Owned By The Devil's Heir

Shadows in the Mansion

Chapter Seven – Shadows in the Mansion

The mansion felt different after school. Quieter, darker. The kind of silence that pressed against your ears until you swore it was breathing with you.

I tried to focus on homework in my room, but my pen shook every time my thoughts drifted back to him. To the cafeteria. To the way everyone had stared. To the promise in his voice when he said he’d destroy anyone who touched me.

Why was I trembling? From fear… or something far more dangerous?

A knock pulled me from my thoughts. My door opened an inch before I could answer.

“Little dove.”

Damian.

He leaned against the frame, casual in a dark shirt and sweatpants, but no less intimidating. His eyes dragged over me, sharp and deliberate, as if undressing me with nothing but his gaze.

“Do you ever knock properly?” I muttered, clutching my notebook tighter.

“I don’t need to.” His voice was smooth, unhurried. “This is my house. And you’re in it.”

My stomach tightened. “That doesn’t mean you own me.”

He smirked, pushing the door wider. “Doesn’t it?”

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering. “Why are you here?”

His gaze softened just slightly, though the intensity never wavered. “To see if they broke you today.”

“They didn’t,” I whispered, though my voice betrayed me.

He crossed the room, his presence suffocating, and stopped at the edge of my bed. Too close. Always too close.

“Good.” His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from my face, slow and deliberate. “Because if they had, I’d have to burn that school to the ground.”

My heart stuttered. “You can’t say things like that.”

“I don’t say things, Isabella.” His hand lingered against my cheek, warm, possessive. “I do them.”

My breath hitched. His touch was fire, his gaze an inferno, and I was caught in both. Trapped, yet part of me didn’t want to move.

“Damian…” I whispered, though I didn’t know if it was a warning or a plea.

His smirk faded. For a heartbeat, I saw something raw flicker in his eyes. Vulnerability. Loneliness. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the dangerous mask he always wore.

He leaned down, his lips near my ear. “Don’t fight me, dove. You’ll lose.”

Then he was gone, leaving the scent of smoke and danger in his wake.

I pressed a hand to my racing heart, torn between dread and something far worse—something that felt like longing.