Unholy Matrimony

The Boy From The Cafe.

(Sapphire’s POV)

The morning light was relentless as it poured through the heavy curtains Damian had carelessly left open, flooding the suite with gold. I blinked against it, my head still hazy from too little sleep and too much thinking.

Again, my mind went back to last night.

He hadn’t touched me.

Not the way I had expected, not the way the entire world assumed a wedding night should go.

Instead, Damian had kissed me senseless, teased me until I was trembling and breathless, then pulled away with the cruel confidence of a man who knew I’d burn for him. Then he had left me standing by the bed like a fool, and fallen asleep in the armchair across the room as if it were nothing.

Now, as I stretched and sat up, the same armchair was empty. His jacket hung neatly over the backrest, but not him. He was gone.

Good.

I didn’t need his presence suffocating me so early in the morning.

I showered quickly, letting the hot water wash away the lingering scent of him from my skin. When I dressed, I didn’t reach for the couture dresses lined in the wardrobe. Instead, I pulled on jeans and a loose blouse… clothes that felt like me and not the polished trophy wife I was supposed to be.

And then I quietly slipped out.

My feet carried me through the busy streets until the towering glass buildings gave way to the smaller corners of the city I used to frequent with Luke. The air smelled like espresso and fresh bread, and for the first time since my father had dropped the bomb of my arranged marriage, I felt like I could breathe.

The café door chimed as I pushed it open.

And there he was.

My best friend.

“Sapphire!”

Luke stood from the corner table, his grin wide, his arms opening without hesitation. His honey-blond hair was slightly messy, his shirt rolled at the sleeves, his brown eyes sparkling with the same warmth that had carried me through every heartbreak since I was thirteen.

I didn’t even think. I ran into his arms.

He hugged me tight, rocking me back and forth like we were kids again. “God, you look exhausted. Married life already kicking your ass less than twenty four hours after you became a wife?”

I laughed against his shoulder, tears pricking my eyes. “You have no idea.”

He pulled back to look at me, his brows furrowing. “Wait—he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No.” I shook my head quickly. “No, Luke. Not like that. It’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated,” he repeated, rolling his eyes. “You, married to Damian Blackwood, the ice king of Manhattan? Yeah, I’d call that complicated.”

I groaned, dropping into the chair opposite his. “Don’t remind me.”

Luke leaned across the table, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “So, tell me. Is he as terrifying up close as he looks in Forbes magazine?”

“Worse. Much more terrifying.”

Luke whistled, then reached for my hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “You’ll

survive this, Sapphire. You always do.”

Warmth spread through my chest at his words. Luke had always been my safe place, the one person who saw me and not the Montgomery heiress, not the bargaining chip in my father’s games. Just me.

For a moment, sitting there with him and talking about every and anything, I almost forgot about Damian.

Almost.

Because then the café door opened again, and the air shifted.

My heart fluttered.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was. The sudden hush that fell over the room told me everything. Damian Blackwood had just walked in.

His gaze found me as soon as I made the mistake of turning to look, cold and cutting. His black suit was perfectly tailored, his tie straight, his expression unreadable. But his eyes… those steel-gray eyes… they burned like a storm as they flicked from me to Luke’s hand that was still resting on mine.

Luke, oblivious, glanced over his shoulder. “Oh. That must be him.” He smiled. Always welcoming.

“Luke—” I started, panicked.

But Damian was already moving.

Each step was slow, deliberate, a predator closing in. The café seemed to shrink around him. Conversations died. Even the barista froze mid-pour.

He stopped at our table, his shadow falling across us.

“Sapphire.” His voice was silk over steel. “Enjoying your morning?”

My pulse pounded. “I was just…” I began to say.

“Having coffee with…” His gaze sliced to Luke, sharp enough to cut. “…someone.”

Luke, ever the brave i***t, stuck out his hand. “Luke Evans. Best friend. Nice to meet you, Mr. Blackwood.”

Damian didn’t move. Didn’t take the hand. He just stared at it, then at Luke, then at me. The tension was so thick I thought I’d choke on it.

Finally, Damian’s lips curved—not into a smile, but something darker. “Best friend,” he echoed softly, dangerously.

I swallowed hard. “Yes. That’s what he is.” Why did I even have to explain anything to him?

Damian’s eyes lingered on Luke’s hand still so casually close to mine. His jaw tightened. Without a word, he reached down and plucked my coffee cup from the table, setting it aside with deliberate precision. Then, to my utter shock, he tugged me out of my chair and against his side in one smooth motion.

I stumbled, my body colliding with his, his arm a steel band around my waist. The café collectively held its breath.

“Your coffee is finished,” he said coolly, as though that explained everything.

“Damian…” I started, heat rushing to my cheeks.

“Goodbye, Luke.” Damian’s voice carried finality, like a closing door.

Luke, wide-eyed, mouthed a silent call me later as Damian all but dragged me out of the café.

Was that a smirk I saw on his face?

Oh, Luke.

The morning air hit my face like a slap, but Damian didn’t loosen his grip. He steered me toward the sleek black car waiting at the curb.

When the door closed behind us, the silence was explosive.

“Damian…”

That urge to explain again.

His hand snapped to my chin, tilting my face toward him. His eyes were fire and ice all at once. “Who. Is. He?”

I gasped at the intensity in his voice. “I told you—he’s my best friend.”

Damian’s thumb brushed my jaw, deceptively tender. “Best friend,” he repeated, low and dangerous. “Then why does it make me want to break his fingers for touching you?”

My breath caught.

He leaned closer, his lips a breath from mine, his voice a dark whisper.

“You belong to me, Sapphire Blackwood. Don’t make the mistake of forgetting that. Ever.”