DAMIEN

She was soft when she slept.

Softer than she has any right to be in a place like this. In a bed that belonged to me long before she ever stepped foot into my world.

She didn’t scream this time, but she did cry.

How did I know she usually screamed? Well, just a little bit of information from my men here and there. Nothing much.

She took soft, broken little breaths like something dying quietly.

I heard her through the walls.

She might have thought the house didn’t listen. That it sleeps when she does. But the walls keep secrets like I do. And tonight? It’s pitch black.

I sat on the edge of my bed, my elbows resting on my knees, shirt sticking to my back from the shower. I should’ve stayed in. Let her sob into silence. Let her feel the weight of the decision she made—coming here, agreeing to this. That this was a terrible idea. Maybe not completely terrible because it would help me accomplish the reason why I had married into this family. Her adopted family.

But I’m not built like that.

I moved.

I shouldn’t have come to her door tonight.

But then again, I shouldn’t have let her in at all. I should’ve sent her away and rejected her at the altar. I should've called off the whole thing and forfeit marrying her because she exactly wasn't the one whom I had initially in mind. I knew this...silly heart tugging of mine would resurface if I let her close and it did. I am such a fool.

But then, forfeiting and cancelling the marriage would make my plans go to hold or something. I couldn't afford that.

I found her standing at the balcony, the moonlight painting her like temptation sculpted into flesh. She was brefoot. That thin nightdress clung to her like it didn’t want to let go. She turns when I speak, and for a second, her eyes are still wet.

Something twists low in me. Damn it.

“I didn’t know that was possible,” she murmurs.

“It is. For you.” My voice stays even.

She turned away. Her shoulders stiffened when she asked the question again. About her. The woman who had come in earlier. Raven.

I had seen the slight slump of her shoulders and the way her eyes had dimmed when she saw her. I wondered what the hell Raven was doing here.

I give her nothing at first. I wanted her to still know her place. I didn’t want her to think i didn't have a leash on her and then she would be reaching for a mango tree.Then the truth. Or at least, enough of it. Not anymore. Not in the way that matters. Not since I met this.

Sienna.

She scoffs. She says something about being a pawn.

Wrong.

She has no idea.

“You’re the queen in my game,” I tell her. She had no idea. She might have thought it might have been a harmless conversation and joke, but hell it was nothing like that. It was a comment I had said with intent.

This game was like a game of chess and it had just begun. I am going to use her to get to the family. The queen is the most important element in a chess game and Sienna doesn't realise she is the queen. The most important element in my quest for revenge.

She laughs, bitter. “Not in this dress, I’m not.”

I thought as much. She thought it was just a joke.

'Then take it off.' I had told her.

The words leave before I think them through. Not out of lust. Out of fury. At the thought of her wearing what they gave her. Wrapping her in silk that smelled like Grandmother’s poison. To me, it felt like mockery. How could they give my wife something that isn't worthy of the wife of Damien Lancaster to wear? I tell her we’ll burn it. That she’ll only wear what I give her from now on.

Her throat works around silence. She steps past me, back inside, and I follow.

The door clicks shut behind me.

She doesn’t speak.

Neither do I.

But she’s standing there, back to me. Frozen.

I step closer. My voice is quiet when I speak.

“Take it off, Sienna.”

She turns then, lips parted. “Why?”

“Because I told you to.”

She stares at me. Her pupils are wide. Her breathing—fast.

I cross the room in three slow steps. I don’t touch her. Not yet. I just look.

“You want me to be kind,” I say. “But I don’t know how to do that. I'm not a kind man, Sienna. I'm not going to sweep you off your feet and buy you flowers. I am going to take what belongs to me."

Her eyes shine.

“Then don’t be kind,” she whispers. “Be whatever you are.”

Bold. This woman was bold enough to say something like this. A fucking challenge.

That breaks something in me.

I take her face in both hands and kiss her like I’m punishing her for existing.

She gasps, and I take that too. Her breath. Her moan. Her surrender. My hands slide down, gripping her waist, dragging her flush against me. I carry her to the bed, throwing back the duvet like it offended me.

The nightdress tears when I pull it over her head.

She doesn’t protest.

Her body is warm, soft, mine.

I kiss down her throat, biting gently, leaving proof. My hand trails down her hip, between her thighs, and she shudders—so sensitive, so ready.

“You’re wet,” I murmur against her skin. “Already?”

She nods, cheeks flushed. I slide my fingers through the heat of her and groan low in my throat. I tease her slowly, watching her writhe, watching her fall apart.

Her back arches. “Damien—”

“Say it again.”

“Damien—please—”

I strip quickly, watching her the whole time. I don’t hide what she does to me. How hard I am. How close to losing control. I settle between her legs, lining up, holding her hips steady.

“This is mine now,” I whisper, looking into her eyes. “Say it.”

She’s trembling. “Yours.”

I push into her slowly—torturously slow—until she cries out, clawing at my back.

Her heat wraps around me, tight, perfect, and I can’t think for a second.

I start to move. Deep, steady strokes that make her gasp every time I hit the spot that makes her eyes roll back. She wraps her legs around me, pulls me in deeper, harder.

Her moans are beautiful. Desperate. Addicting.

My name on her lips is a prayer I don’t deserve.

I grip her wrists, pinning them above her head, my pace unrelenting.

“Look at me,” I growl.

She does. Barely. Her pupils are blown wide, tears threatening.

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

Her body tightens. I feel it. That edge. She was close.

I keep going, pounding into her relentlessly, chasing my orgasm with her.

She shatters, a sharp cry leaving her lips.

I follow.

Her name leaves my lips like a curse.

When it’s over, I hold myself above her, breathing hard. Her wrists are red from where I held her. I lower my mouth and kiss each one softly.

She watches me.

Something like awe in her gaze.

Or ruin.

I pull her into my arms, ignoring the voices in my head.

The ones that say I’m getting in too deep.

But knew better. I knew I just wanted a release and that. I let myself indulge in this. Just for tonight. I knew that tomorrow, I would go back to being who I was.

The uncaring old ruthless young CEO whom the world knew me as. But for now, I settle into the warmth of her.