The ride back to the penthouse was a blur of rain and silence, but it wasn’t the cold, suffocating silence of before. It was charged, like the air before a lightning strike. Damian’s hand never left mine. His grip was almost bruising, a constant reminder that he had me back, and he wasn't planning on letting go again.
When the elevator doors opened directly into his private sanctuary, the familiar scent of sandalwood and expensive whiskey hit me, bringing a sudden, sharp wave of relief. I was home. Or at least, I was in the only place that felt real anymore.
Damian didn’t wait for me to walk. He swept me up into his arms again, carrying me straight toward the master suite.
"Damian, I can walk," I whispered, my voice still shaky.
"I don't care," he rasped, his eyes fixed forward. "Tonig
