SPECIE OF LOVE

COFFEE,CONFESSIONS AND CONSEQUENCES

Chapter 7: _Coffee, Confessions, and Consequences*_

*Ava’s POV*

He entered my house, and the scent of home filled the air.

Lemon cleaner. That cheap vanilla candle I always forget to blow out. Safety.

And now he was ruining it.

He was shivering.

Not from cold — Damien Cole doesn’t _do_ cold. He was shivering from the effort of holding himself together. Water pooled at his feet. His white shirt was plastered to his chest, and I could see how fast his heart was beating. Or maybe that was mine.

I sat across from him. The couch between us felt like a damn ocean.

I couldn’t look at him. If I looked, I’d remember. And if I remembered, I’d break.

So I ran.

I entered the kitchen. My two hands slammed down on the slab. The cold marble bit into my palms and I welcomed it. Pain was easier than _this_.

Mixed emotions ran through my mind like wildfire.

_Does he really want me?_

_Is this what I wanted?_

_God, he looks like heartbreak and all I want is to wrap him in a towel._

I want him. The thought was bitter and honest. I want him so bad my bones ache.

But I definitely do not want to have to face MRS. COLE.

Mrs. Cole. Damien’s mother. Very beautiful, but fierce — as rumors would have it. The woman who fired a maid for _smiling_ at her son too long. The woman who told _Society Weekly_ that “the Cole legacy will not be diluted by temporary distractions.”

I’m a distraction. A poor girl from the wrong side of town who dared to love the heir.

My throat closed up.

On autopilot, I grabbed the mug. _His_ mug. The black one he left here six months ago. I filled coffee from the pot into a glass cup — not the mug, he hates drinking hot coffee from ceramic, says it “tastes like regret” — and added enough sugar. Three spoons. Just like he loves it.

My hand shook as I stirred.

_Why do I still remember? Why does my body betray me and catalog every single thing Damien Cole likes, even after he destroyed me?_

I went back to the living room. Each step felt like walking to my execution.

I handed him the coffee. Our fingers brushed. It was accidental, and it set me on fire.

He took a sip, and for a second, his eyes closed. Like he was home. Like _I_ was home.

Then he dropped it. The glass hit the table with a thud.

He went to where I was sitting.

He didn’t sit. He stood over me, and I had to tilt my head back to look at him. Water dripped from his hair onto my cheek. I didn’t wipe it away.

“I’m sorry, Ava,” he said, and his voice was wrecked. “I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t even know what to say to convince you. All I know is that I’m helplessly crazy about you.”

My heart stopped.

_Did he just say that? Did the almighty Damien Cole just tell me that?_

Damien Cole doesn’t _do_ helpless. He acquires. He conquers.

And he was standing in my tiny living room, dripping on my rug, telling me he was _helpless_.

He sank to his knees in front of me. Like a child that wants a hug. Like a man begging for absolution.

He held my hands. His were ice cold. Mine were burning.

I looked at him. Really looked.

Oh, he looked hot. Rain-soaked, broken, his green eyes desperate on mine. And I was craving him so bad right now. My body was screaming, _pull him closer, forgive him, remember how safe his arms felt_.

But I’m not going to let my body win this time. Not when my heart is still in pieces on the floor.

He reached up. Slow. Like I was a bomb that might detonate.

He touched my hair. Tucked a wet strand behind my ear. His fingers lingered on my skin and I stopped breathing.

Then he kissed my neck.

Right over my pulse point. Soft. Reverent. Like he was worshipping at an altar he’d desecrated.

My entire body arched before I could stop it. A gasp tore out of me.

That was the line.

I pushed him gently and stood up. My legs were shaking, but I stood. If I stayed on that couch one more second, I was his.

“Sir,” I said, and the word was ice. “I’ve loved you for five years. But not for once have I ever imagined that this love would become mutual.”

He flinched like I’d slapped him. Good.

“My body wins whenever you’re here,” I admitted, because I was tired of lying. My voice cracked. “But my heart definitely doesn’t want it this way.”

He stood too. Now we were face to face, chest to chest.

“You are the heir to the COLE,” I said, throwing his legacy between us like a shield. “And you’re engaged to Isabella.”

The words tasted like ash.

“I can’t have myself in a love triangle. Please. I survived you once, Damien. I don’t know if I’d survive you twice.”

He went still. Then he laughed. It was a broken, humorless sound.

“She is only carrying my child,” he said, and the world tilted. “I’m not engaged to her.”

The air left my lungs.

_What?_

“I love you, Ava Williams.”

Those words brought me back to life.

My knees almost gave out. Five years of loving him in silence, and he was standing here telling me he _loved_ me.

The tension was there. Thick. Suffocating. It was in the way his eyes searched mine, begging me to believe him. It was in the way my hands itched to touch his face and slap him at the same time.

_Damien, it’s late,_ I said, and my voice was steadier than I felt. _You have to return home now._

His eyes darkened. “Not until you’ve forgiven me.”

I didn’t say a word.

I was shocked, yes. The confession, the baby bombshell — it was all too much. But I’m not stupid.

I could see through him. The desperation, the way his eyes kept dropping to my mouth. He only wanted my body. He wanted absolution he hadn’t earned.

So I did the bravest thing I’ve ever done.

I went straight to the door and left it opened. A clear dismissal.

He stared at me for a long second. Something broken and furious crossed his face.

Then he walked to me. Slow. Predatory.

He cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. And he kissed me.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t asking. It was a claim. His mouth was hard and desperate on mine, like he was trying to pour five years of regret into one kiss.

And for one, terrible second, I kissed him back. My hands fisted in his wet shirt. My heart screamed _yes_.

Then he left.

Just like that. He pulled away, looked at me like I was killing him, and walked out into the rain without another word.

I closed the door. My back hit it and I slid to the floor.

My heart pounding like it would pop out. I couldn’t believe my ears. Couldn’t believe my mouth. Couldn’t believe my body.

_Did Damien Cole just confess to me? Did he say he loved me? Did he say he wasn’t engaged?_

Hope was a dangerous, fragile thing blooming in my chest.

_Bing bing._

A message on my phone. It vibrated on the coffee table, right next to his abandoned glass.

I crawled to it. My hands were still shaking.

I opened it.

It was from an anonymous person. No name. No picture. Just a string of numbers.

I read it and the words hit me badly. Like a physical blow.

_Stay away from Damien. You wouldn’t want your nude videos on the internet._

_You would face the bigger consequences cos Damien’s face didn’t show like that._

_You wouldn’t want your name as the headline tomorrow, would you?_

Ice flooded my veins.

I shook in fear as I pressed play on the video. My thumb was numb.

Boom.

It was a s*_ tape. Of me and Damien.

The day he had invited me to his house to redo his wrong,the day he took me to his room.

Oh no!!!!

His face wasn’t visible. Just his back, his hands. But me?

My face was crystal clear. My pleasure. My vulnerability. All of it, laid bare.

This was definitely that video that Josh was talking about. _“He has something on you, Ava. Something bad.”*

Is this Josh warning me against his friend?

Or is this Isabella?

How did she get my number? Josh only had the video.

How did she get it?

Did Damien give her?

What the hell is happening?????

WHO SENT THE VIDEO!!?

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