Chapter Three
The moment Damien stepped into my room, the air changed.
Thick. Electric. Heavy with everything unsaid.
He didn't speak right away. He simply stood there in the low light — a vision carved from shadows and quiet fire. His shirt was undone at the collar, and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. The faintest hint of cologne reached me — cedar, spice, and something darker beneath.
He was beautiful in the kind of way that hurt to look at for too long.
Dangerous in the kind of way that made you forget to run.
"I said I wouldn't touch you unless you asked," he murmured, voice low.
I didn't respond. I couldn't.
Not because I didn't want to.
But because I didn't know what I wanted anymore.
His gaze traveled over me — from the thin satin of my sleep top to the curve of my bare legs.
Slow. Unforgiving.
"Do you want me to leave, Selene?"
Yes.
No.
Maybe.
I didn't answer. Instead, I turned away — but that was answer enough.
Damien stepped closer.
I felt the heat of him on my back before I heard his voice again.
"You've never belonged in small spaces, have you?"
I swallowed. "What makes you think that?"
"Because you look like someone who's always been forced to shrink. But you weren't made to be small."
I turned to face him. "You don't know anything about me."
He stepped even closer. "Then let me learn."
His hand reached up — not to touch, but to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
It was the first time he'd touched me without permission.
And I let him.
The brush of his knuckles down my jaw made my skin burn. My breath caught.
"I can't give you love," he said. "Not the way you deserve it."
"I didn't ask for that," I whispered.
"No," he said. "But you should have."
He turned as if to leave — but then paused.
"If you change your mind…" His voice dipped low. "You don't need to speak. Just open the door."
And then he was gone.
I didn't sleep again. Not really.
Because this time, it wasn't fear or uncertainty that kept me awake.
It was him.
The next morning, I woke to a dress laid out on my bed.
Ivory silk. Floor length. Elegant and soft — like something a princess might wear if she'd been bartered instead of betrothed.
A note lay folded beside it.
Wear this.
We sign the vows at noon.
— D
I dressed in silence. My hands trembled as I zipped the back.
The estate's stylist — a kind older woman named Bernice — came in shortly after with makeup and a simple veil.
"You're beautiful, dear," she said, fastening a delicate pearl pin into my hair. "He won't be able to look away."
"I don't think he ever does," I murmured.
The ceremony was private. Cold. Just a judge, Vincent, Damien, and me.
No flowers. No family. No vows were exchanged beyond the scripted ones.
It was like signing a contract in a church.
Which, I suppose, it was.
I didn't cry. Not even when Damien took my hand and slid the ring onto my finger.
A diamond.
Flawless.
Heavy.
After the signing, he leaned in and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to my cheek.
But not my lips.
I should've been relieved.
So why did that sting more?
That evening, I stood alone on the balcony outside my room, the city lights flickering like stars below.
The ring felt foreign on my finger.
And the weight of his name — Mrs. Vale — sat on my shoulders like a crown I didn't ask for.
A light knock pulled me from my thoughts.
I turned — expecting Damien.
But it was Ava.
She leaned against the doorframe, dressed in a red satin robe, glass of wine in hand. Her expression was a perfect storm of amusement and calculation.
"Congratulations," she said. "You're officially his."
I kept my voice steady. "Is that a problem?"
She smiled and sipped her wine. "Not for me."
She pushed off the frame and stepped closer.
"But I thought you should know something."
I raised an eyebrow. "What?"
She leaned in a voice like honey with razors.
"He doesn't sleep with women he marries."
I blinked. "What?"
She smiled wider. "You didn't think you were his first contract, did you?"
The blood drained from my face.
"He's done this before?" I asked.
"Oh, sweetheart," she said, touching my cheek mockingly. "He's made a habit of it."
I stepped back. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you'll learn soon enough," she said, tilting her head. "Might as well hear it from someone who's lived here longer than a day."
She turned to go, then paused at the door.
"And Selene?"
"What?"
"He always walks away when things get too close."
I locked the door behind her.
But I couldn't stop shaking.
That night, I opened the drawer of the nightstand and found an envelope.
No name. No label. Just my curiosity and trembling fingers.
Inside was a photo.
A woman.
Blonde. Young. Smiling.
And in the corner of the photo… Damien.
His arm was around her.
His eyes were softer than I'd ever seen.
But what shook me more was what was written on the back.
"For D — Until the contract ends. Love, Elara."
I stared at the name.
Over and over again.
Elara.
A name I'd never heard.
But a ghost I couldn't unsee.
A second photo slipped from the envelope.
Not of Damien.
But of Elara.
In a hospital bed.
Hooked to wires.
Smiling weakly at the camera.
And in the background… Ava.
Smiling too.
But her eyes were watching Damien.
Not Elara.
Watching him like she knew something no one else did.
Like she'd already won.