MAXIMUS’S POV
The door shot open.
And he stepped out.
Damien.
His eyes locked on mine—cold, sharp, and filled with so much hate it could’ve cut through steel. For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke. The morning air sat thick between us, heavy with tension and something darker.
He looked like hell. Hair disheveled, shirt wrinkled, jaw tight like he’d been grinding his teeth all night. But even like that, he still had that same aura—the kind that dared me to take one more step closer.
“What do you want?” he asked, his voice low and dripping with disdain.
I didn’t blink. “Is Emilia here?”
His lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. “You think if I knew where she was, I’d tell you?”
I took a step closer. “I don’t have time for your stupid games, Damien. Where is Emilia?”
