CHAPTER4
1015 Words
The private jet landed just after sunset.
The estate loomed like a fortress in the hills—Blackwell’s private sanctuary, reserved for only the most “valuable” executives. Elise had seen pictures of it once in an article: a marble-clad, coldly modern monument to obscene wealth. She never imagined she’d be stepping into it—least of all as a pawn.
Damien didn’t offer a hand as she climbed out of the car.
“Try not to embarrass me,” he muttered.
He was already several steps ahead, dressed in obsidian black, his gait powerful and exacting. She hated how the staff bowed to him, how the wind seemed to silence in his presence.
Inside, the house swallowed her.
Vaulted ceilings, glass walls, distant echoes. The air smelled like money and power and something else—something more dangerous.
He turned briefly. “Your room is down the east wing. Don’t be late for dinner. And wear something tolerable.”
He walked away before she could answer.
Elise stood there for several seconds, fists clenched.
Tolerable?
---
The guest room was bigger than her entire apartment.
Golden light bathed the walls, and silk sheets rippled like water over the massive bed. At the foot of it hung a garment bag.
No note. But she didn’t need one.
Inside: a gown.
Blood-red satin. Low cut. Backless. It screamed danger. Desire. Ownership.
Damien had picked it.
A trap wrapped in luxury.
She could’ve refused. She should’ve.
But Elise Hart didn’t back down.
---
The dining hall glowed under chandeliers like a ballroom. The long table gleamed with polished silver and crystal glasses. Executives laughed too loudly, their wives draped in designer desperation.
Elise stepped in.
And the room paused.
The dress did its job. She felt eyes crawling over her skin.
But not his.
Damien was at the head of the table, legs crossed, scotch in hand, lips grazing the neck of a woman sitting far too close—blonde, statuesque, with a laugh like broken glass.
He didn’t glance at Elise.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
He knew she was there. And he made her invisible.
The seat at his left remained empty.
She was directed to the far end.
No place card. No smile. Just silence.
The blonde woman touched Damien’s thigh.
He let her.
Elise looked down at her plate and swallowed every ounce of pride.
---
She left dinner early.
She couldn’t eat. Couldn’t breathe.
The hallway was colder, darker now. Her heels echoed over the marble.
She didn’t hear him until he was behind her.
“Leaving without saying goodnight?”
Damien.
His shirt sleeves were rolled up. Tie undone. That ever-present scotch in hand.
“You seemed busy,” she said, voice cold.
He smirked. “Jealous?”
She turned to him. “You picked the dress. Paraded me like an ornament. Then ignored me all night.”
“I didn’t ignore you,” he said. “I watched you the entire time.”
She stepped back, unsure if it was anger or something else pulsing in her chest.
“You’re cruel.”
“You knew that when you agreed to come.”
“I didn’t agree to be humiliated.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “But you did agree to play in my world. This is how I play.”
She tried to hold her ground, but he had that look again—that merciless spark, like he was daring her to react.
“Why me?” she asked. “Why are you doing this?”
His jaw ticked.
Then he leaned down, lips brushing the rim of his glass.
“Because you pretend you hate me… but you crave me.”
“I don’t,” she whispered.
He smirked. “Then why are you trembling?”
She realized her hands were clenched, her breath shallow.
He turned without waiting for an answer.
“I’ll be in the pool if you want to stop lying.”
---
She shouldn’t have gone.
She told herself that again and again as she walked through the backyard, wrapped in a robe over her nightdress.
But she had to go.
To confront him. To break whatever toxic grip he had over her.
The pool shimmered in the moonlight. Damien was alone, floating on his back, hair slicked back, body half-submerged like some beautiful devil from a Greek myth.
He didn’t react to her presence.
Not right away.
“You came,” he said, finally.
“I came to talk.”
He swam to the edge, resting his arms lazily over the pool’s rim.
“So talk.”
“Why are you doing this?” Her voice cracked. “Why bring me here just to torture me?”
He tilted his head, like he was considering how far to go.
“Because I wanted to see what would break you.”
She swallowed hard. “And if I break?”
“Then I win.”
“You're sick.”
He smirked. “And you’re still here.”
---
Moments later, he pulled himself out of the pool.
Water ran down his chest. The muscles in his arms tensed. His soaked swim shorts left very little to the imagination.
He stood in front of her, wet and powerful, watching her skin flush under moonlight.
“I could have anyone,” he said. “But it’s you I watch when I shouldn’t.”
She didn’t know whether to run or scream or cry.
Instead, she whispered, “Then why humiliate me?”
He looked at her for a long time. Longer than necessary.
Then said quietly, “Because if I want you the way I really do, I’ll destroy everything I am.”
She blinked. “What?”
But he was already walking away, water dripping behind him.
And Elise was left there, heart hammering, mouth dry, unable to process the confession that wasn’t a confession.
---
That night, she lay awake.
Not because she wanted him.
But because she feared she already did.
And men like Damien Blackwell?
They didn’t love.
They consumed.
- Writer
