Always make you mine

Episode Nineteen

The tension between them had been growing for days. During another stiff dinner, Evelyn finally voiced the thought that had been weighing on her.

“I want to get a job,” she said quietly. “Part-time at a gallery or studio. Something small. I need purpose, Damien.”

He set his knife down with deliberate calm. His sharp gray eyes fixed on her. “No.”

Evelyn’s chest tightened. “Why not? You provide everything material, but I’m going crazy here doing nothing. Painting isn’t enough.”

“You have everything you need,” he replied coldly. “A job would create unnecessary risks and complications. The answer is final. Do not defy me on this, Evelyn.”

The rejection during dinner lingered like a bruise.

Damien’s cold “No” and his immediate dismissal had stung more than Evelyn expected. She didn’t argue that night. She simply nodded and finished her meal in silence. But over the following days, the frustration festered.

She spent long hours in her painting corner, trying to lose herself in colors and brushstrokes. She read books from the penthouse library. She had long, gentle conversations with Lily. Yet every night when she lay in bed, the same thoughts circled: I’m not a prisoner. I’m a person. I need something that belongs to me.

Damien continued his pattern of returning to the penthouse more often than before. Sometimes they shared tense, minimal dinners. Sometimes he only nodded at her in passing before disappearing into his study. He never brought up her request again, as if the matter was closed forever.

3 days passed after his rejection.

Evelyn’s restlessness turned into quiet desperation. Painting helped, but it wasn’t enough. She missed the feeling of contributing, of having a purpose outside these walls and the contract that bound her.

One morning, after Damien had left early for the office, she made her decision.

She dressed in plain, unremarkable clothes — jeans, a simple sweater, and a baseball cap. She told Lily she was going for a long walk in the park to clear her head and slipped out of the building before anyone could question her.

For the first time in weeks, Evelyn felt a spark of freedom. She visited three small galleries in Brooklyn, dropping off her résumé and portfolio. One owner, an older woman named Mrs. Alvarez, seemed genuinely impressed.

“Come back tomorrow for a trial shift,” she said. “We’re short-staffed and could use someone with your eye.”

Evelyn left the gallery with real hope for the first time since signing the contract.

As evening approached, she took a shortcut through a quieter side street to catch the subway back to Damien’s Penthouse

A man stepped out from an alley, blocking her path. He was tall, rough-looking, and smelled of alcohol.

“Hey, pretty thing. Lost?”

Evelyn’s heart slammed against her ribs. She backed away. “I’m fine. Please leave me alone.”

He grabbed her arm roughly. “Don’t be like that. We can have some fun.”

Panic surged through her. She fought, but he was stronger. He dragged her deeper into the alley, slamming her against the wall. His hands tore at her clothes as he pressed his body against hers.

“No! Stop!” Evelyn screamed, struggling desperately.

In a moment of frantic clarity, she shoved him a ran, she managed to pull out her phone and dial Damien’s number. It rang once.

“Damien— help— alley off— ”

The man caught her before ahe could finish. He snatched the phone and smashed it against the wall. “Who the hell are you calling, b***h?”

He shoved her harder to the ground, pinning her down. His breath was hot and foul against her neck as he fumbled with his belt. “You’re gonna be real quiet now—” He backhanded her across the face, knocking her unconscious.

When Evelyn woke, she was being carried over the man’s shoulder like a sack. Her head throbbed. She could smell stale alcohol and sweat. He pushed through a back entrance into a rundown budget hotel. The bored clerk didn’t even look up as the man paid cash for a room.

Inside the dingy third-floor room, he locked the door and threw her onto the stained bed.

Evelyn woke fully in terror. “Please don’t do this,” she begged, scrambling backward.

He advanced with a leering grin. “Shut up and behave.”Evelyn screamed and fought with everything she had, terror flooding every nerve.

At Blackwood Tower, Damien’s phone rang. He saw Evelyn’s name and answered immediately.

The call cut off mid-sentence after her panicked, broken words.

His expression turned lethal.

“Martin,” he snapped, already moving. “Track her phone right now. Pull every resource.”

Martin worked frantically. “Signal last pinged near an old hotel two blocks from a subway entrance.. I’m sending the closest security team.”

Damien was already in the elevator. “I’m on my way. Tell them to wait for me unless her life is in immediate danger.”

The drive felt endless. Damien sat in the back of the car, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The thought of Evelyn — his wife — being hurt by some lowlife made something dark and violent uncoil inside him.

When they reached the hotel, his security team was already in position outside the room.

Damien gave a single nod.

They kicked the door open.

The attacker was on top of Evelyn, her clothes torn, face wet with tears and terror. She was still fighting weakly.

Damien crossed the room in a blur of fury. He ripped the man off her and slammed him into the wall with bone-crunching force. Two more punishing blows followed. His security team quickly restrained the now-unconscious attacker.

Evelyn curled into a fetal position on the dirty bed, sobbing.

Damien immediately wrapped his suit jacket around her trembling body and pulled her into his arms.

“You’re safe,” he said, voice rough with restrained rage. “I’ve got you.”

She clung to him desperately, shaking violently.

He carried her out of the filthy room, down the stairs, and into his waiting car. The entire ride back to the penthouse, he kept her pressed against his chest, one hand gently stroking her hair.

Lily met them at the private elevator, eyes wide with shock. She helped Evelyn bathe and change while Damien waited outside, pacing like a caged animal.

When Evelyn finally emerged, pale and bruised but clean, Damien was waiting in the living room.

He stood up, his gray eyes dark with intensity. “Are you hurt anywhere that needs medical attention?”

She shook her head. “Just bruises. He didn’t… finish.”

Damien’s hands clenched at his sides. “You defied a direct order. You left without security. And you nearly paid for it.”

Evelyn’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “I just wanted something of my own. A job. A purpose. I couldn’t breathe in here anymore.”

He stepped closer, towering over her. For a long moment, the Ice King’s mask cracked, revealing raw, protective fury.

“You are under my protection now,” he said, voice low and intense. “Whether you like the terms or not. No more leaving alone. Ever. Do you understand?”

Evelyn nodded, exhausted. “I understand.”

Damien lingered, his hand hovering near her bruised cheek before dropping away.

“Get some rest,” he said finally. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

He turned and walked toward his study, but paused at the doorway.

“Evelyn.”

She looked up.

“You are not alone in this anymore,” he said quietly.

Then he was gone.

Evelyn returned to her room and crawled into bed, still wrapped in his suit jacket. His scent surrounded her — grounding, strangely comforting.

For the first time since the contract began, the walls of the penthouse didn’t feel quite so cold.

But as sleep finally claimed her, one question kept circling in her exhausted mind:

Why had Damien come for her with such fierce urgency?

And why did she feel like he was worried?