DAMIEN

This girl, whatever her name was, was getting on my nerves. Bad. The kind of bad where every word she spoke scraped against me like nails on glass. She stood there with her chin lifted, acting as if she had the right to challenge me. Seriously, she needed to know her place. I kept wondering when, exactly, I had given her the impression she could talk back to me.

The sharpness in her tone when she threw shade at Macey crossed a line. That was the line no one crossed. I did not care about much, but disrespecting Macey in front of me was like walking into a fire and daring me to throw gasoline on it. Macey was untouchable. Everyone knew that. Everyone except her.

She glared at me, testing how far she could push before I snapped. Her eyes were dark and challenging, almost begging me to put her in her place. “She is the one, isn’t she?” she hissed, every syllable dripping with venom. “The reason you touched me that night. She is blonde. Like me.”

Her words landed like stones thrown into water, rippling through me, but not enough to move me. I let out a sharp breath, deliberately slow, keeping my expression steady, unreadable. “So what? Now that you know, what are you going to do about it?”

For a moment, she froze. Her mouth opened, ready to spill whatever rehearsed speech she thought would cut me deep. I was not in the mood for her games. Not today. Not ever. I leaned forward slightly, letting the weight of my silence press on her, and then I cut her off cold.

“You know what? Do not say anything.”

My patience had run out. I reached for her arm. I did not yank, and I did not bruise her. I held her firmly enough to show that this conversation was over. She stiffened under my grip but did not pull away. Some part of her wanted the fight, but another part already knew she had lost.

I steered her outside, away from the noise, away from the heat of the room. The afternoon air hit us, cooler than I expected, almost crisp, biting at the edges of my skin.

The street was quieter than the office. A car passed now and then. The low hum of life moved on, indifferent to the tiny battle playing out on its edge. It made her anger look small and meaningless against the backdrop of a world that did not care.

I pulled my phone out and thumbed quickly, ordering her a ride. She stood with her arms folded, tapping her nails against her elbow, waiting for me to say something else. Anything else. I did not. I was not going to give her more than she deserved.

Instead, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a few notes of cash, slipping them into her palm. It was not a gesture of kindness. It was practicality. I did not want to hear her complain later about rides, bills, or favors owed. This was a clean break.

“That is all?” she asked. Her eyes were wide, disbelief written across her face. She could not believe how casually I had ended her.

“Yes,” I said simply, with no hesitation. My voice was flat, final. “I wish you well.”

The words came out softer than I expected, but they were not for her. They were for me. Closure. Done.

Something shifted in her. Her shoulders dropped. The anger drained, replaced with something fragile, almost defenseless. That tiny sentence was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her. Her lips curved into the ghost of a smile, almost shy. “My name is Cynthia, by the way,” she said.

I nodded, no smile, no interest. Just acknowledgment. She was not important enough for more. Then I turned and walked away, each step solidifying the distance I was creating.

Back in the office, I buried myself in numbers. Numbers were safe. Predictable. They did not shift meaning based on mood or tone. They did not leave you guessing. Add, subtract, and divide. It was all clean.

That was my part of the business, the finance side of Seams & Touch. A massive operation demanded control, precision, and discipline. Running it with my sister was exactly the future I had mapped out for myself.

I had been carrying responsibility since I was nineteen, when the judge dropped custody of Zinna into my lap and basically said, “Do not screw this up.” From that day on, every decision I made was about survival, stability, and success. No distractions.

But then there was Macey.

And Macey was chaos wrapped in blonde hair, blue eyes that stripped me bare, and curves that were illegal for me to even notice at first. She was temptation dressed as innocence, and God help me, I fell for it long before I admitted it.

I glanced at the clock. 10:47 p.m. My eyes burned from staring at spreadsheets. The numbers blurred. The rows and columns swam until I had to lean back and press my palms to my face. I should have shut it down, gone home, and gotten a few hours of rest before the next grind. I knew myself too well.

The moment I got home, I would lose. I would throw myself onto the couch, phone in hand, and before I could think twice, I would open Instagram. Typing her name into the search bar. Scrolling through her pictures like an addict, swearing every time that it would be the last hit.

I hated myself for it. The late-night scrolling. The restless energy crawling under my skin. The way I had to fight not to touch myself like a teenager and not a man with responsibilities and a business empire on his shoulders. Every single picture of her twisted something inside me.

She did not even try. That was the worst part. She was not one of those girls posting for attention, staging every angle. She could post a half-blurry selfie, a photo of coffee on her desk, or a random shot of her shoes, and I would still find myself staring, memorizing, and replaying. I could not look away.

Zinna had warned me a year ago. She had caught me looking too long and seen the shift in my expression when Macey first walked into the office. “Stay away from her,” she told me, sharp and knowing. “Do not ruin this.” I laughed it off. I called her dramatic. I said Macey was too young for me. I pretended she did not interest me in the slightest.

But that was a lie, and I think Zinna knew it. Hell, maybe everyone knew it except me.

Because Macey was a temptress, whether she knew it or not.

The way her clothes hugged her body without her trying. The sway of her hips when she moved, natural and unbothered, was like gravity itself bent differently around her. The sound of her laugh when she did not hold back, bright and addictive, the kind of sound that hit you in the chest. Her lips when she spoke, when she bit down on the corner of her smile, holding a secret.

Every little thing about her ruined my control. She ruined my sleep. She ruined my carefully built walls, the rules I had lived by since I was nineteen. And still, I could not stop.

I sat in the silence of the office, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound, fighting a war I knew I was losing. The numbers on the screen did not matter anymore. The company could have collapsed in that moment, and all I would have thought about was Macey. Her hair in sunlight. Her laugh in the next room. Her eyes when they met mine and lingered too long, like maybe she felt it too.

I scrubbed my hands down my face and let out a bitter laugh. I had spent years building discipline, self-control, and focus. All it took was one girl, one blonde, blue-eyed distraction, to tear it all apart.

And the worst part was I did not want her to stop.

I rubbed my hand over my face, pushed back my chair, and packed my bag. I needed to get out before I did something reckless. I locked my laptop, swung the strap over my shoulder, and walked toward the elevator.

Then I heard it.

At first, I thought my tired brain was playing tricks on me, but the sound was too sharp, too real. A low, breathy moan carried through the corridor, faint but impossible to miss.

I froze.

Who the hell was moaning in the office at this hour?

Another sound followed, rhythmic and unmistakable. The sound of wetness. Someone was fucking in the office.

I should have turned and left. I should have minded my business. But my feet stayed rooted. My pulse ticked faster with every noise. My jaw clenched as another moan echoed off the walls.

Then I heard it clearly.

My name.

“Damien,” someone whispered.

The sound of it on a moan, dripping with need, made every cell in my body snap awake.

I staggered back a step, breath caught somewhere in my chest. Who the hell was in there, and why the hell were they moaning my name?