I collapsed on the bed like a dropped puppet—limbs loose, heart tight.
Angry didn't even begin to cover it. I was seething.
He said he'd do anything to make me forget the night he violated me. But the moment I made one damn request, one moment of control for me—he walked out.
Didn't even look back.
He owed me that.
After everything he took, he owed me at least one good memory to blot out the worst night of my life.
One night where I got to choose. Where I wasn't just surviving him, but touching something real… something that wasn't pain.
Don Pedro.
The name used to tear through me like shattered glass. Not anymore. I'm used to the cut his name made–I'm numb to the sting.
The door was still slightly open. I looked out to where Damien had stood earlier.
But he was gone now.
But two guards still stood stiff at the ends of the hall like statues.
I rolled over, eyes burning holes into the ceiling. Sleep? Impossible.
I can't just lie in bed like this.
I flung off the bed, yanked the duvet with me like a weak kind of armor, and stalked out.
The ship creaked gently beneath my feet as I stepped into the open deck. Morning wind licked at my legs. The ocean stretched endlessly ahead, blue and breathing like a sleeping beast.
I didn't go close to the edge. Just close enough to feel like I could. Like I might.
Then I felt it.
A warm exhale brushing the back of my neck.
Not Don Pedro.
The son. Damien.
He didn't say a word at first. He just stood there behind me like a shadow that refused to leave.
I took a small step forward, pretending I didn't notice him, then gripped the railing, the cold steel biting into my palms.
"I want to speak to you," he finally said.
"I don't want to speak to you," I replied, gaze fixed on the water. The night swallowed everything beyond it.
"The other night… when you came to me," he said, stepping closer. "You wanted me. I know you did. I saw it in your eyes. Felt it in your skin. But then you ran. Like it meant nothing."
"That night was a mistake," I said through clenched teeth. "It was weakness. A moment I don't care to remember."
He laughed. A boyish bitter laugh.
"A moment of weakness, and you told me to fuck you?" He stepped beside me. "You meant it. You were scared, but you wanted it. You wanted me."
I turned then. My eyes met his. I didn't blink.
"I'm your father's wife now. You will respect that."
He didn't flinch. "Does he know we've already fucked? I bet you haven't told him."
My spine stiffened. That sounded more like a threat than a question.
"Does he know you still want to fuck me?" I said, letting the venom drip off each word. "Bet you can't tell him."
He blinked, jaw tight.
"Where's Don Pedro?" I asked, pushing forward since he has refused to walk away.
"Want to see the edge of the ship?" he asked instead.
I froze. The wind tangled in my hair.
"Stay away from me, Damien," I whispered, more breath than sound.
But he leaned in anyway. Then a sly smile curled his lips.
His voice was soft—too soft.
"I guess you want to."
He walked ahead without waiting for an answer, climbing towards the upper deck. I didn't follow immediately.
Then I did.
I dropped the duvet on a bench near the railing, the satin clinging to my skin while the morning air kissed every inch of it.
He reached out a hand to help me climb the last few steps up to the bow. I didn't refuse.
I spread my arms, eyes closed, face tilted to the stars. Titanic-style.
Only, this wasn't a fairytale.
This was survival.
The wind whipped around me, not gentle this time—but sharp and alive. It pulled at my hair, made my nipples harden. I felt free. Not safe, but free.
And then he climbed up too.
Damien, behind me.
Close.
Too close.
His breath hit my neck in ragged bursts.
Then his hips pressed against mine.
Hard.
His co**, already half-erect, brushed my ass. He wasn't subtle.
I clenched my fists.
Yes, I was aroused.
But not for him.
I craved his father.
His sin.
His stillness.
That thick darkness that wrapped around him like a second skin.
It had swallowed me whole and somehow, I'd gotten used to the taste.
I spoke to kill the moment. To kill whatever fantasy was twisting in his head.
"Valeria. She was your mother?"
The tension cracked instantly.
He stepped back. I felt his body go still.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Me and my dad built this… for her." I didn't need to see his face, I could tell from his voice that there was still pain lingering.
"How old were you when she died?" I asked, eyes still on the waters.
"I never met her," he said. "They said she died… before they even pulled me out of her."
Now that was deep.
Something in my chest tightened and softened at once.
There.
That was what separated him from Don Pedro.
Damien let himself feel.
Don Pedro… never did.
From the moment I met Damien at that bar, before I married his father, I knew he wore his emotions on his sleeve. It drew me in, yes. But it didn't hold me. I didn't want it to.
And yes if I wasn't married to his father, then his son wouldn't be an option–he would be a choice.
He made love like a god. Something Don Pedro said he doesn't know how to do.
Don Pedro lied.
Lied that he killed his wife.
That's an awful lie to tell and somehow, I was relieved that it was just a lie to scare me.
"My dad shot her," Damien said.
My stomach twisted. The air changed.
Relief turned to fear. Concern. Worry.
"…Huh?"
But before I could ask more, he turned sharply.
"Hold tight, I need to fix the knot."
He jumped back to the lower deck. I stayed up still at the edge–exposed.
My fingers gripped the rail.
I turned to watch him. He walked toward the rope at the far side of the deck, muttering something to himself.
The boat wasn't moving, but the wind… it came hard and unforgiving.
I staggered, the sudden gust pulling at my body like invisible hands.
One wrong shift.
One second too slow.
The railing bit into my fingers. I tried to hold. The wind howled. Then, my grip broke.
My fingers slipped.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Splash.
That was all I heard.
Darkness.
That was all I saw.
The cold punched through me like fists made of ice. Water filled my ears. My throat. My lungs.
I couldn't scream.
I'd never learned to swim.
This was it.
The end.
Or maybe not.