The storm returned that night the kind that clawed at windows and drenched the world in restless fury.
Ayla stood near the fireplace, her arms wrapped around herself, trying to find warmth in the flames that refused to touch her.
The echo of Damien's words from the morning still haunted her.
"Stay away from him."
As if she had ever gone near anyone willingly. As if he hadn't already taken enough.
She didn't hear him come in.
But she felt him.
The air in the room shifted heavy, electric.
Damien's footsteps were unhurried, precise. He closed the door behind him, the soft click sounding more final than a slam.
"You've been quiet," he said, voice low, smooth as silk but threaded with warning.
"I had nothing to say."
"Strange," he murmured, circling her slowly. "You had plenty to say last night."
Her stomach twisted. "I don't want to talk about that."
He stopped behind her. "Then don't talk."
She froze when he brushed her hair aside, fingers grazing her neck. His touch wasn't rough it was deliberate, restrained. That was worse. Because Damien never needed to use strength to make her feel trapped.
"Damien," she said softly. "Don't."
He didn't move. "You think I'm cruel."
"I know you are."
His hand paused midair.
Then he stepped closer, his breath against her ear. "And yet you're still here."
Her pulse hammered. "Because you don't let me leave."
His jaw clenched. "You always twist things, Ayla. I give you everything comfort, safety, my name and still, you look at me like I'm your captor."
"Because you are." Her voice cracked. "Because you took my choice away."
Something snapped in his composure then a faint tremor in his voice, in the air between them.
He turned her around to face him, his eyes burning with anger and something darker longing, maybe, but twisted beyond recognition.
"You think you'd survive out there without me?" he demanded. "You think anyone would want what's left of you?"
She met his gaze, trembling but unyielding. "I'd rather be alone than owned."
For a long second, silence ruled. Only the rain filled the space between their breaths.
Damien's expression faltered just barely. Then he took a step back, running a hand through his hair. The anger drained from his face, leaving behind something hollow.
"You make me lose control," he whispered, almost to himself. "You always did."
Ayla didn't answer. Her eyes glistened, but her spine stayed straight. "Then maybe you should learn what love isn't."
He looked at her like she'd struck him and perhaps, in a way, she had.
He turned and left without another word, the door slamming shut behind him.
Ayla stood there for a long time, trembling not from fear, but from the weight of her own defiance.
Every time he tried to break her, she found another piece of herself to rebuild.
And she was starting to realize something he hadn't yet
Damien was losing control not because she feared him…
But because she didn't anymore.