands are clasped between them. Logan stares at the floor. He hesitates before he speaks and seems to think twice about each of his statements. This causes him to appear as the spitting image of a pained and heartbroken man.
Brandon controls everything Andrea does. Her every step. He tells her what she should eat, how she should act, and where she should go.
He controls who she can interact with. He and I didnt get along because I wanted Andrea to be free from the beginning, but he wouldnt let that happen.
He pushed us apart as soon as he realized that our love was strong enough to free her from his yoke.
What a fucking bastard!
The unexpected words make me jump as the television abruptly shuts off.
Brandon stands in front of me, the controller in his hand. His face is red, and his glasses have been pushed comically to the bridge of his nose. Still, the gesture isn’t funny, but rather, it’s intimidating.
He’s clearly upset, to the point of destroying Logan with his bare hands if he were ever to get the chance.
Sooner or later, we knew he would resort to this. Sighing, I settle back on the couch, leaning back against the cushions as I try to remain calm.
Brandon is not as calm as I am. Dont you understand, Drea? This destroys your image. This makes you look weak and submissive.
In a way, that’s not a lie.
Either way, the press will believe what they want. They’ll juice this story for a while, but then it’ll die down.
Everything eventually passes, and people forget their words sooner or later. I dont forget them, though. They’re my scars, after all.
Brandon looks indignant. He crouches down in front of me and gives me one of those protective, paternal looks.
Drea, you dont understand. This could affect you, and I dont want it to affect you. The label is already pulling away from us. This could be the end of your contract.
My lips tighten into a smile. But youll work as usual to make sure that doesnt happen.
Of course, he replies immediately.
I pat his shoulder and stand up. I need to get back to the booth.
Of course.
Brandon follows me with his gaze, but I ignore him, leaving the break room behind me as I head for the booth.
I put on my headphones and start singing slow, melodious lyrics that tell of lost loves and rainy afternoons.
But it doesnt feel like mine.
Inside, I just want to scream.
Im not the woman who is hurt or who cries because she’s heartbroken.
Im the one who wishes she could watch the world burn and dance in the ashes.
I wish I could scream about the anger and the helplessness that I feel, but I cant.
I cant afford to let them down, not when the record label has me on thin ice. Theyre already watching my every move, waiting for me to slip up. So I grit my teeth and keep singing, forcing myself to sound like I mean the words even though theyre as hollow as my chest feels right now.
The music stops in the middle of laying the background vocals, and the technician catches my attention.
Drea, I think you have visitors.
I look up and open my eyes, noticing a towering figure who stands next to a very tense Brandon.
My heart immediately begins to skip a beat.
Dressed almost entirely in black, because it seems that there are no other colors in his closet, Damien is standing in my studio.
His square jaw is tight and firm, and his large hands are tucked inside the pockets of his pants.
My dark knight.
I take a deep breath, feeling the familiar tightness in my chest as Damiens intense gaze locks onto mine. His eyes are like magnets, drawing me in with their smoldering intensity.
This man does something to me. Cracks the armor Ive spent years building.
Growing up, I learned the hard way that relying on others was a trap. Dads rages left me cowering, bracing for the next explosion. Mom escaped into her shattered dreams, abandoning me emotionally.
I had to fend for myself. Cook my own meals, get myself to school. Find solace in music when the world grew too harsh.
That self-sufficiency kept me alive, but it also walled off my heart. I stopped expecting anyone to have my back.
Even with Brandon. Hes here but with a price.
Until Damien.
His presence sparks a yearning I cant ignore. To be seen. To be protected. Its dizzying and terrifying all at once.
Part of me craves his strength, his steadiness. The other part screams to run before Im gutted again.
Damien takes a step closer, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around me. My pulse quickens as heat blossoms low in my belly.
I tear my gaze away, fixing it on the gleaming sound equipment. Anything to avoid those eyes that seem to strip me bare.
But Damiens eyes find mine again, holding me in their depths whispering… You dont have to pretend with me.
I want to take refuge in his arms and know what it feels like to be touched by those hands. But I restrain myself and climb down from the stool.
I walk to the adjoining room to meet him. What are you doing here?
And more importantly, how did you get in? This is a private rehearsal. His words are casual, but the undercurrent is clear - hes marking his territory. A reminder that he controls every aspect of my life.
I know the owner. Damiens jaw tightens, that muscle ticking. He sees right through Brandons passive-aggressive power play.
Ill have to talk to him, Brandon says, annoyed.
Damien turns and looks at him then, almost haughtily.
Youve got him standing in front of you now, he states.
You own this recording studio? I ask, impressed, since this is the best studio in town.
This one and a few others, Damien says, tone impassive.
I raise an eyebrow in admiration.
Anyway, this is still a private rehearsal, Brandon reaffirms.
Damien glances at his watch, a Rolex glinting in the dim studio light. Ill make it quick.
He looks at Brandon and then at the engineer sitting at the console, and the message is clear in his dark eyes.
Out.
I clear my throat and look at Brandon. Five minutes, I promise.
If his face was red with anger before, now its turned purple, but he obeys. He squeezes my arm, a silent warning, before striding away. The moment hes gone, the tension in the room dissipates.
I can breathe again.
Whats wrong? I ask him.
He takes a step in my direction and, almost casually, his fingers brush my cheek as he grabs a lock of my hair.
He examines it as if it were made of gold and then carefully places the lock behind my ear.
I feel the current that runs through me every time he touches me, from where his fingers have brushed my skin down into my underbelly, causing a delicious but dangerous tingling sensation.
My heart pounds in my chest, and I cant help but wonder when was the last time a man made me feel this way. Or if there was even a time to begin with.
Im worried about you, Damien finally says. I had to come check on you for myself.
Why?
Ive seen the news.
Oh, that.
His serious face stays firm while I bite my lower lip, trying to keep my cool.
Its no big deal. Logans an expert at raising hell. Always has been.
Likewise. I know this affects you.
I wont let it, I promise.
His scent reaches me through the cold air, and I can feel the warmth emanating from his skin and the woody notes of his cologne, which are so masculine and desirable.
His face lowers slightly, seeking my gaze as his fingers brush the contours of my face.
Electricity courses through me, weakening my legs and causing my whole body to tremble.
Let me protect you.
I dont need you to, I say.
I know. A small, dangerous smile tugs at his lips. Smug and with a hint of devilousness, but oh, so sexy.
It unhinges me.
Im finding it hard to let you go.
Then dont.
The words tumble out of me, escaping my lips before I can stop them. They fly towards him like uncaged birds, beyond my control or permission.
Theres no turning back now.
Damien looks at me with those dark, deep eyes. Rage is replaced by hunger.
But your manager doesnt want you to have another bad boy in your life.
He doesnt control me.
I know. Otherwise, youd still be paying penance for the alfredo from the other day.
And all that ice cream, I joke.
My words manage to soften something in him, and I sense that Im getting closer to his core.
Its like peeling an onion, I think, and little by little, layer by layer, I get to visualize the real person underneath all his sexy, bad-boy good looks.
Damien takes a step closer to me. Ill stop by your apartment at eleven.
Ill wait for you.
He takes one last step, and his lips brush my earlobe. His breath is hot, and it makes my body heat up like Im on fire.
Make sure youre alone.
His mouth grazes my chin briefly, then he breaks away from me.
Dark eyes hold mine for a moment before he pulls away and finally leaves.
I study the tension in his gait, swallowing hard as I attempt to clear my thoughts along with my dry throat.
I dont know what just happened to me, but I know one thing.
Desire courses through my veins as I watch Damien McAllister walk away.
I can practically taste it on my tongue, and I know, deep down, that tonights the night Ill finally have him.