The car ride back was silent, but the air crackled.
Elara didn't dare look at him.
Not after the way he kissed her. Not after the way her body betrayed her.The tension hadn't died since the kiss. That damn kiss. The taste of him still burned on her lips like sin she hadn't confessed yet. Her skin still tingled from the way he'd pulled her close in front of the cameras, his mouth owning hers like she belonged to him.
She didn't. She never would.
Elara stormed ahead the second they entered the mansion, ignoring the butler's polite bow. She kicked off her heels and turned to face him as he entered behind her, cool as ever, like he hadn't just flipped her world upside down.
But now, back in the mansion, the silence shattered.
The front doors slammed shut behind them with a heavy thud.
Elara's heels clicked furiously across the marble as she stormed inside, each step echoing with the sting of humiliation. Her cheeks still burned from the kiss, from the crowd's gasps, from the way Damien had claimed her like property—without warning, without care.
He followed at a slower pace, silent, composed.
Like a lion after the kill.
She spun on him the moment they reached the grand staircase. "You had no right to touch me like that!"
Damien's brow arched, unbothered. "Is this you playing outraged fiancée? Or have you forgotten the contract already?"
"You kissed me in front of everyone!"
"I did." He took a step forward. "And they believed it. Which is the point, Elara. You're not here to feel safe. You're here to be seen."
She clenched her fists. "You can't just do whatever you want to me."
That smile—cold, male, dangerous—slid across his face.
Damien stepped forward, one slow step at a time. Not rushing. Just… closing in.
Her breath hitched.
His tie was undone, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the hard line of his throat. Shadows carved out his cheekbones like marble and fire. His voice dropped an octave. "That wasn't even close, Elara."
She swallowed, fists clenched at her sides. "Close to what?"
His lips curled into a ghost of a smirk. Dark. Dangerous.
"To what I can do to you."
Silence stretched.
Her heart beat so loud she thought he might hear it.
"You think this is a game?" she whispered, her voice raw. "I'm not some pawn you can bend and break just because you have money."
He tilted his head, eyes sharpening. "Then stop acting like one."
Something cold and hot flared in her at once.
"I hate you," she spat.
He nodded slowly, like he expected that. "I know."
His voice wasn't angry. It wasn't even mocking.
It was something worse.
It was knowing.
Knowing her. Her limits. Her weakness. Her lies.
It wasn't just what he said.
It was how he looked at her—like he could see beneath her clothes, her skin, her anger. Like he was already touching her without lifting a finger.
She hated how her knees threatened to weaken.
"You're disgusting," she said, voice shaking.
"You're trembling," he murmured, almost amused. "So what's shaking, Elara? The disgust... or the curiosity?"
She took a step back.
He followed.
"You agreed to the rules. No touching, no intimacy, total control." Her voice cracked. "You're violating them."
He tilted his head. "Did I? Or are you just upset that you liked it?"
She gasped, but before she could speak, his tone hardened—like steel wrapped in silk.
"Let me be clear," he said. "Break a rule, betray me once—and I'll rip up that contract and own you for real. In every sense."
Her pulse roared in her ears.
"You wouldn't dare."
Then he moved—too fast, too close. She stumbled back into the wall. Marble met her spine."I dare often."
"I should never have signed that contract," she hissed.
"Then break it."
She faltered. "What?"
Damien took another step. They were toe to toe now.
"Walk away, Elara," he said softly. "But if you do… I'll consider it a breach. And if you breach the contract…" He trailed off, leaning close, his mouth brushing her ear. "I'll make you mine for real. Body. Name. Soul."
She shivered.
He stepped back slowly. His eyes flicked over her again. Like he was reading her. Memorizing her.
She tried to speak, but her mouth was dry.
"I won't let you ruin me," she managed to whisper.
His jaw ticked.
"I haven't even started."
Elara turned her back on him and walked toward the stairs—but froze when his voice called after her.
"You think you know what this is, Elara? What you're playing with?" His tone was death and desire wrapped in silk.
Damien watched her leave with clenched fists at his sides.
She still didn't remember him. Not even a flicker of recognition.
Maybe that was a mercy.
Because if she knew what her father had done—what his father had caused—she'd never look him in the eye again.
But tonight, when her mouth opened beneath his…
For one heartbeat, he forgot he hated her.
That was dangerous.
He'd kill that weakness. Eventually.
Elara slammed the door of her room and backed against it, heart still racing.
What the hell had just happened?
She touched her lips.
She could still feel him there.
Damien Blackwood was the coldest man she'd ever met. But when he looked at her, it wasn't cold at all. It was fire. Control. Possession.
And worse… something else she didn't understand.
She needed to remember why she was here. Why she agreed to this in the first place.
To destroy him.
Not… want him.
And yet, her body betrayed her. Her dreams already twisted.
She curled into the bed that night, hating herself, and hating him more.
Tomorrow, she'd be smarter.
Stronger.
She'd outplay him. Just like he outplayed her.
But tonight… she wasn't sure who the real player was anymore.
The Next Morning She heard a knock at the door.
She opened it, blinking groggily.
The butler stood there stiffly, holding a box.
"Mr. Blackwood left instructions," he said. "You'll need to wear this for tonight's private dinner."
Elara frowned. "Dinner?"
He nodded. "Just you. And him. No staff. No distractions."
Inside the box?
Blood red lace.
And a handwritten note:
> "If you're going to play pretend, Elara… you should at least look like temptation.
– D"