CHAPTER SIX: MINE
1801 Words
3:04 AM. St. Catherine’s Hospital, Parking Garage.
The rain had stopped.
Tessa sat in the passenger seat again. This time, her hands weren’t clutching her coat. They were in her lap. Still shaking.
Damian drove. No music. No driver. Just the sound of tires on wet concrete and his breathing.
He didn’t speak until they hit her street in Queens.
“Your building?” he asked.
“Third floor. Walk-up.” She pointed. “Left.”
He parked. Killed the engine. But he didn’t get out.
Tessa turned to him. “You don’t have to come up.”
“I know.”
“Zara’s asleep. Dr. Ellis said morning discharge. I should just—”
“Tessa.”
Her name in his mouth stopped her.
He looked at her. Streetlight cut across his jaw. He looked wrecked. Tie loosened. Sleeves rolled to his forearms. The man who’d threatened police in an ER.
“I said yes,” she whispered. “To you. In the hospital.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why aren’t you—”
“Because you’re tired. Because your sister is downstairs. Because if I touch you right now, I won’t stop.”
His voice was rough. Honest.
Tessa’s throat went dry. “Damian…”
He reached over. Unbuckled her seatbelt. His fingers brushed her collarbone and she sucked in air.
“Go upstairs,” he said. “Sleep. Check on Zara. Tomorrow, we talk. Properly.”
She stared at him. “You’re letting me go?”
“I’m choosing you,” he said. “Which means I don’t corner you at 3 AM when you’re scared.”
Tessa’s eyes burned. “That’s unfair.”
“What is?”
“Making me want you more.”
A beat.
Damian’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. A crack. “Get out of the car, Ms. Moore.”
She did.
He got out too. Walked her to her door. The hallway smelled like old paint and someone’s dinner. His shoes were too expensive for this building.
Third floor. Key in the lock.
“Damian—”
“Inside.” He didn’t touch her. Not yet.
She opened the door. The apartment was dark. Quiet. Zara’s small backpack by the couch. Meds on the table.
Tessa turned. He was still in the doorway. Not crossing it.
“Will you be here?” she asked. Stupid question. Needy.
“When you wake up,” he said. “I’ll be downstairs. With coffee. And legal.”
“Legal?”
“To make the sponsorship permanent. And to file a restraining order against Hale.” He leaned on the frame. “Go to bed, Tessa.”
She nodded. Closed the door.
Then opened it again.
He hadn’t moved.
She stepped into him. Into his chest. Her forehead hit his sternum. He smelled like rain and hospital soap and him.
“Thank you,” she said into his shirt.
His arms came around her. Slow. Like he was asking permission. Then tight.
He didn’t kiss her. He just held her. One hand at the back of her head. The other on her back.
“Mine,” he murmured against her hair.
It wasn’t a question.
Tessa closed her eyes. “Yours.”
He let her go. “Sleep.”
She did.
---
*7:30 AM. Queens Apartment.*
Zara was awake first.
“Tessy,” she croaked. “My throat hurts.”
Tessa was already at her side. “Hey, baby. Hospital’s over. You’re home.” She checked the thermometer. 99.1. Better.
A knock at the door.
Tessa froze. 7:30 AM. Who—
She opened it.
Damian.
He had two coffee cups. A paper bag. And a man in a suit behind him.
“Morning,” he said.
“Mr. Vance?” Zara blinked from the couch. “You’re tall in the morning too.”
Damian’s mouth did that thing again. Soft. “Morning, Zara.” He held up the bag. “Pancakes. No syrup if your throat hurts. Applesauce instead.”
“You remembered,” Tessa said.
“I listen.”
He stepped in. The lawyer stepped in after him.
“Ms. Moore,” the lawyer said. “I’m Elias Reed. Mr. Vance asked me to finalize two things. One: medical sponsorship. Lifetime coverage for Zara, no repayment clause. Two: a cease-and-desist and emergency restraining order against Victor Hale. He was released at 5 AM. He won’t be near you again.”
Tessa sat down. Hard. “Lifetime?”
Damian set the coffee on her table. Black. One sugar. How did he—
“Yes,” he said. “Lifetime. Because she’s your sister. And you’re—” He stopped himself. “Sign here.”
Tessa signed.
Zara was busy stealing applesauce. “Mr. Vance, can you stay?”
Elias cleared his throat and excused himself.
Damian looked at Tessa. “Do you want me to stay?”
The apartment was small. His suit was wrong for it. But he looked like he belonged.
“Yes,” she said.
So he stayed.
He helped Zara with pancakes. He didn’t flinch when she spilled. He asked about her school, her breathing treatments, her favorite color.
“Purple,” Zara said. “Like Tessy’s paints.”
Damian glanced at the corner. Canvases stacked. Half-finished. Her life, before him.
“You’re an artist,” he said to Tessa.
“I was,” she said. “Before debt.”
“You still are.”
At 9 AM, Dr. Ellis called. Discharge approved. Follow-up in a week. Paid.
At 10 AM, Zara fell asleep again on the couch, head in Tessa’s lap.
The apartment went quiet.
Damian didn’t leave. He sat on the floor across from the couch. Watching them.
“You should go to work,” Tessa whispered.
“I am working,” he said. “This is priority.”
Tessa shook her head. “You’re insane.”
“I’m yours,” he corrected. “Remember?”
She did.
Zara’s breathing evened out. Steady.
Damian shifted. “Come here.”
Tessa hesitated. Then slid off the couch. Sat on the floor with him. Not touching.
“You chose me,” he said. Quiet. “Over the files. Over safety. Over your sister’s immediate care.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
She looked at him. Really looked. No hospital panic. No Victor. Just him.
“Because you looked at her like she mattered,” she said. “Not like leverage. Like a kid. And you looked at me like I wasn’t disposable.”
Damian’s jaw worked. “You’re not.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then he moved. Slow. He took her hand. His was warm. Calloused in places she didn’t expect for a CEO.
“Tessa,” he said. “I don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Care. Possess. Stay.” He lifted her hand. Pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “But you. You’re mine. And I’m not letting go.”
Tessa’s breath hitched. “Damian…”
He leaned in. Forehead to hers again. Their second time.
“Tell me to stop,” he said. “And I will.”
She didn’t.
He kissed her.
Not rushed. Not desperate. Deep. Certain. Like he’d been waiting since the day she walked into his office.
His hand came up to her jaw. Thumb at her lip. The other stayed on her hand, like he was afraid she’d vanish.
Tessa kissed him back. Fingers in his shirt. Tasting coffee and relief.
When they broke apart, he rested his forehead on hers.
“Mine,” he said again.
“Yours,” she whispered.
Zara mumbled in her sleep. “Tessy… kissy?”
They pulled back fast.
Damian’s ears went red. Actually red.
Tessa choked on a laugh. “She’s asleep.”
“She’s not,” Damian muttered.
Zara’s eyes were closed. Smiling.
“Worth it,” Tessa said.
Damian looked at her like she’d just saved his life.
---
*8:30 PM. Damian’s Penthouse, Manhattan.*
Zara was with a private nurse. Paid. Vetted. For the night.
Tessa shouldn’t have come.
She did anyway.
The penthouse was all glass and city lights. No hospital. No chaos. Just quiet.
Damian opened the door in a black shirt. Sleeves rolled. No tie. No mask.
“You came,” he said.
“I said I would.”
He stepped aside. She walked in.
He closed the door. Locked it.
The sound made her jump.
He noticed. “I’m not going to hurt you, Tessa.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” He crossed the room. “Because I’ve been thinking about that hallway all day.”
Tessa’s pulse spiked. “Damian…”
He stopped in front of her. Close. “Say stop. Now.”
She looked up at him. “I won’t.”
That was all he needed.
He kissed her.
This time, there was no Zara. No audience. Just heat.
He backed her against the wall. His hands were in her hair, at her waist, like he couldn’t decide where to touch her first. Tessa gasped into his mouth. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer.
“Damian,” she breathed between kisses.
“Shh,” he said against her lips. “I’ve got you.”
He lifted her. Effortless. She wrapped her legs around his waist without thinking. His mouth traveled to her jaw, her neck. She tipped her head back, giving him more.
The city blurred behind him.
“Tell me,” he said, voice rough. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want this,” she said. No hesitation.
He carried her to the bedroom.
The door closed behind them.
The lights were off. Just the glow of Manhattan through the windows.
He set her down gently on the bed. Then he paused. Hands on either side of her. Looking at her like she was something breakable.
“Last chance,” he said.
Tessa reached up. Pulled him down.
“Damian. Please.”
He made a sound in his throat and kissed her again.
Their clothes came off slowly. Desperate, but careful. Like he was memorizing her. His hands were reverent, his mouth wasn’t.
Tessa arched into him. “You’re mine too,” she whispered.
He stilled. Then smiled against her skin. “Always.”
The rest of the night was theirs.
No Victor. No files. No debt.
Just them.
---
*6:12 AM. His bed.*
Tessa woke first.
Damian’s arm was around her waist. His face in her hair.
He was awake.
“You’re staring,” she said.
“I am.” His voice was sleep-rough. “You’re here.”
Tessa turned in his arms. “I’m here.”
He kissed her forehead. “Mine.”
“Yours,” she said.
He pulled her closer. “Stay today.”
She did.
- Writer
