Twice Claimed: Bound by the Billionaire

Chapter Nine

Damien

I don’t know how to answer.

Because I was thinking of someone else.

Noah’s face flickers, uninvited. His laughter, the rough edge of his voice, the ghost of a touch I never stopped feeling. I slam my eyes shut, guilt cutting through me like a blade.

I tighten my arm around Sienna instead. This is different, I tell myself. She’s different. This isn’t about him.

This isn’t about them.

The lie tastes bitter.

“You’re safe here,” I tell her quietly.

She shifts in my arms, looking up at me again. “Damian, you don’t have to stay..” Her voice is soft and uncertain.

“I want to.”

It’s the truth, but it catches me off guard. I do want to - though maybe not for the reasons she thinks.

Another moment passes, heavy and delicate all at once. Then I exhale, forcing myself to move. “I’ll draw your bath,” I say. “Just give me a minute.”

I slip from the bed and cross the room. The floor is cool beneath my feet, grounding. Behind me, I can feel her watching - silent, wary, already wondering why I’d said his name.

I don’t turn around. Steam curls up from the marble tub, blurring the mirror, softening every edge. Then I exhale scent of cedar and lavender drift through the air as I add the bath oil.

Behind me, I can hear the rustle of sheets. Sienna stands in the bathroom, wrapped in them, her hair a tumble of long dark silk down her back. She hesitates in the doorway, the way someone might hesitate at the edge of a cliff.

“You don’t have to help.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I can manage on my own.”

I turn and meet her eyes. “I said I would, and I meant it.”

Her breath catches - barely, but I caught it. She nods once, stepping closer. The sheet drops from her shoulders, and I swallow hard. The bruise I’d left bloomed faintly on her fair skin - a mark of possession I hadn’t meant to leave.

I reach out, running my fingers over her wrist. “Sienna, what’s your safe word?”

She swallows again, her expression reluctant. “Bunny.”

“Next time,” I say slowly, “use it. Tell me if I’m ever too rough.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak.

She steps into the tub and slowly sinks into the warm water, the heat flushing her skin pink. I kneel beside the tub, the scent of her and the bath water tangling together until I can barely think.

She keeps her gaze down, watching the water ripple. “You said a name,” she finally whispers.

I freeze.

She doesn’t look up, doesn’t grant me that mercy. “At the end. You said Noah.”

Silence expands, pressing between us like a living thing.

“I did,” I finally admit.

Her head lifts at that. “Who is he to you, Damian? Not just a friend.”

The question shouldn’t land like a blow. Yet it does.

Someone I should’ve let go of long ago. Someone who never really left me. Someone who complicates everything.

I don’t say any of that. Instead I reach for the washcloth and dip it into the water. “You’ll meet him again soon enough,” I say.

I slide the cloth over her shoulder, down her arm and across her breast.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away - but she doesn’t relax either.

The silence that follows is sharper than words.

Finally, I stand and hand her a towel. She takes it without meeting my eyes.

“Rest,” I say quietly. “You’re going to need it, Wife.”

I leave her then, the sound of water still echoing behind me, the phantom of Noah’s name still on my tongue.

I close the bathroom door behind me and stand in the hallway for a long time. The steam of the bath clings to me warm and ghostly. Noah’s name lingers on my tongue like a confession I can’t take back.