Damien’s POV
I should’ve walked away in that club.
Should’ve turned my back when she smirked at me, when she moved like she was built from smoke and trouble. Should’ve reminded myself that she wasn’t mine not really that keeping her close was supposed to be about safety, control, protection.
Not this.
Not whatever the f**k this is.
But it’s three in the morning now, and she’s still under my skin like a fever I can’t burn out. Every time I close my eyes, I see her that dress, that smile, the way she looked at me right before she walked off and left me standing there like some i***t who’d forgotten who he was.
No woman’s ever done that to me.
No one’s ever owned me.
I pour another whiskey. It burns going down, but not enough. I throw the glass instead, hear it shatter against the wal
