CHAPTER THREE
1224 Words
The moment Damon steps out of the VIP lounge, Roman follows.
I hear the door slam behind them, the sharp crack cutting through the heavy Baas of the music. My pulse stutters. I don’t move, don’t breathe. I know Roman—know the way his anger simmers just beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to boil over. And Damon? I don’t know what kind of man he’s become, but I know the boy he used to be—the one who never backed down from a fight. The boy who was reckless.
I rush to the door, pressing my ear against the wood.
“You must be out of your f*****g mind,” Roman’s voice is low, edged with venom. “Of all the clubs in this city, you had to walk into mine?”
A beat of silence. Then Damon chuckles, slow and taunting. “Didn’t realize you had your name stamped on the door.”
“You knew I owned Euphoria and you knew she was here. Now tell me what you want Baas”
Another pause.
“I wondered if she still belonged to you.”
Roman’s laugh is humorless. “Sonia will always belong to me. And you don’t get to come back after all these years and act like you have a say in her life.”
Damon’s voice drops. “I had a say once.”
“Yeah? And then you left. Who do you think stayed? Who do you think she trusts now?”
Silence stretches between them, thick and suffocating. I see what this is. Roman is trying to get into Damon's head, and worse, I think it’s working.
Roman is the first to break it. “I’ll only ask one more time, what the f**k are you doing here, Baas?”
Damon exhales sharply. “I came for business. That’s all.”
“Business?” Roman scoffs. “Last time we did business together, you cost me a quarter of a million dollars and a warehouse full of product.”
“You were the one who didn’t listen,” Damon fires back.
“You were the one who ran.”
Something crashes—maybe a glass, maybe a chair—followed by the scuff of shoes against the marble floor.
“You’ve got some f*****g nerve showing your face here after that,” Roman continues, voice lethal. “And then you ask for a dance from my girl? That was a nice little stunt.”
The words hit like a slap.
My girl.
I don’t have time to process it before Damon responds, his voice tighter than before. “So that’s what this is?” A bitter chuckle. “She’s your latest investment?”
“And what if she is?.”
A pause. I can almost feel the smug smile plastered across Romans face.
And then—Damon’s voice, quiet but sharp. “How long?”
Roman doesn’t hesitate. “Two years.”
The silence that follows is different from before. Heavier.
I can almost see Damon’s jaw clench, the way his fingers must be curling into fists. I know him. And I know he probably knew the answer to that question, he just wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth.
“You moved on her quickly,” he says, finally.
Roman laughs under his breath. “Someone had to pick up the pieces you left behind.”
I push away from the door, my breath coming too fast. This is too much. Too fast.
Roman and Damon know each other. They’ve worked together before—badly, from the sound of it. And Roman… Roman is staking his claim in a way that makes something twist in my stomach.
But Damon—God, Damon—hearing him talk about me like I was his once… Like I still am.
It makes my head spin.
I need air.
I don’t wait to hear the rest. I slip out the back, weaving through the club until I find an exit door and push outside into the cool night air.
I brace my hands against the alley wall, trying to steady myself, but my mind is already slipping backward.
Eleven years ago.
We were just kids.
Sixteen and reckless.
Damon was my first everything. My first kiss, my first love, my first taste of what it felt like to belong to someone. We were inseparable, the kind of love story that only made sense in movies—until it didn’t.
He made promises. Big ones. That we’d run away together. That we’d leave behind the shitty town, the broken homes, the suffocating weight of expectation.
But when the time came, I was the only one waiting.
Damon was gone.
No goodbye. No explanation. Just a note that didn’t say anything at all.
I spent years convincing myself I hated him. That he was a coward. That I would never let myself be vulnerable again.
And then Roman found me.
I was barely standing, a ghost of a girl in an alleyway, bleeding from a wound I hadn’t realized was still open. Roman put me back together, piece by piece. And in return, I let him own whatever was left.
Now Damon’s back. And I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with that.
The door creaks open behind me.
I don’t flinch, already knowing who it is.
Roman steps into the alley, his eyes scanning me in that way that makes me feel like I have nowhere to hide.
“Running from me?” His voice is smoother now, but there’s an edge beneath it.
I shake my head, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “I just needed some air.”
He steps closer, his body heat bleeding into the space between us. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I look away. “I don’t know.”
Roman exhales slowly, then reaches for me, his fingers wrapping around my neck so I have no choice but to meet his gaze.
“You’re mine, Sonia,” he murmurs. “Say it.”
I don’t respond.
His grip tightens, just enough to hurt, I start to feel a little light headed. “Say it.”
A war rages inside me.
Damon is a ghost. A past that still aches in places I thought had healed. But Roman? Roman is real. He’s here. He’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
And maybe that’s the problem.
“I—” My voice catches. “Roman, I—”
He presses his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips. “Don’t let him get inside your head, baby. He left. I didn’t. I’m the one who stayed.”
My eyes burn.
He strokes his thumb over my jaw. “Promise me, Sonia.”
My hands shake as I clutch his jacket.
“Promise me you won’t leave.”
I hesitate for half a second too long.
Roman closes the distance.
His lips crash against mine, stealing my frantic breaths straight from my lungs.
There’s nothing gentle about it. It’s all possession, all fire, all the things he won’t say aloud but is demanding to be understood.
I let him take. I let him remind me who I belong to.
Because for now, it’s easier than admitting that I don’t know anymore.
- Writer
