Possessive
1194 Words
CH 5: POSSESSIVE
The hospital called.
Bill due by midnight.
Or they stop treatment.
The words echoed in my head.
Over and over.
Like a siren.
My hands shook.
I pressed them together on my lap.
It didn’t help.
"You said you’d pay," I whispered.
The words barely made it out.
"You said if I signed—"
"I did pay."
Damian cut me off.
Sharp.
Final.
He set the glass down.
Hard.
Whiskey sloshed over the rim.
He didn’t even notice.
"I paid 3 months ago."
He said it like I was stupid for asking.
"Full amount.
Upfront."
I stared at him.
My chest was too tight.
"Then why did they call?"
He didn’t answer.
He walked to the window.
Hands in his pockets.
Back to me.
The city lights blurred.
Because my eyes were full.
Hot.
Stupid tears.
He lied.
All of it was a lie.
The contract.
The marriage.
The "saving my dad."
It was never about my dad.
It was about me.
"Get out," I said.
Voice shaking.
I hated how weak I sounded.
"Lina—"
"Get. Out."
I said it louder this time.
My voice cracked on the last word.
He turned.
Slow.
Eyes dark.
Almost black in the low light.
"Don’t push me."
"Or what?"
The anger came out of nowhere.
Hot and ugly.
I stepped forward.
Bare feet on the cold floor.
"Or you’ll rip more papers?
Or you’ll tell me I belong to you again?
Or you’ll kiss me until I forget how to breathe?"
His jaw ticked.
Once.
Twice.
"Watch your tone."
"Why?"
Tears fell now.
I didn’t bother wiping them.
Let him see.
"I hate you.
I hate that I signed.
I hate that my dad—"
My throat closed.
I couldn’t finish.
That was his trigger.
Damian crossed the room in two steps.
I didn’t even see him move.
One second he was across from me.
The next he was caging me against the desk.
Hands on either side of me.
Wood digging into my back.
Close.
Too close.
I could smell cedar and whiskey and him.
"Don’t cry for him," he said.
Low.
Furious.
The vein in his neck was jumping.
"He wouldn’t cry for you."
"Don’t you dare—"
"Don’t I?"
His thumb caught a tear.
Rough.
He wiped it like it offended him.
"Your father used me.
Threw me away like trash.
Now I’m using you.
Tit for tat, little wife."
Little wife.
God.
I shoved his chest.
Both hands.
All my strength.
He didn’t move.
Rock.
Solid.
Scar and all.
"Let me go."
"No."
"Damian—"
The door opened.
We both froze.
A woman.
Young.
Blonde.
Hair in perfect waves.
Dressed in silk.
Red.
Like my dress from the gala.
Her eyes went wide.
Then narrowed.
Sharp.
When she saw me.
Pressed between him and the desk.
"Oh," she said.
Sweet.
Fake.
The kind of sweet that cuts.
"Am I interrupting?"
Damian didn’t look at her.
Not once.
Eyes still on me.
Searching my face.
"Get out, Elise."
Elise.
The name hit me like ice water.
His ex.
The one in all the magazines.
The one his mother liked.
She smiled.
Slow.
Walked in anyway.
Heels clicked on the marble floor.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Each step made my stomach twist.
"I brought you your jacket."
She held it up.
Black.
Designer.
"From last week.
Remember?
At the gala.
You left it in my car."
My stomach dropped.
His car.
Her car.
Did it matter?
Damian finally looked at her.
And when he did, his face was empty.
Dead.
"Leave it.
And leave."
Elise ignored him.
Of course she did.
Women like her didn’t take no.
She looked at me.
Up and down.
Lingered on my dress.
Still the red lace from last night.
Wrinkled now.
On my tear-streaked face.
On my bare feet.
"New toy?" she asked.
Head tilted.
"She’s pretty.
For a charity case."
Something snapped in me.
Or in him.
I don’t know.
Because Damian moved.
Fast.
Faster than I could breathe.
One hand went to my waist.
Fingers splayed.
Claiming.
The other to the back of my head.
Fisted in my hair.
Not painful.
Possessive.
And he kissed me.
Not like before.
Not slow.
Not asking.
This was different.
Angry.
Possessive.
Jealous.
Territorial.
His mouth crashed into mine.
Demanding.
His kiss deepened.
Like he was erasing her.
Erasing every man who ever looked at me.
Erasing the word "toy."
I gasped.
My hands hit his chest.
To push.
But then his hand tightened on my waist.
Pulled me flush against him.
No space.
No air.
And I didn’t pull away.
God help me.
I didn’t pull away.
Because I was mad.
Because I was hurt.
Because he was the only warm thing in this cold house.
Because for one second,
I wanted to hurt Elise too.
Elise made a noise.
High.
Offended.
"Damian—"
He didn’t stop.
Not until I heard the door.
Slam.
Silence.
Only our breathing.
Heavy.
Ragged.
Mine and his.
He pulled back an inch.
Just an inch.
Forehead against mine.
I could feel him shaking.
Or maybe that was me.
"That," he said.
Voice rough.
Like gravel.
"Is what happens
when someone touches what’s mine."
I was shaking.
My lips were swollen.
My heart was racing.
My brain was screaming.
"It was a lie," I whispered.
I hated how small I sounded.
"The bill.
The contract.
All of it."
His eyes flickered.
For a second I thought I saw it.
Guilt.
Regret.
No.
Damian Voss didn’t do guilt.
"Yes," he said.
Honest for once.
The word landed like a punch.
"I paid the hospital the day
your father collapsed.
I didn’t need your signature
to save him."
The floor dropped out from under me.
Air left my lungs.
"Then why?"
My voice broke.
"Why make me sign?
Why make me marry you?
Why make me—"
"Because I wanted you."
He said it like it was simple math.
"Because 10 years ago
your father took everything from me.
My company.
My name.
My future.
And I decided
I’d take the one thing
he loved most."
His hands tightened on my face.
Me.
I laughed.
It sounded hysterical.
Broken.
"You’re sick."
"Probably."
He cupped my face.
Both hands now.
Thumb brushing my lips.
The lips he just claimed.
"I should hate you," I whispered.
"But you don’t."
"How do you know?"
"Because you didn’t pull away."
Damn him.
"But I’m not letting you go, Lina."
His voice dropped.
"Not now.
Not ever."
"Even if I hate you?"
"Especially then."
His phone buzzed.
Once.
Again.
And again.
He ignored it.
Until a text popped on the screen.
He glanced down.
His entire body went still.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: _We have Harold.
If you want him alive,
come alone.
Midnight.
The docks._
My blood froze.
Dad.
Damian read it.
I watched the muscle in his jaw jump.
Watched his eyes go cold.
Colder than I’d ever seen.
Then he looked at me.
And for the first time since I met him,
I saw fear in his eyes.
Not for himself.
For me.
"Pack a bag," he said.
Quiet.
Deadly.
"Now."
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