Chapter 6: Bound by Deal, Stirred by Flame
The next morning, the sun was still stretching over the horizon when a sleek black car pulled up in front of Celeste Grayson's apartment complex. Out stepped Damian — crisp black and white suit, clean cut, like he had just walked out of a fashion commercial. The silver glint on his wristwatch caught the morning rays, and his dark eyes, always unreadable, scanned the building with practiced ease.
He didn't hesitate as he walked up to her front door, his footsteps silent but confident.
Coincidentally, Celeste was already dressed for work, locking her front door with her phone and tote bag in hand. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him.
"…You?" she blinked.
Damian gave a short nod. "I'm in."
Celeste blinked again, almost forgetting to breathe. "You're... what?"
"I'll be your bodyguard," he said, his voice deep and cool, "but under one condition — I get to hold your wrist where the tattoo is… at least three times a day."
Her brows furrowed. "Are you being serious right now?"
"Dead serious." He glanced down at her wrist. "It's the only way I can use my powers through you. And after last night, you clearly need someone to watch your back."
Celeste crossed her arms, visibly annoyed but equally intrigued. "Fine. But you don't get to touch me in public. I have a reputation, and you—" her eyes flicked over his tailored suit, jawline, and the way his hair seemed to fall perfectly even when windswept, "—you'll cause a scene."
"Deal," he replied without skipping a beat.
With a begrudging sigh and a quiet mutter of, "You're so damn dramatic," she turned on her heel, and he followed behind her like a shadow.
---
By the time they arrived at the building where Celeste worked, she regretted striking that deal. Not because Damian wasn't doing his job. He was doing it too well.
At the entrance, he moved with calculated steps, shielding her from an oncoming bike and brushing away an eager intern trying to hand her a flyer. His protective aura was intense, quiet but commanding — and everyone noticed.
By the time they reached the building's main doors, the crowd of office staff and onlookers had gathered to watch. People whispered, eyes wide as they looked between Damian's striking form and Celeste's composed stride. The contrast was both cinematic and magnetic.
"Is that her new bodyguard?" one whispered.
"No way someone that good-looking signed up for her. She must've threatened him or something."
"Or maybe he owes her money."
Damian stopped abruptly at the sound, turned toward them slowly, his stare sharp enough to silence a room.
"What did you just say?" His voice dropped dangerously low.
The whisperers froze.
"You think someone like me can be forced?" he continued coldly. "You're so used to trash, you mistake anything better for fake." His words were sharp, exacting, and humiliating. "Don't compare a queen's demand to a peasant's assumption."
No one dared speak after that.
Celeste, trying to hide the satisfied smirk playing on her lips, walked through the building's front doors with her head high. The guards didn't stop Damian — no one would, after that display — and he waited just outside the entrance, arms crossed, cool and composed.
---
Inside her office, Celeste peeked through the blinds behind her desk. Her eyes searched instinctively… and there he was. Sitting casually on the bench just outside the building, phone in hand, eyes on his surroundings like a true sentinel.
Only, he wasn't alone.
Two female workers from accounting were approaching him. One even dared to sit beside him, brushing invisible lint off his shoulder. Another reached into her bag, pretending to offer a pen, just to have an excuse to speak.
Celeste's eyes narrowed.
"What are they doing?" she whispered to herself.
Then she saw Damian's head tilt slightly — not in flirtation, but in cold rejection. His expression didn't change. Still unreadable. Still distant.
But Celeste's jaw clenched. Her fingers tapped the desk. The sight of those girls made her stomach twist in a way she refused to acknowledge.
She turned away from the blinds sharply and muttered, "I don't care."
But she peeked again five seconds later.
And just like that, the deal had barely started, but something else had already begun to spark.