The morning after the gala was quiet.
Too quiet.
Elira stretched beneath silk sheets, sunlight warming her bare legs. Damien’s scent still lingered on her skin—rich, sinful, dangerous. He’d left marks down her thighs and a ring of bruises at her hips where he held her like she was his anchor.
And maybe she was.
The door creaked.
He entered with coffee and a storm brewing in his eyes.
“Elira,” he said, voice like thunder wrapped in velvet.
She sat up, sheets pooling at her waist. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s filed an injunction.”
Her heart slammed. “Against Blackwood?”
“No.” His jaw ticked. “Against me. For custody.”
Her world stopped moving.
“Of our daughter?”
He nodded once. “She’s claiming I’m an unfit father. That I put our child in danger by keeping her around you.”
Elira was a
