His Ruthless Obsession

Girls Night Chaos

The music at Velvet isn’t just loud—it’s bone-rattling. Every bass drop hits me square in the chest like a heartbeat I can’t control. Neon lights flash over the crowd, people are pressed together like they’re trying to lose themselves or maybe destroy themselves. Either way, Maya wasn’t lying. This place is chaos in high heels.

“Shots!” Rosa’s already screaming, glass raised like she’s leading an army. Her lipstick’s half-faded but she looks wild and gorgeous, all dark hair and fury. She downs another tequila like it owes her money. “We’re celebrating my freedom!”

Rosa Martinez, formerly Rosa Chen. Ex-wife of a man who spent two years grinding her self-worth down to dust. She’s single now, pissed off and determined to burn through every night she lost. Her dress barely qualifies as clothing. She looks like trouble, and she knows it.

Selene lifts her martini glass, all calm elegance, like she belongs on the cover of some glossy magazine. “To freedom from men who don’t deserve us.” Her blonde hair is perfect, her diamond earrings catching the light, but her eyes? They’ve got this tired, desperate edge that no amount of champagne can hide.

Selene Kim married rich when she was twenty-two, thought she’d landed the dream. Turns out her dream came with a clause that allowed her husband to add a second wife whenever he felt like “expanding the family legacy.” That’s not a fairy tale, that’s a nightmare with better lighting.

We clink glasses. I barely get the tequila down before Maya’s pointing at me with a grin sharp enough to cut glass.

“Your turn, Elena. Spill. All of it.”

They’re all leaning in, waiting. Our booth’s tucked far enough from the speakers that we don’t have to scream, but it still feels private, dangerous, like confession time.

I try to play it off. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Bullshit,” Rosa cuts me off immediately, leaning so close her hair brushes my arm. “Maya told us. Damian Blackwood. You. Hotel room. That man is s*x on legs, and you actually went there.”

“Rosa,”

“She’s right,” Selene interrupts, sipping her drink like she’s judging me and jealous at the same time. “Do you know how many women would kill for that? And you’re acting guilty?”

“I’m married,” I remind them. My voice sounds thin even to me.

“So am I.” Selene’s laugh is sharp, bitter. “Doesn’t stop my husband from building himself a harem. Why should guilt only apply to us?”

That one hits harder than I want to admit. When did marriage turn into a prison sentence for all of us?

“Details,” Maya demands, leaning on the table like she’s conducting an interrogation. “How big? Was he good? Did he go down on you? Because Adrian doesn’t exactly give me ‘generous lover’ vibes.”

“Maya!” My cheeks are on fire, but she’s not wrong. Adrian thinks oral s*x is beneath him. Like my pleasure is some trivial hobby.

Maya smirks knowingly. “Exactly. Damian doesn’t strike me as the selfish type.”

She has no idea. Damian was the opposite of selfish. He was relentless. Patient. He studied my body like it was the only thing that mattered, like finding every little sound I made was his mission in life. He broke me apart piece by piece until the only word I had left was his name.

I must have spaced out because Rosa bursts into laughter. “Look at her face. Holy s**t. He wrecked you.”

“It was…” I search for something less pathetic than the truth. “Different.”

“Different how?” Selene presses.

“Like he actually wanted me there. Not just… using me.”

The table goes silent. None of us say it out loud, but we all know exactly what I mean. That hollow kind of s*x where your body’s there but you might as well be furniture.

“When’s the last time any of us felt wanted?” Rosa mutters.

Maya swats her shoulder. “Don’t go all tragic on me, babe. Tonight’s a celebration. Elena got laid properly, Rosa’s free, Selene’s not stuck playing sister-wife bingo, and me,” She pauses dramatically, grin widening. “Well. There’s this guy…”

We all groan in unison. “Spill.”

She leans back, smug. “He’s security. Tall. Silent. Built like a wall. Works for Damian Blackwood.”

My heart nearly stops. “What?”

“Marcus something. His bodyguard. I’ve been eyeing him for months but he’s too professional. Until the other night…”

“And?” Selene leans forward.

“And I may have gotten into a fight with some b***h who spilled a drink on me.” Maya waves it off like it’s nothing. “She threw her drink, I threw mine, things got messy. Suddenly Marcus shows up, scoops me up like I’m weightless, hauls me out before the cops arrive. Then he gives me the most ridiculous lecture. All stern and sexy. So I kissed him.”

Rosa shrieks. “No way!”

“Yes way. And he kissed me back. That man has a mouth, let me tell you.”

I can barely breathe. Damian’s bodyguard? Here? My eyes scan the crowd and there he is, Marcus. Standing at the bar, shoulders like stone, watching everything. Watching me.

I bolt up. “I need another drink.”

“I’ll come,” Maya starts, but I shake my head.

“I’ll be quick.”

The closer I get to Marcus, the harder my pulse hammers. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, just tracks me with those sharp, unreadable eyes.

“You’re Marcus.”

“Mrs. Moretti.” His voice is low, steady, too calm.

“Did Damian send you to spy on us?”

“I’m here with Maya. What she does with her friends is her choice.”

That’s a yes dressed up as diplomacy. My stomach twists.

“Tell your boss to back off.”

He doesn’t flinch. “Tell him yourself.”

Before I can respond, Maya appears out of nowhere, sliding right up against him like she’s already claimed him. “There you are! Buy me a drink, handsome.”

“You’ve had enough,” he says flatly.

She pouts. “Have not. I’m celebrating my best friend’s s****l awakening.”

“Maya!” I want to sink into the floor.

She smirks. “What? It’s true. Adrian doesn’t exactly qualify as a tour guide.”

I swear Marcus’s expression almost cracks into a smile. Almost.

I mutter something about air and push my way to the terrace.

The rooftop’s cooler, quieter. City lights stretch out in every direction, and for a second I can breathe again.

Then his voice cuts through the night. “Running away again?”

I spin, and there he is. Damian. Leaning against the railing like he owns it, dark jeans, black shirt, eyes locked on me like he hasn’t slept since I left him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you’re safe.” He moves closer, slow, deliberate. That sandalwood scent wraps around me and my knees almost give out. “And enjoying the view.”

“Marcus was watching us.”

“Maya attracts trouble. I sent him to keep her alive.” A pause, then softer, “And maybe because I like knowing where you are.”

“I told you I needed a week.”

“And I said I’d give it to you. I’m not here to pressure you.” He leans on the railing beside me, so close I can feel the heat of him without a single touch. “I just… couldn’t stay away.”

His honesty unravels me.

“Do you have any idea,” his voice drops, rougher now, “what it’s like, knowing you’re out there? Wondering if you’re touching yourself, remembering how I had you?”

My cheeks burn. Because yes. Every night.

“You haven’t?” His mouth tilts in a crooked smile. “Liar. You think about my mouth. How I made you come with just my tongue.”

“Stop.” It comes out more like a plea than a command.

“I think about you too. Every night. How you sounded, how you felt, how you begged.”

The terrace spins. I can’t breathe, can’t run, can’t stay.

“Someone might see us.”

“Let them.” His hand brushes mine on the railing. “I’m done hiding.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough. You’re wasted on a man who doesn’t even see you. You deserve to be worshipped, Elena. Not tolerated.”

The words cut deeper than they should. When’s the last time Adrian called me brilliant? Beautiful? Anything?

“Your week isn’t up,” I whisper.

“No,” he agrees. His thumb grazes my knuckles. “But when it is, I’m not asking. I’m taking you. The only question is whether you walk into my bed willingly… or make me convince you.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You will.” His voice is certain. “You’re already mine. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

He leaves me shaking, breathless, with the city spinning under my feet.

Back at the booth, the girls are arguing about Rosa’s rebound prospects.

“There you are!” Maya cheers. “We’re voting bartender versus corner guy. Place your bet.”

I nod vaguely, but my mind is still on Damian’s voice, his hand, his certainty.

Six more days.

I don’t think I’ll last six more days.

Or maybe the real question is, do I even want to?