Her POV
Damien didn’t calm down after the visit.
He burned.
By evening, the entire house felt charged — like the walls themselves were aware something had shifted. He hadn’t shouted. He hadn’t asked questions. But the way he watched me? That was worse.
Possessive. Heated. Territorial.
“You should’ve called me,” he said for the third time, loosening his tie but not taking his eyes off me.
“I handled it,” I replied simply.
“That’s not the point.”
I turned slowly. “Then what is the point, Damien?”
His jaw tightened. He stepped closer, close enough that his presence wrapped around me like heat. “The point is she doesn’t get to walk into my house and look at you like that.”
I almost smiled. “Like what?”
“Like you’re temporary.”
The word hung between us.
“And am I?” I asked softly.
