Chapter 35 – Beneath the Surface
545 Words
Sleep didn’t come easily to Elena that night.
She tossed and turned, Damon’s words replaying in her mind. His touch—brief, restrained—still lingered on her skin.
Why was he holding back?
She had seen something in his eyes. Something raw.
But just as quickly as he had let her glimpse it, he had shut her out again.
With a sigh, she threw the covers off and sat up. The penthouse was silent, the city outside a sea of flickering lights.
She needed air.
Slipping on a robe over her nightdress, she padded toward the living room.
But as she neared the balcony, she froze.
Damon was already there.
The glass doors were slightly open, allowing the cool night air to drift inside. He stood with his back to her, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand.
For a moment, she considered leaving him.
But something about the way he stood—his shoulders tense, his grip tight around the glass—made her step forward instead.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” she murmured.
Damon didn’t turn. “I don’t sleep much.”
Elena hesitated before stepping onto the balcony beside him. The city stretched below them, a beautiful, chaotic mess of lights and motion.
“You can talk to me, you know,” she said softly.
He took a slow sip of whiskey before finally looking at her. “And what would I say, Elena? That I’m a man who ruins everything he touches? That letting you get close is a mistake?”
Her chest tightened. “You don’t have to push me away.”
His jaw clenched. “You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
Silence.
Then, with a sharp exhale, Damon set his glass down on the railing.
“I was raised to be a certain kind of man,” he said, his voice low. “Powerful. Ruthless. Untouchable.” His gaze darkened. “Love? Affection? Those were weaknesses. My father made sure I learned that lesson well.”
Elena’s heart ached at the bitterness in his tone.
She had suspected that Damon’s past was dark, but hearing it confirmed…
It made everything make sense.
She stepped closer. “You’re not your father.”
His lips curved in a mirthless smirk. “Aren’t I? You saw what I did to you, Elena. I backed you into a corner, gave you no choice but to be here.”
She lifted her chin. “And yet, you haven’t forced anything on me. If you were truly like him, you wouldn’t care how I feel.”
Damon’s expression flickered—just for a moment—before hardening again.
“I don’t deserve you,” he muttered.
Elena’s breath hitched.
A confession.
Not one of love, not yet.
But something close.
Before she could respond, Damon shook his head, as if regretting the words.
“This arrangement was never meant to be complicated,” he said, stepping back. “Go back to bed, Elena.”
But she didn’t move.
Because for the first time since this started—
Damon Blackwell wasn’t looking at her like a possession.
He was looking at her like a man who wanted her… and hated himself for it.
And that terrified her more than anything.
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- Writer
