𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙊𝙗𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙁𝙞𝙫𝙚: Fire and Ice

Celeste stared at her reflection.

The navy gown hugged every inch of her figure, dipping low in the back, the silk clinging like a second skin. Her hair was swept into soft curls pinned at the side, exposing her neck. Diamond studs sparkled at her ears. Her lips were painted a soft, sinful red.

She didn’t recognize herself.

When she stepped out of the room, the silence from the hallway was instant. Damian stood at the base of the stairs, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. But the moment he looked up, he stopped.

His gaze dragged over her—slow, assessing, unapologetically intense.

Then he smirked and said, “Mia bella damnazione.”

She blinked. “What?”

He stepped forward, eyes dark. “It means my beautiful damnation.”

A flush spread across her cheeks.

He offered his arm. “Stay close tonight. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. And if you try to disappear…” He leaned in, his voice brushing her ear. “I will find you.”

She swallowed and nodded.

The ride to the party was silent, heavy with awareness. When they arrived at the grand estate lit with chandeliers and guards in suits, Damian’s arm tightened around her waist.

“Do not leave my side.”

But Celeste's mind was spinning. She’d never been in a place like this — all elegance, danger, and whispered power. As soon as the crowd pulled Damian into conversation, her curiosity took over.

She slipped away.

Just for a minute.

She glided through the crowd, pretending she belonged. Waiters passed with trays of champagne, and she took one — the crystal flute cold against her fingers. She sipped it. Bubbly. Sweet.

And then the room spun.

Her breath quickened.

Her skin flushed.

Her heartbeat pounded faster than it should have.

She staggered slightly, trying to catch her balance as her skin heated all over. The room felt too bright, too loud. Her dress suddenly felt too tight.

“Easy, angel,” a voice drawled near her ear.

A man she didn’t recognize steadied her by the waist. His smile was too slick, his hand too familiar. “Looks like someone’s had too much. Why don’t we find somewhere quieter?”

“I’m fine,” she tried to say, but her voice was thick, her legs unsteady.

He grinned wider. “Oh, you will be.”

He began to guide her toward the exit—until a single voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Touch her again and lose the hand.”

Damian.

He was there in seconds, fury darkening his face, his pistol drawn before anyone could blink.

The pervert froze. “I didn’t know she was—”

Damian didn’t let him finish.

One shot.

Clean. Quiet. Right between the eyes.

The man crumpled to the ground, blood pooling at his feet.

Gasps filled the room.

But Damian didn’t care.

He scooped Celeste into his arms, wine glass still trembling in her grip, and stormed out as if no one else existed.

The car ride back was a blur.

Celeste clung to him, her body on fire, her head spinning with heat and hunger. She buried her face in his chest, whimpering softly.

“Damian…”

Her fingers fumbled with the zipper at the back of her gown. “Too hot,” she whispered, pulling it halfway down her back. Her bare skin met the air, and she shivered—not from cold, but from need.

“I want you,” she murmured. “Right now…”

He didn’t respond.

Only stared.

Until the car pulled into the garage.

Then everything moved fast.

He lifted her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing and carried her straight into the bathroom. She thought he was taking her to bed.

He didn’t.

He dumped her straight into the marble tub.

Ice-cold water crashed around her.

She gasped, shrieking. “What the hell—?!”

But Damian was already turning away, stripping off his jacket and walking into the glass shower. He didn’t even look at her. Just stepped under the cold water, fully clothed, running a hand through his hair like he was cooling his own fire.

Celeste sat in the tub, soaking, stunned, her teeth chattering.

He finally looked at her. Smiled.

Not mocking.

Amused.

Hungry.

Then he said, low and deliberate, “Let’s wait until you’re sober.”

He stepped out, water dripping off his body in rivulets, shirt clinging to his chest.

“Because when you’re clear-headed…” He moved closer again, crouching to meet her eyes, voice like a sin she’d beg to repeat.

“That’s when you’ll beg me. Desperately.”

Then he stood.

Left her soaking.

Blushing.

And aching