Episode Seven: Breaking the spell
1146 Words
Ava didn’t sleep for three nights.
She couldn’t.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face—his mouth brushing her neck, his fingers sliding down her body, his voice a knife edge between cruelty and comfort.
But it wasn’t the s*x that haunted her.
It was everything after.
The silence. The cold exits. The fact that he could own her body without ever touching her soul.
Or maybe he had touched it—and that’s what terrified her most.
Because now she was unraveling. Losing herself, piece by piece, and letting him name each fragment he broke.
And he didn’t even care.
At least, not in any way that mattered.
Not in a way that made her feel like a person instead of a possession.
Not in a way that made her feel safe.
She thought she could handle it. Thought she could separate the power from the pain, the s*x from the emotion.
But she was wrong.
So wrong.
On the fourth day, she got out of bed, walked into her bathroom, and looked herself in the eye.
No bruises. No tears.
Just a woman who didn’t recognize her own reflection.
And that was the final straw.
She didn’t wait for an invitation.
Didn’t wait for a message, or a time, or a location.
She took the elevator to Damien’s office, brushed past the confused receptionist, and marched toward the executive suite like she had every right to be there.
Because she did.
Because she wasn’t a toy.
She was a woman. One with questions. One who deserved answers.
She flung the door open without knocking.
He was behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, jacket hanging off the back of his chair, pen in hand.
He looked up slowly.
Unbothered.
Unmoved.
Except for the flicker—barely there—of surprise in his eyes.
"Ava," he said, calm as ever. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
She shut the door behind her.
“No more games,” she said.
He leaned back. “Everything’s a game.”
“Not anymore.”
He gestured toward the chair across from him. “Sit.”
“I’m not here to sit.”
“Then say what you came to say.”
She crossed the room and stood in front of his desk, jaw tight.
“I need to know what this is.”
He tilted his head. “You know what this is.”
“No,” she said. “I know what you’ve made it. What I’ve allowed. But I don’t know what it actually means.”
He tapped his pen once. “It means what it’s always meant. Control. Pleasure. Power.”
“Not to me.”
“Then that’s your mistake.”
Ava stepped closer. “No. My mistake was thinking you were more than this.”
He raised a brow. “More than what?”
“More than a man who hides behind dominance because he’s too afraid to feel anything real.”
Silence.
A heavy, loaded silence that filled the room like thunder about to break.
“I’ve felt more in your arms than I have in years,” she said. “But every time I get close, you pull away. Every time I reach for you, you disappear.”
“I never promised you love.”
“I’m not asking for love.”
He stood now, moving around the desk, towering over her.
“Then what the hell are you asking for?”
“Truth,” she said. “A goddamn truth. Do I mean anything to you beyond the games?”
His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
She didn’t back down.
“You make me beg. You make me ache. You use me like I’m nothing. But I’m not nothing, Damien. I’m real. And I can’t keep pretending this is enough.”
He stared at her for a long time.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“The truth is, you were supposed to be easy. Like the rest. A beautiful distraction I could use and forget. But you weren’t. You got under my skin. You started meaning something.”
Ava swallowed hard.
“Then why do you treat me like I don’t?”
“Because that’s the only way I know how to keep control.”
She shook her head. “That’s not control. That’s fear.”
He stepped closer. “You think I’m not afraid? You think letting someone matter doesn’t terrify me?”
“Then why not admit it?”
“Because the second I do, I lose the edge.”
“You lost it the second you let me stay the night,” she whispered.
He reached for her. Stopped himself.
She saw it—the war in his eyes.
“You make me want things I swore I buried,” he said. “You make me feel... human. And I hate it.”
“Then hate it,” she said. “But don’t take it out on me.”
He exhaled, slow. “You want more?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know how to give more.”
“Then learn.”
They stared at each other—two people drowning, refusing to reach for the same rope.
Damien turned away, walked to the window.
“You think this ends in love?” he asked.
“I don’t know. But it shouldn’t end in silence.”
He looked over his shoulder. “I want to ruin you.”
“You already have.”
“I mean break you.”
She stepped toward him. “Then why haven’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
Because they both knew the truth.
Because he could destroy her body.
But not her will.
Because deep down, she was the only one who could ruin him.
She took his hand.
He let her.
“I’m not your weakness, Damien,” she said. “I’m your mirror. You hate what you see because it’s honest.”
He looked down at their joined fingers.
“I want to stop,” he whispered. “I want to stop needing you.”
“Then try.”
“I can’t.”
Her voice cracked. “Neither can I.”
For the first time, he kissed her without heat.
Without domination.
Just lips on lips.
Raw. Honest.
Terrifying.
When he pulled away, his voice was hoarse.
“Stay tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to.”
Not need. Not control.
Want.
She nodded.
And in that moment, the power shifted.
Not from him to her.
But between them.
Equal.
Unsteady.
Real.
They walked out together.
No one said a word.
But something new passed between them.
Not trust.
Not love.
Just possibility.
And maybe—for the first time—that was enough.
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