Chapter 7 #3
Elena did not blink. Damian felt his throat tighten—an unfamiliar sensation, like vulnerability pressing against his ribs.
He pushed on, because stopping would be cowardice.
“I fell for you so quickly it humiliated me,” he admitted, each word costing him.
“Because I am not a man who loses control and yet the moment you looked at me as though my title meant nothing, you…” He stopped, jaw flexing, his discipline straining.
“You struck something inside of me.” Elena’s lips parted slightly, her gaze suddenly uncertain.
Damian’s hands curled at his sides, resisting the urge to reach for her.
“I have spent my life being valued for what I can provide,” he said quietly.
“And you are the first woman who has looked at me and seemed offended by the idea.”
Elena swallowed. Damian took a careful breath.
He could feel the old instincts rising—the desire to take, to claim, and to end uncertainty with a decisive act.
He would not do that, at least not yet, and not like that.
So, he offered the only thing that mattered.
He would give her everything she demanded starting with the one thing no one had offered her, even him, a choice.
He hated how much it cost him. He hated how necessary it was.
“I am not asking you to be my wife,” Damian said, voice steady despite the war in his chest. “Not like this. Not because you think you have to. I don’t want to marry you if it is something that makes you feel less than you are. ”
Elena’s brows knit, confusion flickering.
Damian held her gaze. “Tell me what you need,” he said again, the words scraped raw from pride.
“What you need to feel safe. To feel you will not be diminished an to believe you will have choices even after you say my vows.” He paused, then forced the last truth through his teeth. “Tell me what you need to say yes.”
Elena stared at him as if he had spoken a foreign language.
Good. Let her understand how much this cost him.
Let her understand he meant it. For a moment, she said nothing.
The candle’s flame trembled, and the embers shifted as if they listened.
Then Elena whispered, “I don’t know anything anymore.
” She met his gaze and said, “But there is one thing you can do. Perhaps it will help me make a decision or to know what I want.”
“What is it?” he asked. “I will do anything.” It amazed him in that moment how honest those words were.
Elena stood and stepped toward him. “Kiss me,” she said in a husky tone.
Damian’s chest tightened those were not the words he expected from her.
He stepped closer—slowly, deliberately—giving her every chance to retreat or change her mind.
She did not. Her eyes were wide, bright with fear and something else that made his blood turn hot.
Damian lifted his hand, not touching her yet waiting for the smallest permission.
Elena’s breath hitched. That was his answer…
she did want this. Damian closed the distance and kissed her.
It was not a polite kiss. It was not a careful brush meant to test propriety.
It was a kiss born of restraint breaking—of weeks of controlled composure finally giving way to the thing he had tried to deny.
Her mouth softened under his, and for one brutal, glorious moment, she kissed him back with a hunger that made his mind go blank.
Damian’s hand slid to her waist, steadying her, anchoring her against him as if he could keep her from vanishing.
He deepened the kiss, unable to stop himself, tasting her like a vow.
Elena made a sound—soft, startled—and he felt her fingers clutch at his shirtfront.
Then she tore herself away. Elena staggered a half-step back, one hand lifting to her lips as if she did not trust them.
Her eyes were wide, her breathing unsteady, her cheeks flushed.
Damian forced himself not to reach for her again.
Forced himself to stand still, to let her have space.
Because he meant what he said. He would not take what she did not freely offer him.
The choice was and always would be hers.
Elena looked at him as though he had undone her.
As though she had undone herself. “That…” she began, then swallowed hard. “That was…”
“Perfect,” Damian said quietly, unable to stop the single word.
Elena’s gaze flashed—fear, anger, desire, confusion all tangled together. “Perhaps,” she said, though her voice trembled.
“No perhaps about it,” Damian replied, voice low, controlled again only by sheer will. “But it is a discussion for another day.”
“Yes…” Elena’s throat moved as she swallowed. “I should go to my chamber now. I…need to think.”
Damian watched her—this woman who had made him feel humility and hunger in the same breath—and understood, with quiet certainty, that he had crossed a line he could not uncross.
Even if she had asked for the kiss, he should not have given in to it with her so uncertain.
Whatever she chose in thirty-six hours… He would not be able to pretend he had not wanted her.
He would not be able to forget the way she had kissed him back and for the first time in his life, the possibility of losing did not feel like a mere inconvenience.
It felt like his ruin.
When she left him alone in the library his mind kept revisiting that kiss, and he knew, it would haunt his dreams for eternity if she left him. Because no kiss, no woman, would ever be able to take her place in his heart.