CHAPTER5
1077 Words
Elise didn’t sleep.
Not after the pool.
Not after what he said.
And certainly not after the lingering look he gave her before walking away like she didn’t matter.
She lay in the massive guest bed, heart still pacing, Damien’s voice echoing in her head.
> “If I want you the way I really do, I’ll destroy everything I am.”
What did that even mean?
Why say something so twisted, so intimate, only to disappear into his cold shell again?
By the time morning came, she was exhausted—mentally, emotionally, and most of all, dangerously curious.
---
Breakfast was on the terrace. The air was warm, golden. The table was lined with fresh fruit and crystal flutes of orange juice.
But Elise couldn’t taste anything.
Because Damien was there. Again. With her.
The same blonde from last night.
And this time… she was sitting in his lap.
Elise paused mid-step.
Laughter danced between them like perfume, her manicured fingers curling around his collar as she whispered something into his ear. Damien didn’t laugh, but his lips curved in amusement. A hand rested on the woman’s bare thigh.
And then—his eyes met Elise’s.
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t apologize.
Didn’t move her.
He just held Elise’s gaze for a breath too long, as if daring her to break.
“Elise,” he said coolly, “you’re late.”
The blonde giggled, then leaned in and kissed him on the jaw.
Elise sat at the far end of the table, numb.
---
“Who is she?” she whispered later to Clara, one of the few assistants not terrified of Damien.
Clara leaned in, her eyes wide.
“Her name’s Naomi. A model. He brings her on and off when he gets… bored.”
“Bored?” Elise asked, her voice flat.
Clara gave her a look. “You know what I mean.”
Elise did.
It meant: a warm body. A distraction. A night’s entertainment.
She felt something sharp twist in her chest.
Damien had always been cold, always dismissive, but this—this was deliberate.
And worse… it was working.
---
Elise kept to herself for the rest of the day. She tried to focus on the quarterly briefing Damien had asked her to revise. But the words on her laptop blurred.
Every few minutes, her mind flashed back to that terrace. Naomi’s giggle. Damien’s smirk. That hand on her leg.
And then…
“Elise.”
She jumped.
Damien stood behind her, sleeves rolled up, the scent of his cologne wrapping around her like smoke.
“I need the report.”
“I’m not finished yet.”
“You had all day.”
“I was under the impression I wasn’t needed today,” she said, too sharply.
His eyes narrowed.
“You’re always needed. That’s why I brought you.”
“Then stop treating me like furniture,” she snapped.
His expression didn’t change. But his voice dropped—silk over steel.
“Is this about Naomi?”
She froze.
“I don’t care who you screw, Mr. Blackwell.”
“Good,” he said, stepping closer. “Because I don’t explain myself to anyone. Especially not you.”
“And yet, here you are,” she challenged.
His gaze darkened.
“Elise,” he said lowly, “if I wanted you jealous, you’d be clawing at the door by now.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You’re obsessed.”
She slapped the folder into his chest.
“Here’s your damn report.”
He caught it with one hand. Didn’t even blink.
Then—he did something that made her knees lock.
He smiled.
Cruel. Confident. Infuriating.
“I like you angry,” he said. “You look alive.”
---
That night, Elise swore she’d ignore him.
She stayed in her room. Ordered dinner alone. Didn’t check the hallway for footsteps.
But just before midnight, her door clicked open.
She sat up, heart pounding.
“Damien?”
No answer.
Only silence.
And then—heavy footsteps. A shadow just outside her bedroom door.
But he didn’t come in.
Didn’t speak.
He just stood there.
Watching.
Then walked away.
---
In the morning, there was no sign of Naomi.
No giggle.
No perfume.
Nothing.
At breakfast, Damien sat alone.
He read the paper. Ate silently. Looked unbothered.
Elise tried not to care.
Until he said, without looking up, “She’s gone.”
She stiffened.
“Good for her.”
“Wasn’t her choice.”
She blinked. “What?”
He turned a page casually. “She bored me.”
“You humiliated me just to make a point—then discarded her like trash?”
He finally looked up.
“I didn’t bring her for you. I brought her for me. But the moment she tried to be you, I lost interest.”
Elise swallowed. “Be me?”
“She wore your perfume last night,” he said simply. “Without asking.”
Her heart skipped.
“That’s… absurd.”
“No,” he said. “That’s mine.”
She stared at him.
The statement wasn’t romantic.
It was possession.
It chilled her—and yet…
A heat spread inside her chest. Ugly. Confusing. Dangerous.
---
Later that afternoon, she went for a walk near the cliffs behind the estate. She needed air. Space.
The waves below crashed against jagged rocks. Wind tugged at her coat.
She didn’t hear Damien approach until his shadow blocked the sun.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said.
“Why? Afraid I’ll fall?”
He didn’t answer.
Then, his voice—low, strange.
“Someone once did.”
She looked at him sharply. “What?”
He shook his head, eyes distant. “It doesn’t matter.”
That was the first time he looked… haunted.
Real.
But the moment passed.
He straightened, steel returning to his shoulders.
“You’ll leave in the morning,” he said. “Your presence is no longer required.”
She blinked. “You’re sending me back?”
“I’m done with distractions.”
“Is that what I am to you?” she whispered. “A distraction?”
He didn’t reply.
Instead, he walked past her—toward the edge of the cliff.
Then paused.
“And Elise,” he said without turning around, “if I ever decide to need you—”
She held her breath.
“—it won’t be something you’ll survive.”
- Writer
