CH 13 The Line He Won't Let Me Cross
338 Words
The morning light spilled into the penthouse, catching on the glass walls and glinting off the silver fixtures. I sat at the breakfast bar, still in Damien’s oversized shirt from last night, pushing scrambled eggs around my plate.
He was across from me, perfectly put together in a tailored charcoal suit, coffee in hand. His phone buzzed — he checked it, jaw tightening.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” he replied.
I set my fork down. “Damien, I’m already in this. You can’t keep me in the dark.”
His eyes lifted to mine, cool but burning. “I can, and I will, if it keeps you safe.”
“That’s not safety. That’s control.”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel the need to keep my hands off you, even when every part of me is telling me not to?”
The admission knocked the air from my lungs.
“Stay close today,” he continued. “No studio. You work from here. My driver will bring anything you need.”
“I have deadlines—”
“Elara.” His tone was low, commanding. “I’m not negotiating on this.”
The way he said my name made it clear — this wasn’t about deadlines. It was about Mason.
I wanted to argue, to remind him that I had a life outside of him. But part of me — the part that had felt his hand steady on my back last night, the part that had seen him stand guard — couldn’t ignore the truth: being under his watch felt safer than being anywhere else.
---
Later that afternoon, I sat in the corner of his office while he worked, sketchbook in my lap. From time to time, he glanced at me, like checking that I was still there, still breathing.
And each glance felt like its own kind of claim.
- Writer
