Collision of Hearts

Chapter 9

DAMON'S POV

She sat in front of me, legs crossed too confidently for a woman who just watched the man she used to love f*ck someone else into madness.

Isabella Cruz. Former VP. Elian’s former spy.

And possibly the most dangerous woman in the room right now.

I didn’t tie her up.

Didn’t need to.

I already had every entrance to the villa locked down, security watching every move, and a silent Glock pressed beneath the table between us.

“You’re quiet,” she said, sipping the tea Skyra made earlier. Her voice was smooth, syrupy. Deadly. “Did I ruin your little jungle honeymoon?”

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I pulled up a tablet and tapped the screen — showing a folder labeled BLACK ROSE // Priority Intel.

Her eyes flicked to it.

Good. She recognized it.

“You were reporting to Elian Monteverde,” I said flatly. “Two months before the crash.”

She smiled. “And here I thought you’d come at me with something interesting.”

“I don’t need interesting.” I leaned forward, voice dropping. “I need truth.”

She crossed her legs the other way, arching an eyebrow. “And what if the truth ruins your precious Skyra?”

I didn’t blink. “Try me.”

Isabella studied me for a beat, then leaned back and laughed — bitter, amused, and slightly broken.

“Elian’s plan was simple,” she finally said. “Paint her unstable. Discredit her. Strip her down psychologically until the board questions her ability to lead.”

“How?”

Her gaze darkened. “Start with emotional sabotage. Inject the right triggers. Make her question her own mind.”

My jaw clenched.

“Why?”

“Because she’s a threat. Too strong. Too clean. Too loved by investors. And Elian?” She smiled cruelly. “He’s the weak Monteverde, and he knows it.”

I swallowed the rising heat in my chest. “So he wants her declared legally unstable?”

“Yes.” She licked her lower lip slowly. “That’s where I came in. My job was to make her feel insane. Paranoid. Isolated. Gaslit.”

My hands curled into fists.

“I’d slip her microdoses during events. Suggest she was seeing things. Trigger old trauma. Whisper lies she’d start believing.”

“And the footage?”

“Fabricated.” She shrugged. “Easy to stage when your own brother hands you access.”

I stared at her — this woman who once shared my bed. My secrets.

And now sat here admitting she tried to break the only woman I ever wanted to protect.

“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked, voice low.

She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Because it’s too late for Elian. He underestimated her. And you.”

My stare hardened. “You still haven’t answered.”

Isabella smiled. “Because I’m betting you’ll need someone who understands how he thinks when you go to war.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Good,” she said. “Because trust is for the weak. And this game…” Her voice dipped, seductive and sharp, “…is only just beginning.”

SKYRA'S POV

Hindi ko alam kung ilang minuto na akong nakaupo sa malamig na sahig ng veranda. Ang balat ko nanlalamig, pero ang loob ko — naglalagablab.

Parang ako'y hinihila sa kailaliman ng isang bangungot na hindi ko maikilos, hindi ko malabanan.

My empire.

My name.

Everything I bled for.

Unti-unting inaalisan ako ng pagkatao gamit ang mga sikreto ko mismo.

“Skyra,” bulong ni Damon mula sa likod ko. “You have to breathe.”

Pero ayaw ko pang gumalaw.

If I moved, I’d accept it.

If I stood, it would become real.

“Elian wants me to disappear,” bulong ko. “Pero hindi na sapat sa kanya ang patayin ako. Gusto niyang burahin ako. Gusto niyang mawalan ako ng credibility, ng control, ng… sarili.”

My voice cracked.

“I gave him everything. Lahat. Tuition niya, allowance, corporate shielding, mentorship. I even protected his votes during that proxy war sa board.”

My throat tightened.

“Pero ako ang gusto niyang itapon. Ako ang gusto niyang i-declare unfit.”

Damon crouched beside me.

“He thinks if he takes your name, your sanity, the company falls with it.”

I turned to him, slowly.

“But I am the company. Monteverde Holdings was built on my back. Ako ang mukha. Ako ang utak. Ako ang brand.”

Damon’s jaw clenched. “And that’s exactly why he needs to erase you.”

A flash of nausea twisted my gut. Napahawak ako sa tiyan ko. I wanted to throw up — sa sobrang galit, sa sobrang sakit, sa sobrang linlang.

“Elian...” I whispered, “...he’s been planning this for years, hasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Damon answered flatly. “And he’s nearly done.”

Napakapit ako sa edge ng upuan. Ang katawan ko nanginginig na parang wala nang laman ang loob. Tuloy-tuloy ang paghinga ko, pero parang wala ring pumapasok na hangin.

“Damon…”

“Yeah?”

“What if he succeeds?”

Dahan-dahang nag-iba ang ekspresyon niya. Tumingin siya sa akin — hindi bilang asset, hindi bilang babae — kundi bilang taong kailangang iligtas.

“Then I’ll burn every inch of his world to the ground.”

Hindi ko na napigilan.

The dam inside me broke.

I let out a choked sob. Isa, dalawa… hanggang hindi ko na mapigilan. I curled into myself, pulling my knees up to my chest as my tears spilled — galit, takot, at pagkadurog.

Damon moved closer and, this time, he didn’t ask for permission.

He gathered me in his arms — strong, solid, war-weathered arms — and held me like I was something precious. Something fragile.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered against his chest, my voice cracked. “I should’ve seen it coming.”

“You were too busy protecting everyone else.”

“Now there’s nothing left.”

“Wrong,” he growled. “You still have me. And I’m not f*****g leaving you.”

His voice was raw. Rough. But real.

And in that moment — kahit wala pa akong planong lumaban, kahit hindi ko pa alam kung paano ko babawiin ang pangalan ko — I held onto the only truth I could trust.

He wasn’t Elian.

Damon was still here.

And if I was going down, he’d be dragging hell down with us.

Mula sa pagkakayakap ko kay Damon, unti-unti kong naramdaman ang pagbabago ng himig sa pagitan naming dalawa.

The grief was still there — raw and jagged — but behind his silence now was something colder.

Calculated.

“Damon?” mahinang tawag ko.

He was still holding me. Pero iba na ang direksyon ng tingin niya. Mata niya, nakatutok sa horizon. Sa mga alon ng dagat na para bang binibilang ang bawat galaw.

“Your brother made a mistake,” he said finally.

“What?”

“He made it personal.”

Hinila niya ako para tumayo. Hinawakan ang kamay ko, and we both walked back into the villa — tahimik ang paligid, pero ramdam ko ang tensyon na parang kuryente sa hangin.

Pagdating namin sa private command center — isang covert room sa likod ng study — nag-activate agad si Damon ng screens.

Ilang biometric scans. Retina, palm scan, code phrase.

“Cage the wolf.”

Click.

The wall slid open, revealing a high-tech hub of encrypted monitors, satellite uplinks, and classified databases — parang private war room.

Lumapit siya sa isang screen. A holographic interface blinked on.

At sa isang iglap, lumabas ang isang series ng interconnected data chains — financial reports, offshore transactions, dummy corporations.

Nakalagay sa gitna:

ELIAN MONTEVERDE

And just beneath it:

SENATOR ADRIAN GALLARDO – GHOST LINK

“You were right,” Damon said. “This wasn’t just about killing you. This was about seizing power in three layers: legal, financial, and psychological.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, voice shaking.

“He’s planning to declare you mentally unstable—Isabella confirmed that. Once that happens, he invokes guardianship. Your shares, your voting rights — even your authority as CEO — all become his.”

“f**k…”

“And with Senator Gallardo backing the bill on corporate guardianship laws, Elian can fast-track the ruling. It won’t even take a courtroom. One psychiatric assessment is enough.”

Bumagsak ako sa nearest leather chair. Parang tinatadtad ang ulo ko sa dami ng impormasyong kailangang tunawin.

“This is treason,” I murmured. “Against me. Against our blood.”

“No,” sagot ni Damon. “This is war.”

He turned to the console again and pulled up another folder:

PROJECT NEMESIS: INITIATED

“I’m launching a five-phase counterstrike,” he said, his tone all soldier now. “First: cut off his shadow funds through his proxies in Luxembourg and Qatar. Second: leak an anonymous tip about Gallardo’s offshore ties. Third: take control of Monteverde’s internal surveillance grid. Fourth—”

“Wait,” I interrupted, standing slowly. “You’ve been planning this?”

“I started the moment you stepped on this island,” he admitted. “I knew Elian was a threat. I just didn’t know how deep he’d gone.”

He turned to face me — fully now.

“This isn’t just your war, Skyra. It’s ours.”

My throat dried.

I looked at him — this man who once felt like my captor. Now, my weapon. My shield.

“You’ll do all of this… for me?”

His eyes didn’t waver. “I’ll do worse.”

And just like that, I saw it:

The man willing to become a monster — if it meant saving me from mine.

Sa dami ng screen na nakabukas — real-time satellite feeds, financial logs, surveillance replays — iisang bagay lang ang gumagalaw: ang mabilis na paghinga ni Damon.

And yet… he wasn’t speaking anymore.

He just stared at one image. A still frame.

My face.

A security shot. Taken days before the crash. Naka-black dress ako, hawak ang isang wine glass habang tumatawa sa isang board dinner. Carefree. Strong. Untouched by betrayal.

Parang multo ako ng sarili ko.

“Why do you still have that?” tanong ko, mahina.

Hindi siya agad sumagot.

Then, slowly… “Because that version of you is what he wants to erase.”

Lumunok ako. My chest tightened.

“I don’t even remember who she is,” bulong ko. “’Yung babae sa picture na ‘yan… she trusted the wrong people. She thought blood was thicker than ambition.”

“She was powerful,” sagot niya. “And she still is.”

He turned to me then — slowly, deliberately.

But the look in his eyes wasn’t calculating or hungry.

It was… tired.

“Why do you keep doing this, Damon?” I asked. “What do you get out of saving a broken woman?”

He tilted his head, his jaw tense. “You think you’re broken?”

“I shot a man. I almost lost my mind. I don’t sleep. I’m either trembling or furious. So yeah,” I exhaled sharply, “I think I am.”

Lumapit siya.

Halos wala nang pagitan sa amin.

And when he spoke, it was barely more than a whisper. “You think I haven’t been broken too?”

That hit something.

“I built this whole empire,” he gestured to the screens, the systems, the silence. “Not for glory. Not for control. But because I didn’t trust anyone else to protect me.”

“You don’t let anyone in.”

“No,” he admitted. “Until you.”

Napalunok ako. My heart thudded once. Then again, louder.

He raised his hand — dahan-dahan, parang natatakot masyado akong babasagin — at hinaplos ang pisngi ko. “I’ve seen you fall. I’ve seen you bleed. But I’ve never seen you give up.”

His thumb brushed just beneath my eye — where a single tear had escaped.

“You’re not broken, Skyra,” he said. “You’re surviving.”

Tahimik.

Mabigat.

Then, I whispered, “Don’t let me fall.”

“I won’t,” sagot niya agad. “Even if it means I have to burn everything down to hold you up.”

And that was the moment it shifted.

No longer warlord and captive.

No longer CEO and protector.

Just… two people. With too much pain. And not enough time.

Hinawakan ko ang balikat niya. Damang-dama ko ang tensyon sa muscles niya — but beneath that, may panginginig na hindi niya maitago.

“You’ve carried so much for me,” bulong ko. “Let me carry you, even just tonight.”

His breath caught.

Then he nodded.

Slowly.

And I smiled.

Malambing. Mapanganib.

“Now,” I whispered against his lips, “let’s see how well you surrender.”

I never thought I’d see it — Damon Velasquez, the man who ruled with silence and fear, standing before me like this.

Raw. Exposed. Willing.

And mine.

We stood in the middle of the command room. The hum of the servers and satellites, the cold glow of screens flickering around us — it all disappeared as I leaned in and whispered:

“Let’s play a game.”

He arched a brow, still trying to read me. Always trying to stay one step ahead.

But not tonight.

“Strip,” I said softly.

His jaw twitched. “Are you serious?”

I smiled — slow, lethal, confident. “You said you’d burn the world for me. Surely you can take off your shirt.”

I stepped back, sat on the steel edge of the main console. Legs crossed. Shirt slightly open. No bra underneath.

“I dare you,” I whispered. “Let me see the man beneath the armor.”

There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes — then something darker. Hotter.

He pulled his shirt off in one motion, revealing the tattoos that mapped his past — a compass over his heart, a serpent around his ribs, scars that whispered of violence and survival.

I slid down from the console and walked to him.

“You trust me?” tanong ko, habang tinutulak siya papalayo sa command center — papunta sa maliit na private den behind the control room.

“I’m learning how,” he replied, voice low.

Pagpasok namin, tahimik ang buong space — leather couch, dark marble floor, and only one source of light from the skylight above.

“Lie down.”

He obeyed.

And I stood over him.

Naka-unbutton na ang shirt ko, hanging loosely off my shoulders. Wala akong suot na kahit ano sa ilalim. And I knew exactly what I was doing — to him, to myself, to the fragile control that used to define us both.

I straddled his waist, my hands running down his chest.

“You’ve always been in control,” I whispered. “But this time, every moan… every breath… every ounce of pleasure — is mine to give.”

His eyes darkened. “And if I beg?”

“Then I’ll make you wait.”

I slid down his body, until my face hovered just above his c**k — already painfully hard.

I kissed the base. Just a kiss.

Then I climbed back up, teasing.

“You don’t get to have me until I see you fall apart.”

I pinned his wrists above his head with one hand, leaned down, and licked his neck slowly — tasting salt, tension, restraint.

He groaned.

And when I slid his pants off, I took him into my hand and stroked — slow, languid, punishing.

“Skyra…” he growled.

“Beg,” I whispered, licking the tip of his c**k without mercy. “Beg like I did… when you made me come screaming under the stars.”

“Please,” he hissed. “Please, let me inside.”

I smiled. Climbed on top of him. Lined myself up.

But didn’t move.

“Tell me who owns you.”

His eyes locked with mine — defiant, breathless, undone.

“You do,” he whispered.

Then I sank down.

All of him.

One slow, torturous stroke.

He gasped — hands still pinned, body arched up, needing more.

I rode him like a queen claiming her throne — every thrust a declaration, every grind a punishment for every time he ever made me feel small, unsafe, or lost.

Our skin slapped. Wet. Wild.

PLOK. PLOK. PLOK.

I bounced harder. My breasts jiggling, sweat dripping down my spine, and every moan from him felt like a f*****g victory.

He tried to buck up — but I pushed him down harder.

“Not yet,” I whispered. “You come when I say.”

He was shaking. Eyes clenched.

And when I came — I clenched so hard around him he nearly sobbed.

Then I whispered in his ear, lips grazing the shell:

“Now.”

He exploded inside me, his body arching, mouth falling open as he moaned my name — again and again like a prayer.

And in that moment, I saw it.

Damon Velasquez.

Unmasked. Unmade. Undone.

Because of me.

Because I dared.

Because I owned every piece of his fire.

The air was still thick with sweat and heat as I pulled myself off of him, legs trembling, heart pounding like I just conquered a war. Damon lay beneath me — chest heaving, eyes half-lidded, lips parted.

Undone.

Wrecked.

And absolutely beautiful.

But I wasn’t done.

Not yet.

I stood slowly, letting my shirt fall completely to the floor. Stark naked, I walked over to the wall-mounted liquor shelf and poured myself a small glass of brandy. My thighs were sticky with our combined release. I didn’t bother wiping.

I wanted him to see it — smell it.

To know he was still inside me.

I took a sip, watching him.

“You ever fantasize about losing control, Mr. Velasquez?”

His eyes slowly met mine, dark and hooded. “Only with you.”

I smirked.

“Then get up.”

He sat up, slowly. I could see his body fighting between exhaustion and arousal — his c**k already twitching again.

“On your knees,” I ordered, voice low, commanding.

And he obeyed.

The most powerful man I knew — once the one who stripped me of everything — now kneeling, c**k semi-hard, sweat glistening on his chest.

I stepped close.

Pressed the rim of the brandy glass to his lips.

“Drink.”

He opened his mouth. I tipped it in, watched the liquid slide into his throat.

Then I set the glass down, grabbed a leather belt from his gear bag nearby, and wrapped it around his wrists — binding him in front, not behind. Just enough to restrict, but not enough to harm.

His breath hitched.

“You good?” I whispered, lips brushing his ear.

“Yes, baby.”

Baby.

That made my p***y clench again.

I walked behind him, fingers grazing the muscles of his back. Then I leaned forward, dragging my tongue along the nape of his neck.

“You’re going to crawl to that desk,” I said, pointing to the oak table at the center of the den — the same one we used earlier for intel layouts.

“Then you’re going to bend over it, face down.”

He hesitated only for a second.

Then he obeyed.

He crawled.

On all fours.

Big, powerful, lethal — crawling like a f*****g goddamn offering.

When he reached the desk, he braced himself, bent at the waist, arms flat, legs apart.

I followed.

I let my fingers trace his spine, his hips, his thighs. Then I picked up one of the silk ties from his drawer — red, smooth, strong — and slipped it over his eyes.

Blindfolded now.

“Nobody has ever seen you like this, have they?”

“No,” he rasped.

“Then remember this moment.” I leaned in. “This is what surrender looks like.”

I reached under him and stroked his c**k.

He groaned — hips twitching. Hard again.

I climbed behind him, rubbing my p***y along the curve of his ass. I slid two fingers inside myself, soaking wet. Then I reached around and fed him those fingers.

He sucked.

Desperate.

Needful.

“You taste me?” I whispered. “That’s your reward.”

Then I dropped to my knees behind him.

Yes. I licked his ass.

Slow. Deep. Circling my tongue around the tight ring while stroking his c**k from under. His breath shattered above me.

“Skyra…”

“Quiet.”

I stood again, then climbed onto the desk behind him.

Spread my legs wide.

Guided his c**k backward — into me.

Reverse cowgirl.

He was bent. I was perched. And I slid him in from behind, my back arched like a cat, both hands gripping the edge of the table.

“Ahhh—f**k,” I moaned, feeling the stretch again.

Then I rode him.

Hard.

Fast.

PLOK. PLOK. PLOK.

The desk creaked beneath us. His moans were muffled by the blindfold and the weight of his position — a general at the mercy of his queen.

“You like that?” I panted. “Being used like this?”

“Yes,” he groaned.

“You’re just a weapon now. One I control.”

“Yes—Skyra—please—don’t stop—”

I didn’t.

I reached between my legs and rubbed my clit as I bounced, my body tightening again.

I came.

Loud.

Shaking.

My juices dripped down his thighs.

I slid off, his c**k twitching, still bound and blind.

And then — finally — I untied his wrists and pulled off the blindfold.

He stared at me.

Eyes glassy. Soul laid bare.

And I whispered, softer now, “Your turn.”

He lifted me up.

Carried me to the couch.

Laid me gently down.

And made love to me — this time slow, aching, tender. Kissing every part of me that ever broke. Whispering things no soldier should say. No assassin. No man who once thought love was weakness.

“I’m yours,” he murmured, hips rocking in slow, deep thrusts.

“I know,” I whispered back, tears sliding down.

Because for the first time, this war between us?

It finally had a truce.

The moonlight carved slow silver lines across his skin, making him look like something sculpted in war and carved by grief.

He lay beside me on the massive couch-turned-battleground — one arm behind his head, the other loosely wrapped around my waist. His chest rose and fell steadily, but his eyes… they were far from still.

“I’ve never done that before,” I whispered.

He turned his head. “What? Tie a man up?”

“No,” I smirked faintly. “Let someone… see me.”

Damon’s lips twitched. “You see everyone else first. That’s why they underestimate you. You make them think they’re in control.”

“I don’t do that with you.”

“I know.”

Silence hung for a few seconds, filled only by the faint sound of the jungle beyond the villa — cicadas, the occasional shift of a leaf in the breeze. But the real noise was inside us.

In the unsaid.

In the aftermath.

“I watched you bleed for me,” I said, barely louder than breath. “Kill for me. Lie for me. Carry me.”

He exhaled slowly. “That’s not why I did it.”

“Then why, Damon?” I turned toward him, propping myself on my elbow. “What made me different?”

His jaw worked for a moment — clenched, then relaxed.

And then I saw it.

A crack.

Not in his mask.

But in him.

“You looked at me,” he said finally, voice low, strained, “like I was still human.”

My heart skipped.

“You were.”

“No.” His gaze lifted to the ceiling like it held something sacred. “Not when you found me. Not when I took you in. I was a system. A machine. Designed to win wars no one talks about.”

“You were never a machine to me,” I murmured.

His eyes flicked back to mine. “No. You saw the man. Which terrified the machine.”

I let that hang in the air between us for a second. Then I pressed my palm flat against his chest — over the steady thump of his heart.

“You were built to survive,” I said. “But I think… you were meant to love.”

His hand moved to cover mine. Firm. Protective. And shaking.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted. “Not without destroying it.”

“You won’t destroy me.”

“You think that now.”

“I know it now.”

He was quiet for a long time, staring at my hand over his heart like it was the last map out of hell.

Then he whispered, “You make me want things I swore I buried.”

“Like what?”

“A home,” he said. “Peace. You.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You already have me.”

He looked away.

“No, I don’t,” he rasped. “Not fully. Not until the world stops trying to take you from me.”

I moved closer, tangled our legs together, laid my head on his chest.

“Then burn it down,” I said softly. “And when the fire’s out, I’ll still be here.”

His breath stilled.

And in that moment, I felt him crack wide open.

Not in anger.

Not in dominance.

But in the quiet, terrifying stillness of a man who never thought he could be loved — and now finally was.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

“I’m not,” I answered.

And that was enough.

For now.