His GOODGIRL

Chapter 3 : The morning After

I woke up to sunlight and Damien’s arm around my waist.

His chest was pressed to my back. His breath was warm on my neck.

We were tangled in sheets and guilt and we didn’t care.

My phone was screaming from the floor.

6:47am. 4 missed calls. All Ethan.

Damien’s hand slid up my stomach. Lazy. Possessive.

"Morning, good girl," he murmured.

"Don’t call me that."

"Then stop being so good." He kissed my shoulder. "You have work."

"I know."

I tried to get up. His arm tightened.

"Five more minutes."

"Damien—"

"Ethan’s blowing up your phone," he said, voice flat. "He knows."

I froze.

"What?"

"I saw him at the window earlier. He was pacing." Damien rolled me onto my back. "He knows you didn’t come home last night."

Panic shot through me.

"I have to go—"

"You have to face him eventually." Damien propped himself up on one elbow. Naked. Unbothered. "Unless you want me to walk you over."

"Absolutely not."

He grinned. "Your choice."

I grabbed my clothes off the floor. Jeans. Shirt. No bra.

Damien watched me get dressed like it was a show.

"You look better in my bed," he said.

"I have to go."

He followed me to the door. Barefoot. Sweatpants.

"Text me when you’re done with him," he said.

"This isn’t—"

"What? Over?" He stepped close. Tucked hair behind my ear. "Lena. It’s not over until I say it is."

Then he kissed me. Hard. Right there in the doorway where anyone could see.

I pulled away, heart pounding. "Stop."

"Make me."

I ran.

---

Ethan was on my porch.

Scrubs on. Hair messy. Holding coffee.

His face when he saw me... God.

"You didn’t come home," he said.

"I— I was at the clinic. Overnight shift." Lie.

"Liar."

The word hit me.

"Your car’s here," he said. "Your lights were off all night. And I saw you."

"Saw what?"

"Coming out of his house. 6am. Hair a mess. Wearing yesterday’s clothes."

My stomach dropped.

Ethan set the coffee down. Hard.

"Was it worth it?" he asked. Voice shaking.

"Ethan—"

"Was it worth lying to me? Worth throwing away—" He cut himself off.

"Worth throwing away what?"

"Us!" he shouted. "Me! The last 10 years!"

I flinched.

"Don’t," I whispered.

"Don’t what? Care? Because I do, Lena. I’ve always—"

The back door opened.

Damien.

He didn’t say anything. Just leaned against the frame. Shirtless. Arms crossed. Watching.

Ethan saw him and lost it.

"What the f**k are you doing here?"

"My neighbor needed a ride to work," Damien said smoothly. "Didn’t you?"

"Get the f**k out."

"Make me, little brother."

"Both of you STOP!" I yelled.

Silence.

Ethan looked at me. Hurt. Angry. "Choose," he said quietly.

"Don’t do this."

"Choose."

I couldn’t breathe.

Damien didn’t move. Just watched me. Waiting.

And I realized... I didn’t want to choose Ethan.

Not today. Not after last night.

"I’m going to work," I said. My voice broke. "Alone."

I grabbed my keys and left. Both of them behind me.

---

The day was hell.

Patients. Paperwork. And every 10 minutes my phone buzzed.

Ethan: _We need to talk._

Damien: _He yelled at you. I heard._

Ethan: _Please._

Damien: _Come here tonight._

Ethan: _I love you._

I didn’t answer either of them.

At 8pm I got home. Exhausted.

There was a note on my door.

Ethan’s handwriting: _I’m sorry. Dinner tomorrow? Please._

Under it, in black marker, Damien had written: _Don’t._

And his number.

I crumpled it.

That night I tried to sleep. Couldn’t.

At 11:30 my phone lit up.

Damien: _The walls are thin. I can hear you crying._

_I’m not._

_Lie to me again._

I threw the phone.

30 seconds later: _Open the door._

I did.

He was there. Jeans. Black shirt. Eyes dark.

"You look like s**t," he said.

"Thanks."

"Come here."

He pulled me inside. No talking. No questions.

He backed me against the wall. Hands in my hair.

"You picked me," he said against my mouth. "Even if you didn’t say it."

"I didn’t pick anyone."

"Yes you did." His hands slid under my shirt. "By coming to me."

He kissed me until I forgot Ethan. Forgot guilt. Forgot everything.

"Say it," he demanded, pulling back.

"Say what?"

"That you’re mine."

"Damien—"

"Say it, Lena." His hand went to my throat. Not tight. Just there. "Or I’ll stop."

I gasped. "I’m yours."

"Good girl."

He lifted me. Carried me to the bedroom.

This time it wasn’t desperate. It was slow. Punishing.

Like he was trying to erase Ethan from my skin.

"Look at me," he said while he moved. "Only me."

"Only you," I whispered.

When I came I said his name. Loud.

He smiled. Covered my mouth.

"Let him hear," he whispered.

After, he held me.

"Tomorrow night too," he said.

"Damien—"

"I’m not asking."

My phone buzzed. Ethan: _I’m outside._

Damien saw it. "Ignore him."

"I can’t—"

"You can." He kissed my forehead. "Because you’re mine now."

And for the first time, I believed him.