Uncle Damian, I'm Yours

THE BEGINNING OF OBSESSION

Ariana

The days blurred into a strange routine after that night. I unpacked my few belongings in the guest room of Damian's penthouse, the city skyline stretching endlessly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was temporary, I told myself. Just until the private investigators he hired dug up leads on my parents and my past. Damian had connections everywhere, ex-cops, hackers, people who could pull strings in shadows I didn't even know existed. He assigned them the moment I agreed to stay, his voice clipped and efficient on the phone as he barked orders.

"They're the best," he said, hanging up and turning to me with that intense gaze. "We'll know something soon."

I nodded, but inside, doubt gnawed at me. Relying on him felt too easy, too comforting. Mornings started with coffee he brought himself, his fingers brushing mine longer than necessary. Afternoons were spent in his study, poring over files he shared, hints of offshore accounts, whispers of corporate sabotage tied to the Sterlings. His world pulled me in: sleek cars whisking us to high-end meetings, lunches in private clubs where waiters hovered silently, and evenings on the terrace with views that made my old life seem small.

I didn't notice at first how much I leaned on him. A casual touch on my arm when he explained a document, the way his hand lingered at the small of my back guiding me through a crowded elevator. Glances that held too long, charged with something unspoken. He'd watch me across the room, his dark eyes tracking my every move, possessive in a way that sent shivers down my spine. And me? I found myself seeking him out, craving the stability he offered amid the chaos.

One evening, as we reviewed investigator updates, nothing solid yet, just fragments of my parents' last known movements, he poured me a glass of wine. Our knees touched under the table, and neither of us moved away. "You're settling in," he said, his voice low.

"It's... different," I admitted, feeling the heat of his leg against mine. "But yeah. Thanks."

His smile was slow, almost predatory. "Good. Because you're not going anywhere until we finish this."

The words should have alarmed me, but they didn't. Instead, they wrapped around me like a promise.

The invitation to the charity gala arrived a week later, gold-embossed and demanding. Damian's world in full swing, a black-tie event for some foundation he funded, packed with the elite. "Come with me," he said, holding out the card. "It'll be good for you. Show the world you're not hiding."

I hesitated, the thought of facing that crowd twisting my gut. But he was right; I needed to rebuild my confidence, prove to myself I wasn't broken. "Okay. I'll go."

The night of the gala, I stood before the mirror in a gown he'd somehow procured, deep red silk that hugged my curves, making me feel exposed yet powerful. Damian appeared behind me, his reflection towering, dressed in a tailored tux that accentuated his broad shoulders. His eyes raked over me, darkening with approval. "You look stunning," he murmured, his breath warm on my neck as he adjusted a stray curl.

My skin tingled at his proximity. "Thanks. You clean up nice too."

He chuckled, his hand settling on my waist, fingers splaying possessively. "Let's go before I change my mind about leaving."

The venue was a glittering palace of crystal chandeliers and marble floors, champagne flowing like water. Damian navigated it effortlessly, introducing me to power players with a hand never far from my side. I felt his eyes on me constantly, a silent claim that made my pulse race. We danced once, his body pressed close, the heat between us building with every sway. His thigh brushed mine, his grip firm on my hip, and I caught the scent of his cologne, spicy, intoxicating.

Then I saw him. Ethan. Across the room, smirking with Cassandra on his arm, her dress a blatant s***h of silver. My stomach dropped. He made his way over during the auction, the crowd parting like he owned the place.

"Ariana," Ethan drawled, eyes flicking to Damian's hand on my arm. "Slumming it with the boss now? Or is this your revenge f**k after I dumped you?"

Gasps rippled around us. Heat flooded my face, humiliation burning hot. "Shut up, Ethan. You don't get to talk to me like that."

He laughed, cruel and sharp. "Oh, come on. Everyone knows you're warming his bed to get back at me. Pathetic, really."

The room spun. Whispers grew louder, eyes boring into me. I opened my mouth to retort, but Damian stepped forward, his voice like steel.

"Watch your mouth, Sterling," he growled, positioning himself between us. "Ariana's worth ten of you. Touch her life again, and I'll bury you."

Ethan's face twisted in rage, jealousy flashing raw. "She's using you, Blackthorne. Just like she used me."

Damian's jaw clenched, his body tense, ready to strike. The air crackled with explosive tension, Ethan's envy, Damian's protectiveness, my own swirling emotions of shame and fury. Security hovered, but Damian waved them off, his glare daring Ethan to push further.

"Get out," Damian said finally, voice deadly calm. Ethan sneered but backed away, Cassandra tugging him into the crowd.

The damage was done. Eyes followed me, judgments thick in the air. I couldn't breathe. "I need air," I muttered, pushing through the throng toward the exit.

Tears stung my eyes as I burst into the dimly lit hallway beyond the ballroom, the cool air a slap against my flushed skin. My heels echoed on the stone floor, heart pounding with overwhelm, anger at Ethan, gratitude toward Damian, and something deeper, more confusing, twisting inside.

Footsteps followed. "Ariana, wait."

Damian's voice stopped me cold. I turned, and there he was, striding toward me, his face a storm of concern and fire. The hallway was shadowed, away from prying eyes, lit only by faint sconces that cast long shadows.

"You didn't have to do that," I said, voice breaking. "Defend me like that. Now everyone thinks..."

"Let them think what they want," he snapped, closing the distance. He grabbed my arms gently but firmly, pulling me against the wall. His body caged mine, heat radiating from him. "I won't let him hurt you. Not again."

Our breaths mingled, heavy and ragged. The tension that had simmered for days, weeks, ignited. His hands slid up my arms to my shoulders, thumbs tracing my collarbone. I shivered, my body arching toward him instinctively. "Damian..."

His eyes locked on mine, dark with hunger. One hand cupped my face, tilting it up, while the other gripped my waist, fingers digging in possessively. I felt the hard length of him pressing against my thigh through his pants, evidence of his desire. My core clenched, wetness pooling between my legs at the forbidden thrill.

"I've wanted this," he whispered, lips inches from mine, his breath hot on my skin. His free hand trailed down, cupping my breast through the silk, thumb circling my n****e until it peaked, straining against the fabric. A soft moan escaped me, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.

He groaned, grinding against me slowly, the friction sending sparks through my body. His mouth hovered over my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, nipping just hard enough to make me gasp. "You drive me insane," he murmured, his hand slipping lower, bunching my gown at my hip. Fingers brushed the edge of my thigh-high stockings, teasing the bare skin above.

I was lost, emotions crashing, vulnerability from the gala, the safety he offered, the raw need building. My leg hooked around his, pressing him harder against my aching p***y, the barrier of fabric doing nothing to dull the heat. He rocked into me, mimicking the thrust I craved, his c**k throbbing against my core. "Damian, please..." I begged, nails digging into his back, the intensity overwhelming, forbidden desire flooding every sense.

His lips parted, descending toward mine in a breathless promise of more, deeper touches, him claiming me fully right there in the shadows. But then his phone buzzed in his pocket, sharp and insistent. He froze, cursing under his breath. Pulling back just enough, he fished it out, glancing at the screen. His face hardened.

"What?" I asked, voice husky, body still humming. He answered, eyes never leaving mine. "Blackthorne."

A pause, then the voice on the other end crackled through. "We found something about Ariana’s family. You’re not going to like this."