CHAPTER EIGHT
1589 Words
The apartment feels strangely quiet without Damon in it. Almost like in the less than 24 hours I’ve been here, it had been him breathing life into this place.
I don’t know why that bothers me.
I sit curled up like a fetus on the oversized couch, staring at the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. New York stretches out before me, gleaming and endless. The skyline is beautiful, but I feel trapped. I feel uncomfortable.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a place this nice without feeling like a caged pet. When Roman and I first met, in the earlier days of our arrangement, I had thought that I loved him. We spent so much time in his apartment similar to this one, only a tad smaller. And when he wasn’t f*****g me against the windows, we would talk.
He hardly went into detail about his life, but he wanted to know so much about mine. In time I grew to realize that he was just building an armada in his mind of the many ways he could use that information to hurt me.
Thinking about him makes me sick. I need to distract myself.
I get up and wander through the penthouse, aimlessly opening doors and pretending I have some level of control over my life.
A gym. A study. A guest room bigger than my old apartment. Yup, everything checks out.
Then, I stumble into a room that surprises me.
It’s a library.
I don’t know why it catches me off guard, but it does. With Damon and I, I’ve always been the reader and he was more of a “watch the movie instead” kind of guy.
But the shelves here are lined with books. Old, new, fiction, philosophy.
I trace my fingers along the spines, a genuine smile appearing on my face for the first time in a while, I pull one out at random.
“There’s nothing good in there,” a voice says behind me.
I whirl around, clutching the book to my chest as my heart lurches into my throat.
A woman stands at the entrance of the library, holding a tray with what looks like fresh coffee and pastries. She’s tall, elegant, probably in her late forties, with short, dark hair and a gaze that doesn’t miss much.
“Jesus,” I exhale, pressing a hand to my chest. “Do you make it a habit of sneaking up on people?”
She smirks. “Only the ones who are snooping.”
I narrow my eyes. “I wasn’t snooping.”
She lifts a brow. “You were standing in the dark, touching his books.”
I glance back at the shelves. Okay, maybe it looked a little suspicious.
She steps further inside, setting the tray down on the small coffee table near the couch. “Coffee?”
I hesitate, then nod, walking over and sitting down.
She pours a cup and hands it to me before taking a seat across from me. “So. You’re her.”
I pause, the coffee cup halfway to my lips.
“Her?” I echo.
She tilts her head, studying me. “The reason he’s here.”
I frown. “He’s here for business.”
She snorts. “Sweetheart, Damon uprooted his entire life in Chicago and moved to New York a year ago. Bought this place, left his empire behind. Do you really think that was just business?”
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
I blink, trying to process what she just said.
He… moved here for me?
That doesn’t make sense.
“That’s not—” I shake my head. “You’re wrong.”
She shrugs, sipping her coffee. “Maybe.”
I grip my mug tighter. “Who are you, exactly?”
“Juliette. I take care of things around here.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Like a housekeeper?”
She smirks. “Like the only person in this building who knows how to use a vacuum.”
Despite myself, I huff out a small laugh.
She watches me over the rim of her coffee cup, her expression unreadable. “Damon’s a complicated man, Sonia. But he’s not as much of a mystery as he likes to pretend.”
I scoff, leaning back. “That’s literally all he is. A mystery wrapped in bullshit.”
Juliette chuckles. “Maybe. But one thing about him is simple—he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.”
I think about that.
About him sitting across from me at breakfast, looking at me like he was memorizing the moment.
I shake my head. No.
Damon left me. He made his choice a long time ago.
I’m not about to let myself get sucked back into his orbit just because he suddenly decided he cares again.
I set my coffee down and stand. “Thanks for the caffeine. I’m gonna—”
A sharp buzzing cuts through the quiet.
Juliette glances at my expression and sighs. “That’s yours, I suppose.”
I frown. “What?”
She nods toward the living room.
I walk out just as Damon’s phone, which he left on the kitchen counter, vibrates again. I pick it up, flipping it over.
Unknown Number.
I answer cautiously. “Hello?”
A deep, familiar voice crackles through the receiver.
“Where is he?”
My stomach drops.
Roman.
My grip tightens around the phone.
“Why are you calling him?” I demand.
A low chuckle. “You think I don’t know where you are, princesa?”
Ice runs down my spine.
“Tell Damon I want to see him,” Roman continues, his voice still deceptively smooth. “And I want to see you.”
I glare at the floor. “Not happening.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
I clench my jaw, hating the way my hands start to shake.
He sighs, like he’s tired of the game already. “Come to Euphoria. Midnight.”
“Or what?”
There’s a pause. Then—
“Or I take your mother out of that nice little facility I’ve been paying for.”
My breath stops.
“I’d really hate to see her suffer, Sonia.”
The world tilts, my vision blurring with rage and panic. “You wouldn’t.”
Roman hums. “Try me.”
The line goes dead.
I stand there, the phone still pressed to my ear, heart hammering in my chest.
Juliette appears in the doorway, watching me.
“Trouble?” she asks.
I let out a bitter laugh, gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles ache.
“You have no idea.”
Damon walks in later that evening, shrugging off his jacket and loosening his tie. He pauses when he sees me sitting on the couch, waiting.
“Something wrong?”
I don’t answer. I just toss his phone at him. He catches it with one hand, frowning down at it.
He looks up, brows furrowing. “Sonia?”
I fold my arms, my heart still racing. “Roman called.”
Damon’s entire body goes still.
I exhale shakily. “He wants to meet.”
His eyes darken, his jaw clenching.
“When?”
“Midnight.”
A long, heavy silence.
Then—
Damon exhales, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Of course he does.” Damon doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tense. Doesn’t even blink.
He just exhales, slow and measured, like this is nothing more than a mild inconvenience. Like Roman summoning us is just another meeting on his schedule.
I hate that.
I hate how he can make even the worst situations seem like they exist beneath him.
I cross my arms. “So? What’s the plan?”
Damon tosses his phone onto the coffee table, leaning back against the couch like he owns everything. Like this whole damn city bends to him.
“The plan is simple.” His voice is cool, assured. “We go. We listen. We leave.”
I scoff. “You think it’ll be that easy?”
He lifts a brow, amused. “I think I don’t lose.”
That stops me.
The sheer certainty in his tone, the way he doesn’t even consider the possibility of failure—it’s infuriating. Sometimes I forget that beneath that playful facade is a wolf lurking behind his eyes.
“Roman doesn’t play fair,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “You think walking into his club in the middle of the night is smart?”
Damon smirks, tilting his head. “I think Roman’s playing a game he’s already lost.”
He’s so unbothered, so impossibly sure of himself.
And the worst part?
He’s probably right.
A tense silence stretches between us, but then Damon shifts forward, elbows resting lazily on his knees. His gaze sharpens, dark and assessing. “Are you scared?”
I lift my chin. “No.”
Damon watches me, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Good girl.”
My stomach clenches.
I hate him.
I hate that he’s already in control of this situation, that he’s the one calling the shots even when Roman is the one who made the call.
I hate that some part of me wants to believe he really doesn’t lose.
Damon stands, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve like this is nothing more than another business meeting. “Let’s get this over with.”
And just like that, we’re walking straight into Roman’s den.
- Writer
