Elle's Pov
The sound of Damian's fist hitting the donor's jaw, that sickening, wet crack, is still ringing in my ears, louder than the orchestral music bleeding through the curtains. I watch the man slump against the wall, his dazed eyes unfocused, blood blooming on his lip.
Damian stands over him, heaving. He looks like a god of vengeance, but all I see is more violence. More noise and more people touching me without my permission.
"I said no," the words barely make it past my lips. "I said no and he wouldn't…"
I can't finish the sentence. My voice fails me, snapping like a dry twig. I don't wait for the security guards to finish their questions. I don't wait for Damian to turn around and offer me his protective, suffocating hand. I just walk.
I weave through the crowd, my black silk dress rustling trying to find my way to the children's corner, a small sanctuary of beanbags and half-finished drawings.
