Damaged Goods
970 Words
Xavier stared at the door long after the girl had left.
Ava Creed.
That name shouldn’t matter. But it did. It lodged itself in his brain like a shard of glass, sharp and impossible to ignore and no amount of whiskey could dull the edge.
He tilted the last of the glass to his lips and let it burn. Still not enough.
She wasn’t supposed to be there. She wasn’t supposed to look at him like that half-terrified, half-fascinated. She was supposed to scream. Slap him or at least run. But she hadn’t.
And that look in her eyes?
It looked innocent, stupid and real at the same time and he hated how it made his chest ache in a way he hadn't felt in a while. Like something he thought had long since died inside him decided to twitch back to life.
He tossed the glass at the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces, just like the life he was pretending not to live.
Xavier Hawthorn was born into wealth, yes. But not into love. Never love.
His mother, Genevieve, was a high-society devil wrapped in Chanel. She married his father for power. Got bored. Got pregnant outside marriage and got caught.
He wasn’t even his father’s real son.
He found out at sixteen right after getting his first stock certificate and a signed letter naming him future CEO of Hawthorn International.
His father had looked him in the eye and said:
“You’re not mine.”
Just like that. Cold. Brutal. Final.
The man he’d looked up to, worshipped, studied, trying to impress wasn’t even his blood.
“You’re her mess,” his father had spat. “And now, you’re mine to clean up.”
That night, Xavier stopped being a son. He became a weapon. A machine.
He moved out the next day, never looked back. The mansion, the butlers, the summer yacht trips he let all of it rot in his past.
He didn’t speak to his mother unless it was business. And even then, he made her squirm.
She’d call sometimes, still playing victim.
“I didn’t know you’d be treated like that, Xav. I loved your father. We were just broken.”
He never responded. Because that woman didn’t know how to love. She knew how to perform. How to dress grief in designer heels and use tears to manipulate boardroom votes.
She had traded her son’s identity for one night of pleasure, and still had the audacity to call it a mistake.
Then there was Elora Graye.
His best friend since he was seven. His first kiss. His first real addiction.
She knew all his secrets. Knew how to make him laugh when nothing else worked. Knew where he hid his whiskey and how he hated birthday cake because of how fake his parents acted every year.
She also knew how to destroy him.
The night he finally told her he wanted more, she kissed him breathless… then went to a party and let his best friend Mason slide his hand up her dress in front of everyone.
And she stayed with Mason for three years.
Three f*****g years.
Still came back to Xavier’s place when she was still with Mason. Still called him when she was sad. Still slept in his bed. Said Mason didn’t satisfy her. Said Xavier was the only one who really saw her.
And every damn time, he let her in like an i***t.
He let her lie.
Once, he asked her: “Why don’t you just break up with him?”
She rolled over, kissed his chest, and whispered like it meant something,
“Because he’s the kind of man I can keep. You’re the kind of man that destroys.”
He should’ve hated her.
But love makes you stupid and lust makes you blind.
And now? Now he didn’t do love. He did control. He did pain. He did release.
He kept women at arm’s length, no sleepovers, no texting, no attachments. Just bodies, moans, and exits.
He didn’t even f**k to feel anymore he f****d to forget.
And tonight.
He had never wanted someone as much has he wanted her.
Ava had walked into his suite like a lamb in a slaughterhouse. So modest. So unsure. So pure he could practically smell it on her skin.
And yet, she didn’t shrink. Didn’t beg. Didn’t flirt.
She stood there like she wanted to be anywhere but there but also like part of her was curious.
And the second she said she was a virgin?
He was gone.
Not because he wanted to f**k her.
That was easy. Any woman would spread her legs for him.
No. It was because her innocence made him feel dirty again. Alive again.
It was sick and he hated it.
But he also wanted to taste it. Break it. Rebuild it.
Not just her body.
Her mind. Her rules. Her f*****g world.
Xavier stood, ran a hand through his hair, and paced to the window.
The skyline glowed outside. Cold, glittering and empty.
He pulled out his phone.
“Get me hotel security,” he said.
A pause.
“I need a guest list from the ballroom last night. Leadership Summit. I want names. Especially one Ava Creed. Student. Probably on scholarship. Quiet-looking. Long curls. Pretty mouth.”
Another pause.
“Discreetly. No red flags.”
He hung up.
This wasn’t love. It wasn’t even lust. It was curiosity. And Xavier Hawthorn was a dangerously curious man.
She hadn’t looked at him like he was a billionaire. She’d looked at him like he was a man.
A broken one at that.
And for some reason… that pissed him off more than it should’ve.
Because broken things weren’t meant to be looked at with softness.
They were meant to be feared.
- Writer
