𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙊𝙗𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚: A Lamb amongst wolves

Celeste hadn’t slept.

The walls of Damian’s mansion felt like a trap—lavish, but too quiet. Too watchful. She could feel the eyes of a dozen hidden guards, the soft creak of footsteps in distant halls. Even the silence had a heartbeat.

But it wasn’t the guards that haunted her.

It was him.

Damian Moretti.

The devil who spoke in velvet and held her world in his hands. The man who claimed her like property but hadn’t laid a single hand on her in desire—yet. It infuriated her. Confused her. He treated her like a possession and yet looked at her like she had power over him.

Celeste paced the room barefoot, robe tied tightly, hair falling messily over her shoulders. She didn’t want to be afraid anymore. She was tired of trembling.

She was not weak.

So when a soft knock came at the door, she didn’t hide. She walked to it and opened it—wide.

Damian stood there in a dark sweater, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly tousled. The casual look made him even more dangerous somehow. Less like a mafia boss, more like a man who could charm you into ruin.

“You’re not trembling today,” he observed, arching a brow.

“I’m not your pet,” she snapped.

“No,” he said, stepping in uninvited. “You’re my hostage.”

“And yet I’m still standing.”

That earned her a half-smile. “Feisty this morning, dolcezza?”

“I want answers,” she said, folding her arms. “Why me? Why not just take your revenge and be done with it?”

He stepped closer, letting the air between them tighten like a stretched cord. “Because you’re useful.”

“To punish my father?”

“No,” he said, pausing. “To punish myself.”

She blinked, thrown off.

“I’ve surrounded myself with liars, killers, and whores for years,” he said. “Then you walk in—naïve, honest, untouched.”

“You mean weak,” she said.

“I mean dangerous,” he corrected. “Because your innocence… tempts things out of me I thought I buried.”

Celeste's breath caught in her throat. Something shifted in his eyes, something darker. The air changed.

He moved in before she could speak—close, too close—and before she could think better of it, her hand landed on his chest.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.

His lips twitched. “Prove it.”

And then he kissed her.

Hard.

Hot.

Unapologetically.

Her hands fumbled at first, unsure where to land—shoulders? Chest? His jaw? His mouth moved like he knew exactly what he was doing, and hers... didn’t. She tilted her head the wrong way. Their noses bumped. Her breath hitched too fast. One of her hands knocked into his collarbone with a soft thud.

He chuckled into the kiss, pulling back slightly with a crooked smirk. “You kiss like a little lamb.”

Heat rose to her cheeks.

His thumb brushed her bottom lip, slowly, deliberately. “Clumsy. Sweet. Unbroken.”

“I’ve never—” she started, then stopped.

He knew.

He saw it.

And instead of mocking her, he looked hungry.

“Little lamb,” he murmured, almost to himself, “lost in a wolf’s domain.”

“You shouldn’t kiss me like that,” she whispered, heart hammering.

“You shouldn’t make me want to,” he said, his voice thick with restraint.

Silence fell again. The air between them vibrated with tension.

“I won’t beg,” she said softly.

“I know,” he replied, stepping away. “That’s why it’ll be so beautiful when you do.”

She wanted to scream. To slap him. To kiss him again.

She did nothing.

Only watched him walk toward the door.

“Don’t forget who you are, Celeste,” he said, pausing