Chapter 14 #2
I still haven’t brought up the fact that I told him I loved him. Damien hates being cornered emotionally, and the fastest way to make him retreat is to push too hard before he’s ready.
So I wait.
Even when it kills me.
“You’re staring again,” Damien says.
“You’re handsome.”
He pauses.
Then, unexpectedly, his expression softens. “So are you.”
I blink.
Damien almost never compliments people directly.
Teasing, sarcasm, dry observations—those are easy for him.
Genuine affection still seems to catch in his throat sometimes.
So when he walks toward me slowly and reaches up to smooth my hair back from my forehead, I nearly stop breathing.
His fingers brush lightly along my temple before settling against my cheek.
“You look really handsome tonight,” he says quietly.
I lean automatically into his touch. “Damien,” I murmur. “Don’t do that again.”
His brows pull together. “Why?”
“Because if you do, we’re not leaving this apartment.”
That finally earns me the small smile I’ve spent months chasing now. The limo arrives before I can kiss him properly, which feels deeply unfair.
The charity event is being held in one of the nicest hotels downtown. Everything gleams—crystal chandeliers, expensive suits, women dripping diamonds while rich men pretend they care about philanthropy instead of networking.
The second Damien and I step out of the limo, cameras start flashing. Damien instinctively moves closer to me. I slide a hand against the small of his back, and his body relaxes almost immediately.
Inside the ballroom, the atmosphere is loud and polished all at once. Players from multiple teams are scattered around the room, with sponsors and reporters drifting between conversations. Then Damien stiffens slightly beside me.
I follow his gaze and immediately groan. It’s Eric Larson—my fake mortal enemy for the last three years.
Eric spots us instantly and lifts his champagne glass toward me with a smirk.
“I hate that guy,” Damien mutters dryly.
I raise my glass back. “Him being an asshole in real life sure makes it easier to play up our rivalry on the ice.”
Damien scoffs. “How many fake relationships do you have?”
I laugh quietly. “Just the one.”
Damien narrows his eyes slightly, leaning into me. “So I’m not your fake boyfriend anymore?”
Then I grab his chin gently between my fingers and pull him closer, until he’s looking directly at me. “Tell me it’s fake again,” I murmur low enough that only he can hear, “when I’m inside you tonight.”
Damien goes completely still. His pupils widen instantly. Watching Damien Harrow get flustered might genuinely be my favorite thing in the world.
“You’re an asshole,” he mutters.
I grin.
He rolls his eyes, but stays pink around the ears while we continue through the ballroom. Unfortunately, Eric chooses that exact moment to approach us.
“Harrow,” he says casually. “Connors.”
“Larson,” Damien says flatly.
Eric grins wider. “I’d congratulate you again on the win, but I’m still emotionally recovering.”
“You’ll survive,” I say.
Then Eric opens his mouth again. “You know,” he says while looking at me, “you probably should’ve taken that final shot yourself.”
I blink. “What?”
Eric shrugs lazily. “You had the better angle, but you fed your boyfriend the glory shot.” His grin sharpens. “Pretty whipped behavior, Connors.”
Something shifts beside me, Damien tensing before I even fully process the comment.
“Damien,” I start.
“You know what?” Damien says calmly.
That tone is never a good sign.
Eric smirks slightly. “Relax, Harrow. I’m joking.”
“No,” Damien says. “You’re being a dick.”
“Oh my God,” Eric laughs. “You’re both actually insane about each other. No wonder you’ve become his whore, Connors.”
That does it. Damien lunges before I can stop him. The room erupts instantly. People shout. A champagne glass shatters nearby.
Damien grabs the front of Eric’s suit jacket and drives him backward hard enough that both of them nearly crash into a table. Eric grabs Damien by the waist, plowing him into the wall. Damien gets him to the floor and starts punching Eric’s face.
“Damien!” I grab him around the waist before this turns into a full disaster.
Eric looks stunned, mostly because Damien genuinely looks ready to kill him.
“Say it again.” Damien spits blood from his mouth.
“Jesus Christ,” Eric mutters. “You’re psycho.”
“That’s enough,” I say sharply, dragging Damien backward before security gets involved.
Damien fights me the entire way across the ballroom. “I’m serious, Atlas.”
“I know.”
“He was talking shit about you.”
“I know.”
“He—”
“Damien.”
I finally manage to pull him away from the crowd and shove open the nearest private restroom door. The second it closes behind us, Damien starts pacing furiously.
“He’s a fucking loser.”
“Yes,” I agree immediately. “But you can’t fucking assault him at a charity gala.”
“He called you a whore. I’m not going to fucking stand for that.”
“Who cares? He was just trying to get a reaction out of us.”
“I care!” Damien is furious. His eyes look wild, like he’s not here with me.
I rub a hand over my face.
Damien laughs bitterly, chest rising and falling too fast while adrenaline crackles off him in waves.
“He’s not worth this,” I say carefully.
“You stopped me like I was embarrassing you.”
“You were embarrassing me! This event is for Grace’s hospital. And now, instead of the work I’m trying to do, the media is going to be focused on my boyfriend picking a fight.”
Damien jabs a finger toward the ballroom. “Eric was picking the fucking fight.”
“And you fell for it! I rub a hand over my face, trying to focus. “He was just doing what we always do, Damien. Acting like a dick in public to get publicity on the ice.”
“Why am I being yelled at for doing what a real boyfriend would do? I’m also playing a part, aren’t I?”
The words hit something deep inside me.
I stare at him. “What?”
Damien gestures angrily. “This whole thing?—”
“No.” My voice cuts through his instantly.
Damien stops talking, because now I’m angry too, at the fact that he keeps trying to shove what we are back into a box it stopped fitting inside months ago.
“This isn’t fake anymore,” I say.
The room goes completely silent.
Damien’s expression shifts immediately, into something close to panic.
“There’s no pretending left here,” I continue, stepping closer before I can stop myself. “Not for me.”
“Atlas—”
“This isn’t just sex anymore, and you know it.”
His breathing changes. I actually watch fear crawl up his spine in real time.
And suddenly I understand something awful:
Damien is terrified of loving me back.
“Admit you weren’t just playing a part. You have feelings for me, and that’s why you wanted to defend me tooth and nail.”
“Don’t,” he says quietly.
The word lands like a warning.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make this something it’s not.”
That one hurts. “Right.”
Damien’s face changes instantly, regret flashing across it too late. “Atlas?—”
“I need air.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He opens his mouth.
Nothing comes out.
And somehow that’s worse than anything he could’ve said.
I nod slowly, forcing myself to stay calm even though my chest feels like it’s cracking open. “That’s what I thought.”
“Atlas.” I can hear the panic in his voice now.
I leave anyway.
Because if I stay in this bathroom another minute, I’m going to beg someone who loves me to stop being afraid of it.