Chapter 4: You slut

Damian’s piercing gaze lingered on my face, and I could almost see the memory flickering in his mind—the old Alina, on her knees, clutching at him, tears streaming down her face as she begged:

“Damian, please, love me. Even if it’s just a little.”

His jaw tightened, and then he snapped back to the present, eyes colder than steel. “Even if you succeed this time, I still won’t love you.”

I held his stare calmly, unflinching. A faint smile touched my lips, though my chest tightened at his words. “Damian, I don’t want your love.”

His frown deepened. To him, my smile was twisted, laced with malice. He thought he had me figured out. He couldn’t be more wrong.

“I want something else,” I continued softly. “One promise. When I make my request, you must agree—without argument, without refusal.”

Because I knew my father too well. He was a man who would sell his own soul for profit. He had dangled a ten-million-dollar project in front of Liam, but how reliable was a snake’s word? If Liam’s future was to be secured, it wouldn’t be through Victor Cole—it would be through Damian Blackwood.

Damian studied me, suspicion flickering in his eyes. To him, every move I made was another scheme.

Finally, he said, “Fine. But my agreement comes with three conditions. First—you cannot involve me directly. Second—Isolde must not be harmed. And third—you cannot leave this family.”

The last part unsettled me. Why forbid me from leaving, when he clearly despised me? What was he playing at?

I smothered the thought, then let my eyes drift lazily toward Isolde, who stood nearby in flimsy sleepwear, pretending to be fragile. “Agreed. But when I work, no one else can be present. Especially not her.”

Isolde pressed her hands together, feigning innocence. “I won’t disturb the hypnosis. I only want to stay because I worry for Damian.”

I yawned and shot her a look filled with disdain. “If you really cared about him, you wouldn’t waste time acting like a saint for his attention. You’d leave.”

Her face flushed, but she kept up the performance. “How can you say that? I truly care about him!”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. Her whining seemed to only deepen his exhaustion. “Isolde, go and rest.”

Her lips parted in protest, but one look from him silenced her. Reluctantly, she turned to leave, pausing only to give me a look of theatrical sorrow before sweeping out.

I rolled my eyes and slammed the door shut behind her.

Lighting aromatherapy candles, I dimmed the lights until shadows stretched across the room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pulled out my silver stopwatch, its face catching the glow of the flame.

Just as I prepared to begin, Damian’s hand shot out, gripping my wrist like iron. His voice was a low warning. “You’d better pray your cheap tricks work, or you’ll wish you were never born.”

I shook him off without fear. “Then shut up and focus.” I raised the stopwatch, letting it sway. “Keep your eyes on this, and only this.”

Minutes passed. His face remained stern, eyes sharp, his composure unbroken. “Alina, this—”

Before he could finish, I pressed my fingers lightly against his lips. “No talking.”

I deepened the rhythm of the swinging watch, my voice slow and deliberate. “You’re growing tired now, Damian. So very tired.”

At first, his gaze stayed steady, as though mocking me. He thought it was nothing but a farce. But then… his breath faltered. His body slackened slightly. A faint fragrance from the candles mingled with the lavender perfume clinging to my skin.

And he began to feel it—the weight of fatigue dragging him down.

His lips moved faintly against my fingertips. “Come closer.”

I blinked. “What?”

In a sudden motion, he seized my arm and pulled me into his chest. I stumbled, landing against the hard wall of his body. His robe hung loose, exposing the sharp lines of his chest. My hands pressed instinctively against him, but he didn’t let me move.

“Don’t struggle,” he ordered, his voice already thick with drowsiness.

I froze, breath caught in my throat. The scent of him—masculine, intoxicating—mingled with the lavender, clouding the air. His arms tightened, and then, just like that… Damian Blackwood, the untouchable devil, fell asleep holding me.

“Damian?” I whispered, calling his name softly. No response. He was out cold.

I tried to shift away, but even in his sleep, his brows furrowed, his grip tightening with a frightening aura that radiated from him. My heart raced. Disturbing him now felt dangerous—lethal, even.

So I stilled, letting him hold my hand as if it tethered him to peace.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, intending to document his condition. But as I tapped the screen, a headline caught my eye:

A mysterious group secures multimillion-dollar deal with a small studio.

Liam.

My father had kept his word. The mysterious group was none other than the Cole Empire.

Before I could process it, my phone chimed. Ding. A WhatsApp notification.

Liam: Are you there? Let’s meet tomorrow.

I stared. Something about the message felt… off. He used to call me baby, filling his words with warmth. When had he grown so distant?

Another chime.

Liam: I have something very important to tell you.

My stomach twisted. My father’s warning rang in my ears: Don’t contact him. Don’t meet him. If Damian finds out who you are, everything collapses.

But what if Liam was going to propose? I could still see his eyes from that day, filled with hope as he promised to marry me once his business succeeded.

My lips trembled. Joy warred with guilt. Liam still didn’t know the truth—that I had been forced into Damian’s bed, that our marriage was nothing more than a transaction in my father’s twisted game.

Finally, I typed a single word back: OK.

Morning came too soon. Carefully, I slid out from Damian’s hold and slipped toward the door.

But the moment I opened it, Isolde stood waiting, her face pale, her eyes blazing with jealousy.

“You slut!” she hissed. “What took you so long to bring him a pill? What did you do in there? What happened between you two?”