The Tycoon's Touch, My Sweet Obsession

"Moving In"*

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My toothbrush is next to his.

That’s how I knew this was real.

Damian’s penthouse was 40 floors up. All glass, black marble, and cold. It smelled like him. Expensive cologne and control.

My one duffel bag looked pathetic on the floor. Amy’s stuffed bunny in my hand.

“You didn’t have to come,” Damian said from the kitchen. He was in sweatpants. I’d never seen him in sweatpants. It made him look 10 years younger. Dangerous.

“I chose to.” I set the bunny down. “Clause 4, remember?”

He looked up from pouring water. “You belong to me.”

“And you belong to me too.” The words slipped out.

He went still.

The city lights behind him made him look like a god. Or a devil.

“Come here.”

I walked to him. He didn’t touch me. Just handed me the glass.

“Drink. You look exhausted.”

A sweet touch. In the form of water.

We toured the penthouse in silence. 5 bedrooms. A library I’d never read in. A gym I’d never use.

And then his room. King bed. Black sheets. His scent is everywhere.

“This is where you’ll sleep,” he said.

“With you?”

“Until the wedding. For appearances.” His jaw ticked. “Separate sides of the bed.”

Right.

At 2am, Amy had a nightmare.

I was up before Damian. But he was already in the guest room, lifting her.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered. So soft I almost didn’t recognize him.

He saw me in the doorway and froze.

“She called for you,” he said.

I took her. He didn’t let go of my hand right away. His fingers were warm.

Back in bed, I couldn’t sleep.

A knock.

Damian. In a black t-shirt. Hair messy.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No.”

He hesitated. Then: “Move over.”

I did.

He lay on top of the covers. Far from me. Rule 3.

But his pinky brushed mine.

And stayed there.

“Goodnight, Sophia.”

“Goodnight, Damian.”

For the first time in years, I slept without fear.

Because the scariest man in Port Harcourt was guarding my door.

*[TO BE CONTINUED]*

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