Bella stormed into Damien’s penthouse, drenched from the sudden downpour outside, her hair plastered to her face and her dress clinging to every curve. Her chest heaved from both the run and the storm of emotions surging through her. Damien, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, shirtless, muscles defined and glistening in the dim city light, didn’t even flinch. He just smirked, as if he had been expecting her.
“You came,” he murmured, voice low, smooth, and dangerous. “I was beginning to think you’d run again.”
Bella’s hands trembled as she tightened the strap of her soaked dress. “I didn’t come for you,” she spat, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. “I came to tell you that… that—”
“That's what?” Damien’s tone was teasing but edged with hunger. He stepped closer, and Bell
