Sinful Obsession

Chapter 4: Broken Daughters, Buried Truths

The ropes bit into my wrists.

Not enough to hurt but enough to remind me I wasn’t in control anymore.

Damon had made sure of that.

I was on my knees, bound, naked, blindfolded. The air was thick with the scent of leather and lust. Every nerve in my body was alive buzzing, burning, begging.

Behind me, I heard the soft sound of him stripping off his belt.

“You said you wanted real,” his voice growled behind my ear. “You sure about that, little angel?”

I nodded. Breathless. Aching.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” I gasped. “I want it. All of it.”

The first slap of the belt across my thighs made me cry out but it wasn’t pain I felt. It was surrender. It was release. It was the fire I’d buried deep, finally breaking free.

Damon didn’t hold back.

He never did.

His hands were rough, mouth brutal, hips snapping against mine with pure, raw force. He bent me over the edge of the bed and made me scream his name again, and again, and again.

“Look at me,” he growled, tearing the blindfold off, gripping my throat gently but firmly. “I want to see your face when I ruin you.”

My body convulsed around him as he slammed into me, harder, deeper, more desperate than the last time. I was shaking, moaning, unraveling beneath him like a girl with no home, no name just need.

He flipped me over, pinned my wrists above my head, and bit down on my neck as he came inside me with a growl that sounded like possession.

Not love.

Possession.

When he collapsed next to me, breathless, heart pounding, I didn’t speak. Neither did he.

But everything in that silence screamed: This isn’t over. This is just the beginning.

The morning light made the marks on my skin look like a painting red, swollen, raw reminders that someone had touched me like they owned me.

Because in some ways… Damon did.

He watched me from the bathroom doorway as I pulled on his shirt. His eyes burned with something deeper than lust. Hunger. Worry. Obsession.

“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Too okay” I whispered.

He reached for me, pulling me into his chest. “Stay.”

I looked up. “I can’t.”

“Because you’re afraid of what it means?”

I nodded.

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Damon. I’m afraid of me who I am when I’m with you.”

His jaw clenched, but he kissed my forehead and handed me my phone.

“Text me when you get home.”

I nodded and slipped out of the apartment like a girl running from her own reflection.

The house was too quiet when I got back.

Amanda’s door was closed. Victoria’s car was gone. But I could feel the shift in energy.

Something was off.

I stepped into the kitchen to find Amanda barefoot in a tank top and silk shorts, holding two mugs of coffee.

“Rough night?” she asked.

I raised an eyebrow. “You have no idea.”

She handed me a mug. “You’re glowing.”

“And you’re nosy.”

Amanda laughed. “I like him.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“I know he makes you look like that” she said, pointing to my face. “Like you’ve finally stopped holding your breath.”

I didn’t respond.

Amanda sipped her coffee. “Look, I didn’t send that message that got you grounded last week. But Victoria? She’s always been the queen of manipulation.”

“She’s got kids. A husband.”

“Exactly” Amanda smirked. “And still obsessed with you. That says something.”

“She hates me.”

“She envies you” Amanda corrected. “You get to be lost. She never had that luxury.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

So I changed the subject.

Later that day, I found Dad in his study, staring at an old photograph.

Of her.

Fiona.

My mother.

The woman who left me.

He looked up slowly when I walked in. “You’ve changed.”

“So everyone keeps saying.”

“You look like her now.”

“I don’t want to.”

“She was beautiful,” he said, voice quiet. “But dangerous.”

I swallowed hard. “Why did she leave?”

He put the picture down. “Because she got in too deep with the wrong people.”

“Damon’s father?”

His eyes snapped to mine.

“You stay away from him.”

“Too late.”

He stood. “I’m serious, Eva. That family is blood-soaked.”

“So was she, wasn’t she?”

He flinched.

“She used to work for them” he admitted. “Then she tried to outsmart them. It backfired. And when it did… she ran. Left you behind.”

I sat down, throat tight. “And you kept all this from me?”

“To protect you.”

“You mean to control me.”

His silence said it all.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

My phone buzzed beside me.

Damon: “You’re quiet. What happened?”

“I talked to my dad.”

Damon: “And?”

“He said my mother worked with your family. Said she ran. That she was dangerous.”

There was a long pause.

Damon: “She was.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Damon: “Because you’re not her.”

But the truth was, I didn’t know who I was anymore.

I went to the attic.

Looking for something. Anything.

I found a box labeled F.F.

Fiona Faye.

Inside were letters. Receipts. Old photos of her in silk dresses, laughing beside men in suits I didn’t recognize.

And then… a business card.

Moretti Imports.

I flipped it over.

In her handwriting: “If anything happens to me, find Damon. He’s the only one who will protect you.”

My breath caught.

I took a photo of it. Sent it to him.

He called immediately.

“Where did you find that?” His voice was hard. Careful.

“In the attic.”

He was silent for a beat.

“She trusted you,” I said. “More than she ever trusted my father.”

“She knew the truth,” Damon said. “Your father only took you in because he had no choice.”

“What truth?”

“That you were leverage. That’s all you’ve ever been in that house.”

Tears burned behind my eyes. “Then why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I was waiting for you to be strong enough to handle it.”

“And now?”

“Now,” he said, “I think it’s time you start learning the truth for yourself.”