Crippled by His Shadow

CHAPTER THREE: DANGEROUS GAMES

ZARA’S POV

The week feels like hell. Pure hell.

Every day Damian finds a new way to make my life harder. Longer hours. Extra files. Deadlines that don’t even make sense. Sometimes I think he’s punishing me for running from him that night, and honestly maybe I deserve it, but then sometimes his hand brushes mine when he passes me papers and I swear my stomach flips so hard I almost drop everything. And when his eyes linger, just for a second too long, I know it’s not just punishment. It’s something else. Something worse.

By Friday, I’m running on caffeine and nerves. My desk is a mess, my brain feels fried, and I keep messing up little things, like typing “Damain” instead of “Damian” in an email draft. He didn’t even yell about that one. He just raised an eyebrow and told me to “focus” in that low voice that makes my knees weak, which is ridiculous because why would I even—ugh.

So when Tehila texts me at six p.m. sharp, my phone buzzes. It’s Tehila: drinks tonight or are you chained to your desk again? I don’t even think twice. I grab my bag, storm out before Damian can load me with another “urgent” task, and meet her at this bar we always go to.

The bar we always go to is loud and crowded, the kind of place where no one cares if you laugh too loud or spill your drink. Neon lights glow against the walls, the music thumps through the floor, and the air smells like smoke and perfume. Tehila’s already there, sitting at our usual spot with a cigarette dangling from her fingers and a glass waiting for me.

The second she sees me, her jaw drops. “Girl, you look like hell.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, sliding into the seat and reaching for the drink. I don’t even ask what it is. I just gulp it down. It burns my throat, makes my eyes water, but I keep drinking because God, I need it.

Tehila leans on the table, her chin propped on her hand, watching me with that sharp look she always has. “Spill. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” I lie, swirling what’s left in my glass.

“Bullshit,” she says, flicking ash into the tray. “You have been acting weird for a week. And don’t tell me it’s just work, because you’ve been working like a dog since forever. This is different. I can see it in your face and I know it started after that work party.”

I stare at the table. My chest feels tight. My secret sits heavy on my tongue, burning to get out. I can’t tell her. I shouldn’t tell her. But it’s been clawing at me all week and if I don’t say it, I’ll explode.

“It’s Damian,” I whisper, barely audible over the music.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Your boss?”

I nod, still staring at the table like it might swallow me whole. “Something… happened.”

She sits up straighter. “Define ‘something.’”

My throat closes up. I can’t get the words out. My face burns.

“Zara.” Her voice is sharp now, like a warning. “Don’t make me guess.”

I bite my lip so hard it almost bleeds. “The company dinner,” I mumble. “I was drinking. Too much. And we…” My voice cracks. “We slept together.”

For a second, she just stares at me. Then she lets out a laugh, loud enough to make the guy at the next table turn his head. “Oh my God. You slept with Damian freaking Kush?”

“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, glancing around in panic.

Tehila rolls her eyes but lowers her tone. “Holy s**t, Zara. I leave you alone for one night and you go and bang your boss?”

“It wasn’t like that,” I whisper, twisting my napkin into shreds. “It was a mistake. I don’t even know how it happened. I didn’t mean for it to…”

“Zara.” She leans forward, her eyes dead serious now. “Listen to me. Men like him? They don’t fall in love. They don’t even care. They use girls like you and then toss them aside when they’re bored. You need to stay away from him. Far away.”

Her words slam into me like a punch. I know she’s trying to protect me, but it stings.

“It wasn’t like that,” I mumble again, even though part of me knows it was exactly like that.

She shakes her head, takes a long drag of her cigarette, and blows the smoke out slow. “He’ll ruin you, Zara. Mark my words. He will ruin you.”

I don’t reply. Because deep down, I know she’s right. But I also know I won’t be able to stay away.

Monday night.

The office is dead quiet. Everyone else went home hours ago. Just me, the hum of the printer, and the glow of my computer screen. My eyes ache from staring at it, my shoulders scream from sitting too long, and I can barely feel my fingers anymore.

I’m so lost in my spreadsheet that I don’t hear him at first.

“Bennett.”

I jump, my water bottle tipping over and spilling across my notes. I scramble to grab tissues, my hands clumsy, my heart racing.

Damian is standing right there, towering over my desk. His tie is gone, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and somehow he still looks like he walked off the cover of a magazine. It’s not fair. Nobody should look that good at midnight.

“Yes, Mr. Kush?” My voice is shaky.

His eyes are sharp, too sharp, scanning me like he’s peeling back layers. “You’re not fine.”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, dabbing at the mess. My hands won’t stop shaking. “Just tired.”

He steps closer. The air shifts, heavy, charged. His voice drops low, softer, but more dangerous than when he’s yelling in boardrooms.

“Stop pretending you’re okay. It pisses me off.”

The words hit me so hard I forget to breathe. My chest rises and falls too fast. I stand abruptly, shoving my chair back, because if I sit there any longer I’ll completely break down.

“I should go,” I whisper. “It’s late.”

I try to step past him, but his hand shoots out, wrapping around my wrist. His grip is firm, steady, not painful but unshakable. Heat floods through me, my pulse slamming against my skin.

“Mr. Kush,” I whisper, because I can’t say anything more, not when he is this close, not when he’s looking at me like that.

His face is inches from mine. His jaw tense, his eyes burning into me. The whole room feels electric, the kind of tension that makes the hair on your arms stand up. His lips hover so close I swear if I move a fraction of an inch, they’ll touch.

My chest heaves. My throat is dry. Every nerve in my body screams for him.

And then he pulls back, his voice low, rough.

“My driver’s waiting. We’re leaving. Now.”

My stomach drops. My whole body trembles. I don’t even know what he means by that, but one thing is clear. Whatever game this is, I’m already losing.

His driver’s waiting. We’re leaving. Now.

The words echo in my mind, but my body doesn’t respond. I should say something. Tell him I don’t want to go. Tell him I’m not ready for whatever this is. But I can’t. The way he’s looking at me, the way the room feels like it’s closing in, has me frozen in place.

Damian’s hand tightens on my wrist, pulling me forward, and instinctively, my feet follow, one step after another. The sound of my heels clicking against the floor is the only thing I can focus on, until I feel the air change again, like we’re stepping into a different world—one where nothing is safe.

“Damian…” I manage, my voice weak, barely audible. “Where are we going?”

He doesn’t answer. He just walks, pulling me along behind him, the silence between us stretching farther than I can bear.

And then, just as we reach the elevator, I hear it—the sound of his phone buzzing in his pocket.

Damian’s hand freezes, his jaw tightening as he pulls the phone out and glances at the screen. The message must be bad, because he doesn’t say a word. Just slides the phone back into his pocket and turns to me.

The elevator dings open, but it’s not the only thing that’s opened. The door to something darker.

Before I can ask again, before I can understand what’s happening, he speaks, his voice low and commanding.

“We’re not going back to the office tonight.”

My stomach twists, but I don’t get the chance to respond. The elevator doors close.

And then... everything changes.