UNDER THE SURFACE

Damien

I leaned back in the chair, smirking as Amelia’s steady, professional voice droned on about boundaries, self-control, and all the other bullshit she clearly thought I gave a damn about. She sat there, so fucking composed, her honey eyes locked on me like I was some goddamn puzzle she thought she could solve . It was almost funny.

That professionalism, those carefully measured words, the calm mask she wore so damn tightly—it was all so fucking fake . I could see it, though. One crack, one shift in her expression, and I knew. I knew . She wasn’t as composed as she wanted me to believe. She was unraveling, whether she admitted it or not. And I? I was the one pulling the strings, savoring every second of it .

“Are you even listening, Damien?” Her voice snapped through my thoughts, sharp and insistent. She cocked an eyebrow, her composure wavering just enough to amuse me.

I let the silence drag, let her stew in it, watching the way her fingers tightened around her pen. When I finally spoke, my voice was a blade wrapped in silk. “Oh, I’m listening, doctor,” I murmured, the corners of my mouth curling into a slow, deliberate smile. “Every. Single. Word.”

She didn’t believe me—of course she didn’t—but that flicker of doubt in her eyes? That was mine . A fragile little thread I could pull until the whole goddamn thing unraveled. I leaned forward, closing the space between us just enough to make her feel it, to force her to notice how close I was.

Her composure cracked further as she broke my gaze, her eyes dropping to the safety of her notes. “Good,” she managed, her voice steady, though not nearly as strong as she wanted it to be. “Because I think it’s important we explore these issues more deeply. ”

Oh, the cracks were spreading. I could hear the tremor hiding in her tone, taste the tension lacing every word. The brilliant, controlled Dr. Harper wasn’t quite as bulletproof as she thought.

I almost fucking laughed— God , it was right there, crawling up my throat—but I swallowed it down, keeping my face a blank slate of calm. “Oh, I agree, Millie,” I said, my voice a low, taunting drawl. “There’s so much for us to dig into. So much depth to uncover.”

Her body tensed, just a flicker, but I caught it. She shifted in her seat, her eyes narrowing as if she could sense the layers beneath my words but couldn’t quite grab hold of them. That was the best part—the goddamn game. I made the rules; she didn’t even know we were playing.

She had no fucking clue how much control I had, how every goddamn breath in this room belonged to me. I could tear down her defenses, piece by piece, and she wouldn’t realize it until she was fucking hollow. And it was already happening. I could see it in the cracks spiderwebbing across that polished, professional exterior, feel it in the taut silence stretching between us .

I studied her—every twitch, every involuntary movement, every goddamn thing she thought she was hiding. She was good at it, I’ll give her that. Better than most. But not better than me. I saw the slight quiver in her hand when she reached for her pen, the way her eyes darted away from mine like she didn’t want me to see what was simmering beneath the surface.

There was something primal in the way her body reacted, a small, almost imperceptible shudder when I dropped certain words. Words that were harmless to anyone else but sharp as a fucking knife in this room. Surrender . Freedom . I watched her choke on those words, saw the way her breath hitched for just a second too long.

“And surrender , Millie…” I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a low rumble. “That’s where it all begins, isn’t it? Letting go. Giving in. That’s what real freedom feels like.”

Her composure cracked, just a little. Just enough for me to see the storm brewing behind her eyes. And fuck , it was beautiful.

Her fingers curled around the notepad, so slight you’d miss it if you weren’t watching her like a hawk. But I was watching. Every twitch, every hesitation, every goddamn moment where she thought she had her shit together but didn’t. Her gaze faltered for a fraction of a second—just long enough for me to catch it before she tightened the leash on her composure.

She thought she was safe. That she could keep those lines between us neat, professional. That her memories were locked away, hers alone. But her body didn’t lie. Not to me. The tremor in her hand, the shift in her breathing, the way her lips pressed just a little too hard together whenever I leaned in close —all of it screamed the truth she was too scared to admit. I owned her now. Mind, body, every fucking piece of her, and she didn’t even know it yet.

She thought daylight and her sterile little office could protect her. That the space between us meant something. But I saw those tiny fucking fissures where I’d planted myself, deep and festering. Proof that she couldn’t escape me, no matter how many boundaries she scribbled into her little notepad.

It was funny how she still clung to this fragile delusion of control. She thought she was the one leading the session, the one holding the power in this room. It was fucking laughabl e . Everything about her—her anxiety, her sanity—was mine . I’d taken it, twisted it, and left her clutching at straws.

She cleared her throat, her voice calm but with that tiny edge of unease she couldn’t hide from me. “Today,” she said, her pen poised, her eyes meeting mine with forced steadiness, “we’re going to explore your emotions. Or perhaps…” She hesitated, just a beat. “Your relationship with them. You seem to experience them differently than others, don’t you?”

I let the silence stretch, leaning back and giving her my slow, crooked grin. “You have no idea,”

Her voice almost masked the shiver creeping through her words. Almost. But I fucking saw it. Felt it. Like a crack spidering through glass, the kind you can’t stop no matter how hard you press to hold it together. Control? Fragile. A goddamn fantasy. She had none .

She glanced down at her notes, a safety net that didn’t fucking exist, then forced her gaze back to me. Brave little Millie . “From our conversations,” she started, her tone trying for steady, “you strike me as… obsessive. An intense fixation, almost like an attachment that doesn’t quite resemble love, fear, or anger in the way most people understand them.” She leaned in slightly, her eyes sharp but not sharp enough. “I’d like you to explain it to me, Damien. What is it that drives you?”

Oh, she wanted to know. That curiosity burning in her gaze, the way her words tried to cut through me. Fascinating . She thought she was fearless, thought she could dissect me like one of her tidy little case studies. But I knew better. Knew the shadows that clung to her, the ones she shoved into the darkest corners of her mind because she couldn’t face them. Not yet .

I tilted my head, watching her. Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, and I reveled in the way her breathing hitched, just barely, but enough for me to catch it. Finally, I let my voice cut through, low and razor-sharp, laced with venom and something darker. “You think I experience emotions differently, Amelia?”

She nodded, slow and deliberate, her hand tightening around that goddamn notepad like it might save her.

“Maybe,” I said, leaning forward just enough to make her pulse quicken, “it’s not that I don’t feel emotions. Maybe I feel them too much. Obsession. Fixation. It’s not an absence, Millie. It’s a goddamn flood. A need so deep, so consuming, it drowns every other thing. Burns it away until there’s nothing left.”

Her hand twitched. A flicker of fear, or maybe curiosity, though I didn’t give a shit which. She was listening, caught in the web I’d spun around her, her breaths coming just a little too fast now.

“It’s fire,” I continued, my voice a low, dangerous murmur. “When I’m fixated on something… someone … it’s all I see . All I want . There’s no boundary I wouldn’t cross, no line I wouldn’t obliterate. It’s consuming. Absolute.”

Her gaze faltered, just for a heartbeat, before she caught herself and leaned in, her pen poised. Goddamn relentless. “Can you give me an example of a time you experienced this obsession?” she asked, her voice steady but strung tight. “What was it like? How did you feel?”

A smirk twisted across my lips, sharp and wicked, as the game unfolded exactly the way I wanted. This was almost too fucking easy . “Oh, Millie,” I drawled, my voice low and venomous, letting my eyes drag over her, pinning her in place. “You’re the perfect example. ”

Her breath hitched, barely audible, but enough to light that fire in me. The faint flush coloring her cheeks? Goddamn addictive . “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice tight, brittle, as the first cracks spidered through her composure.

I leaned forward, just enough to invade her space, my voice dropping into a dark, intimate whisper. “The very first moment I saw you, I knew . It wasn’t a choice—it was a goddamn gravitational pull , dragging me straight into your orbit. You, with your quiet strength, your razor-sharp mind, your vulnerability you’re so desperate to hide. Every single piece of you is intoxicating .”

Her fingers tightened around that pathetic notepad again, her body betraying her more with every fidget. I smiled—feral, unrelenting—as I continued. “This isn’t about wanting you, Millie. It’s so much worse. It’s hunger . A goddamn need . Like an addiction I have no intention of kicking. Possessing you isn’t a goal—it’s a necessity . Every fear, every secret, every filthy little thought you bury in the dark corners of your mind—I need it. I need you .”

I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a menacing growl, watching her shift in her seat, trying and failing to break away from my gaze. “The thought of anyone else touching you? Breathing the same air as you? It makes me want to burn the whole fucking world to ash. I’ve seen the edge of sanity, sweetheart. I’ve danced on it. And I know exactly how far I’ll go to make sure you stay untouched. Unscarred.”

Her breathing stuttered, her lips parting slightly before she caught herself. That flicker of fear in her eyes? Fucking perfect . She fought to steady herself, her voice sharpening just enough to be impressive. “Damien,” she started, her tone a careful, calculated weapon, “this obsession you describe… it’s concerning. Can you help me understand where it comes from?”

I barked out a laugh, low and jagged, leaning back in my chair. “You think this is something you can dissect ? File away into one of your neat little categories?” My smirk widened, feral and mocking. “You can try, but let me make something clear: My obsession with you, doctor, isn’t born from one single thing. It’s a symphony of chaos—my past, my scars, my need to own, to control, to consume .”

Her brow furrowed, that analytical mind of hers clawing for something solid to hold onto. She leaned forward slightly, pushing against the weight of my presence. “So, this fixation,” she pressed, her voice steady but her eyes betraying her unease, “it’s rooted in your experiences? A product of your history?”

“Smart girl,” I sneered, letting the words hang between us like a challenge. “You’re good at this, aren’t you? Piecing together the fragments, trying to make sense of the monster sitting in front of you. But don’t fool yourself, Millie. Don’t think for a second that you can comprehend the depths of me. My mind is darker, more twisted, than you’ll ever be ready to admit.”

Her breath caught again, but she pushed forward, her desperation to maintain control almost impressive. Almost. “Then help me,” she said, her voice sharp with a mix of professionalism and something raw. “Help me understand. What is it about me that drives you to this point? What exactly do you desire?”

I leaned in, so close I could hear her pulse racing, feel the fear she was barely holding back. My voice dropped into a dark, mocking whisper, dripping with venom. “What do I desire, Millie?” I let the words hang, watching the tension in her every move. “Simple. I want to peel you apart, piece by fucking piece. Expose everything you’re so desperate to hide. I want to rip away every last shred of control you think you have. To own your fears, your thoughts, your soul .”

She sucked in a sharp breath, the tension in the room climbing like a storm ready to break. Her knuckles tightened around the arms of her chair as she tried to cling to composure. “Control over me?” she echoed, her voice laced with a defiant edge as her gaze searched mine, hunting for weakness that didn’t fucking exist. “You realize how unhealthy that is, don’t you?”

I laughed—a low, guttural sound that filled the silence like smoke. “Unhealthy? Sweetheart, I don’t give a damn about healthy. Healthy is for people who are afraid to touch the fire. Me? I am the goddamn fire. I thrive in chaos, Millie. I was born in it, shaped by it. You think I care about fitting into your neat little box of acceptable behavior? No. I wield the darkness, and I love it.”

Her eyes narrowed, her defiance flashing like a flare in the dark. “And what happens,” she asked, her voice biting but shaky at the edges, “if I refuse to let you control me? If I push back against your… obsession? ”

I leaned forward, slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in. My voice dropped to a low, venomous whisper that curled around her like a noose. “You can push all you want, Amelia, but let me tell you something—it won’t change a goddamn thing. I always get what I want. Always. That’s not arrogance; it’s reality. I will tear down every wall you put up, brick by brick, until there’s nothing left. No resistance. No barriers. Just you and me. I’ll twist your reality so hard you’ll forget what normal ever felt like, until you understand that fighting me only makes it hurt more .”

Her body betrayed her, stiffening, but not before I caught it—that quickened breath, the way her pupils widened just enough to give her away. She was afraid. But she was something else, too. Excited , maybe. Drawn . She could fight it all she wanted; I knew the truth. “You talk about inevitability,” she said, her voice tight but wavering, “like it’s supposed to be comforting.”

I tilted my head, letting my smirk twist into something darker, more sinister. “Comfort? Comfort is a lie people tell themselves when they’re too weak to face reality. The world doesn’t run on comfort, Millie—it runs on power . And right now? I’ve got all of it. You can fight, you can scream, you can do whatever you want. But in the end, you’ll see. You’ll feel . And you’ll realize there’s no point in resisting.”

Her eyes hardened, flashing with that stubborn streak I loved breaking down. But beneath it, I saw the crack. The flicker of curiosity. Of something darker. She was drawn to this, to me , even if she hated herself for it. “And what are you offering, Damien?” she asked, her voice softening, slipping into something almost vulnerable. “What is it you think I need from you?”

I leaned back, letting the heavy silence stretch until it was suffocating, until every fucking second felt like a battle she was losing. When I spoke, my voice was sharp, deliberate, like a blade slicing through the air. “Freedom, Millie. Freedom from your past, from all that shit you’ve buried so deep it’s rotting you from the inside. I’ll break every chain that’s wrapped around you, one by one, until you have nothing left to cling to but me . And then, only then, you’ll understand how intoxicating it is to surrender. To let go. To be mine .”

The tension in the room turned electric, every breath, every glance, a goddamn war between us. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. I could see it in her face—the conflict , the pull , the tiny part of her that wanted to step closer to the edge.

I’d drag her over it eventually. Willingly, or not.