BY CONTRACT: His to own

Chapter6

She took a step inside.

The moment the door closed behind her, a chill swept over her skin. The bar was quiet, too quiet. Empty leather booths lined the walls like forgotten memories, and the soft hum of the refrigerator behind the counter was the only sound in the air. The lights were dim, casting a low golden hue across the polished wood floor, and everything felt cold… almost like walking into a freezer.

Her eyes scanned the room slowly, from one corner to the other, no Damien.

Her heart sank a little. She didn’t know why, but she had hoped he’d be here.

Taking a slow breath, she walked toward the bar counter. A young man was wiping down a glass, his movements calm and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. He looked up as she approached. He looked like he was in his late twenties, with sandy brown hair and a warm, easy smile that didn’t quite match the cold air inside the bar.

“Hey,” she said, her voice uncertain but clear. “Do you… Remember me? I came here last night. I was sitting right there.” She pointed to the stool she had taken the night before.

The bartender looked at her briefly, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to place her face. Then recognition flickered in his expression.

“Oh yeah,” he said, nodding. “You were crying into a glass of wine.” He smiled a little, not in a mocking way but more like he remembered how broken she looked and didn’t want to make her feel worse about it.

Ava offered a small, awkward smile. “Yeah… that was me.”

He placed the glass he was cleaning on the shelf behind him. “Did you forget anything? Or do you need anything?”

“Umm…. No,” she said quickly. “Actually, I’m here because I want to meet the man who was here yesterday, the one who took me home. Do you remember him?”

The bartender nodded again. “Of course.”

She tilted her head, stepping closer. “Do you know who he is?”

The bartender leaned forward slightly, resting both hands on the bar. “He owns this place.”

Ava blinked. “What?”

“Yeah,” the bartender said with a shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. Damien Valen. He owns this bar. And two more uptown. But this one is not for guests or customers, it's for him to come and relax and have a drink, customers don't come here.”

Ava’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her heart gave a strange flutter in her chest. Damien, the man who offered her a contract like he was buying her soul, owned this place and a few other places?

She looked around again, as if seeing the place differently now. It suddenly made sense, the quiet luxury, the smooth design, the leather couches, the way Damien acted like he owned the room… because he did.

“Do you… Know where he is?” she asked after a few seconds.

The bartender shook his head. “No idea. He comes and goes whenever he wants. Might drop by later, might not. Depends on his mood, I guess.”

Ava pressed her lips together. She felt a rush of nerves twist in her stomach, but she kept her voice steady. “Okay. I’ll wait.”

The bartender glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at her. “You sure? Might be a long one.”

She gave a small nod. “It’s fine.”

“Alright then,” he said, gesturing to the large leather couch in the corner. “You can sit there if you want.”

She walked over without another word, her arms wrapped around herself as if to keep warm. The couch was big and soft, almost swallowing her as she sank into it. She leaned back, staring at the space in front of her. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she clenched them into fists on her lap.

From the bar, the bartender called out, “Do you want anything? Water? Wine?”

Ava turned her head, managing a tired smile. “No, I’m good. Thank you.”

He gave a small nod, then returned to cleaning glasses, leaving her alone in the silence once again.

The door creaked open.

Damien stepped into the dim bar, his coat collar turned up to shield against the wind outside. The place was as quiet as ever, low lights casting soft shadows on the polished floors, music barely humming through the speakers. But his eyes weren’t searching the room aimlessly.

They stopped the moment he saw her.

Ava.

Curled up on the leather couch like a child trying to disappear. Her knees tucked close to her chest, her arms wrapped around herself. Her cheek rested against the armrest, and her dark brown hair spilled like a curtain across her face. She looked so small, so breakable.

His brows drew together.

She must’ve been freezing.

Without a word, Damien shrugged off his suit jacket and walked across the bar, footsteps silent. He reached her and gently draped the jacket over her shoulders, his touch careful, like he was afraid he might wake her. But she didn’t stir. She only shifted slightly, burrowing deeper into the cushions, as if searching for warmth.

He turned his head to the bar.

“How long has she been here?” he asked in a low voice.

The bartender looked up from where he was drying a glass. “Like… up to six hours, sir. She didn’t order anything. Just sat there, wiping her tears every few minutes. Then she eventually fell asleep.”

Damien’s jaw tightened. A muscle ticked beneath his cheek.

Six hours. Sitting in silence. Crying.

He glanced back at her, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes. A flash of something raw and dark.

“Get some food,” he ordered the bartender without looking away. “Something hot.”

The bartender nodded and picked up the phone to make the order.

Damien turned back toward Ava. He hesitated only a second before he bent down, his arms slipping beneath her with practiced ease. She was light, much lighter than he expected. As he lifted her into his arms, she stirred slightly, her head falling against his chest.

He paused.

But she didn’t wake up. She just sighed a soft, exhausted breath and remained asleep.

Damien walked slowly toward the hallway behind the bar, pushing open a door that led to one of the private rooms. It was quiet, warm, with a king-sized bed in the center and dim yellow lighting that barely reached the corners of the room.

He placed her down gently.

Her back touched the mattress, and she flinched slightly, her brows furrowing. Her lips parted, murmuring something too soft to hear. But she didn’t wake up.

Damien straightened up and looked down at her.

Her face was pale. Her eyes were puffy from tears. He could see the faint shadows under them, evidence of a sleepless night, of too many worries weighing her down. Her fingers twitched, even in sleep, like she was still fighting something even in her dreams.

He took a seat on the leather couch across the room, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped loosely.

And he watched her.

Watched the slow rise and fall of her chest.

Watched the way she pulled his jacket tighter even in sleep.

There was something in that moment, something quiet and dangerous. Something that made him forget every rule he ever made for himself. She wasn’t supposed to matter. She wasn’t supposed to get under his skin.

But here she was.

Breaking his rules just by breathing.

Suddenly, she stirred again.

Her brows pulled together. Her lashes fluttered. And then, slowly, her eyes opened.

Her gaze landed on him.

Damien didn’t move. He just sat there, watching her. Waiting.

Her lips parted.

She blinked again.

And then…