Chapter Forty-One

Present

I should run. I need to run. That’s the only thought in my head as I slowly lower myself into the steaming bath, wincing as the hot water kisses my sore, aching skin. Everything hurts. My thighs, my hips, my arms… even muscles I didn’t know I had are screaming. What the hell is wrong with Damian?

It’s been two weeks. Two freaking weeks of non-stop fucking. Fourteen days since he yanked me from the community center and drained every ounce of energy I had in me before growling his warning to stay away from Matt. That was just the start.

It has been fifteen days since he came back from Dubai, and yet he hasn’t left me alone for a second since. No conference calls. No business trips. No meetings. Nothing. Instead, the man has turned into a goddamn sex machine, holding me hostage in our bedroom, doing nothing but fucking my brains out. It feels like he’s cleared his entire schedule just to keep me in bed.

Every time I think I’ve had enough, that my body can’t possibly take more, he proves me wrong. The bedroom door hasn’t opened, except for him to grab food and bring it back. He only left the bed long enough for that, and then he slams it shut, locking us back into this twisted bubble where nothing but his cock and my surrender exist.

Something’s changed.

Damian has always been intense and demanding in bed, but this? This is insanity. He’s insatiable. I don’t know if it’s jealousy from seeing me talk to Matt, or if it’s just another sick power play of his, but whatever it is, it’s got to fucking stop.

I tried everything. When he passed out one afternoon, I thought I had my chance, but the second I reached for the door, he was on me—fucking me against it before I even had a chance to twist the knob. Every escape attempt ends in the same way: with him inside me, bending me to his will, over and over again.

I was so angry that on the eighth day, I snapped. I threw a figurine at him. He just caught it midair and gave me that cold, dangerous look. Then he dragged me over his knee and spanked me so hard my skin burned. When he was done, he flipped me over and fucked me so brutally, I couldn’t speak for hours, my throat raw from screaming. Every time I resisted, he’d punish me with more.

And then there was the bathroom incident. I thought locking myself in there would give me a few minutes of peace. A few minutes without his hands on me, without him making me feel like I belong to him in every possible way.

That psycho ripped the door clean off its hinges, tossed it aside like it was nothing. Once he found me, he didn’t say a word. He just lifted me up, set me on the bathroom countertop, spread my legs, and buried his face in my pussy. He kept me on edge for hours, bringing me to the brink of a release then pulling back every single time.

I was a mess, sobbing, begging, trying to hold onto any shred of sanity, but Damian didn’t stop until I was broken.

When he finally let me come, my body gave out, and I came so hard I squirted all over him. I was mortified, my body shaking with humiliation, but Damian? No, his eyes were dark with satisfaction, as if breaking me down fueled whatever depravity lurked inside him. He was soaked, but all he did was smirk, wiping his face with his hand before shoving his cock inside me again.

Damian has been using me, fucking me in every way imaginable for the past two weeks without so much as a break. I didn’t even get to go to the art fest I worked so hard for. Canceled everything, locked us in this room, and I haven’t left our bed since.

My legs feel like jelly. My thighs are bruised, sore from being spread open for him day and night. My arms ache from being pinned down, my back hurts from all the positions he forces me into, bending me however he wants. I’ve never been used, fucked, and pleasured so thoroughly in my life.

Day after day, night after night, he’s still at it—still hard, still demanding, as if his body is stuck in some never-ending loop of lust.

He should’ve gone back to work by now, should’ve moved on, but no. He’s still here.

The worst part is even after being exhausted 24/7 I still love it. I love how alive he makes me feel.

My body aches all over, but it only takes one look from him, one touch, and I’m ready again.

It’s maddening. My mind is blown. I’ve never experienced anything like this. He’s thirty-two, but it’s like he’s got the stamina of an eighteen-year-old, forever hard, forever horny.

This is unhealthy. We are toxic. I know I should try harder to stop all this. But the thing is, I can’t even resist him at this point. I’m completely powerless. Resisting only makes him hungrier. And my body responds to him before my brain has time to catch up. It’s like my legs part on instinct, my hands reach for him, and I’m lost in the heat of it all over again.

I just want him to leave on a business trip, for my body to get a damn break. My pussy feels battered, swollen because it’s been used beyond its limit.

I let out a long sigh as the heat of the bath soothes my aching muscles, the scent of lavender doing its best to calm me.

My eyes snap open at the sound of Damian’s heavy footsteps. He strides into the bathroom like he owns every inch of it and me. His bare chest is slick with a faint sheen of sweat, his black lounge pants riding low on his hips, drawing my eyes to the hard lines of his body.

“You’ve been in here too long.” His eyes are on mine but they drift slowly, over my wet skin.

I sink deeper into the tub, trying to shield myself from his piercing gaze. “So what?” I mumble, knowing damn well how this conversation’s going to end.

“So, you need to get out.” His heated gaze sweeps over me.

I tense, incredulous. “You can’t be serious, Damian! We just did it ten minutes ago!”

That smile—God, I hate it. It’s the one he wears when he’s about to rip the control right out from under me. “Thought you might want to come downstairs for lunch.”

I blink, surprised. Lunch? Downstairs? He hasn’t let me out of this room in two weeks. But just as quickly as he offers it, he turns away, walking toward the door. “But it’s fine if you don’t feel like it,” he throws over his shoulder casually.

“Wait!” I scramble to stand, water splashing onto the floor as I rush out of the tub. “I’m coming.”

When I see him heading for the towel rack instead of the door, it hits me—the jerk made me think he was leaving. He plucks the plush towel before holding it open for me. He’s watching me, eyes dark and intent as I walk toward him. Without a word, he wraps the towel around me, his hands moving slowly, reverently, as he dries my body. His touch is gentle, too gentle after the way he’s been rough with me earlier. I should feel grateful, but all I feel is wary.

This is what he’s been like lately. Fucks me until I’m shaking, then treats me like I’m something precious, something breakable. He draws me baths, massages the soreness from my legs, even dries me off like this. A year ago, I would’ve killed for this side of him. But now, it just makes me uneasy. The Damian I know doesn’t do soft.

He scoops me into his arms without a word, carrying me like I weigh nothing as he takes me out of the bathroom. We pass by the broken frame where the bathroom door used to be—his handy work from a few days ago.

As he steps into the walk-in closet, he sets me down. “Get dressed.”

“Finally.” I exhale a relieved breath. But before I can even take a step, his hand grips the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss so rough it makes my knees buckle.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” he growls against my lips, his hand tightening for just a second before he lets me go. And then, he slaps my ass and walks out, leaving me breathless and shaking, my heart pounding in my chest.

◆◆◆

We ended up late for lunch because Damian took one look at me in that tight, knitted bodycon turtleneck dress and decided lunch could wait. Instead, he went down on me, devouring me like I was his last meal, and when he finally pulled back, instead of fucking me, he stripped me down and knelt over me, stroking himself off before he came all over my breasts. “See? I’m being considerate,” he had the audacity to say, like he deserved a medal for not fucking my sore pussy.

After that, he had made a mess, and he knew it, so we ended up in the shower again. He behaved, more or less, except for two heated make-out sessions that left me dizzy but no worse for wear.

Now, as he leads me down to the entertainment zone of the mansion, holding my hand like we’re some lovesick couple, I ask, “Where’s Vicky?”

“She’s gone.”

“Where?” I press, stepping into the movie theater, but he doesn’t answer. We take our seats, and I feel a knot forming in my stomach.

“Damian, where did she go?” I ask again, voice tight with suspicion.

He glances at me, completely unfazed. “I fired her.”

The words hit me like a punch, and I’m on my feet before I can even think. I storm out, refusing to stop when he calls my name.

In the hallway, I run into Hal. My anger flares up at the sight of him. “This was your doing, wasn’t it? You got her fired!”

“She was fired because she was incompetent.” Damian calls out from behind.

I whirl around and find him striding toward me. “The movie’s about to start,” he says, reaching for my hand, but I snatch it away.

“Incompetent?” I shout. “Well, you’re an incompetent husband, but I’m not firing you, am I?”

Hal wisely makes himself scarce, leaving us alone. “Is that why you’ve been playing nice all morning? Buttering me up with my favorite food, planning this stupid movie, all so I won’t lose my mind over you firing Vicky?”

“Yes,” he says with no shame, no remorse, just pure, unapologetic arrogance.

I gasp, his indifference knocking the breath out of me. “You hateful man! Bring her back. Right now!”

His eyes darken. “Don’t raise your voice at me.”

“Oh, I’ll do a lot more than raise my voice if you don’t bring her back!” I threaten, my hands shaking with how badly I want to slap him.

“Why do you want her back so badly?”

“Because she’s the only person in this entire house who gives a damn about me!” I snap, my voice breaking. “I’m serious, Damian. If you don’t bring her back, I’ll stop eating.”

“I can always hook you up to an IV.”

I step closer, my tone deadly. “You know damn well I’ll rip that thing out.”

His jaw tightens.

“Why did you fire her anyway? Was it because she left my side for a few minutes at the community center that day? Come on—”

“She didn’t tell me about Melissa.”

The blood drains from my face. “I-I told her not to…”

He leans in, his voice a low growl. “She answers to me. She should’ve reported any threat to my wife. She didn’t, so she’s unfit to be your bodyguard. She’s lucky I only fired her.”

I grab the front of his t-shirt, desperate to make him understand. “It wasn’t her fault, Damian! I wanted to tell you about Melissa myself. That’s why I came to your office that day, but you didn’t care. You were more interested in bending me over your desk than listening to a word I said!” My voice cracks with the frustration. “I was angry, so I left, and then you dragged me home, and we never got the chance to talk.”

He says nothing, his eyes unreadable.

“You barely left our bedroom. When would she have had the chance to talk to you?

“She could’ve told Hal.”

“And have him interrupt our sexathon? You made it clear no one was to disturb us!”

Damian’s silence only fuels my frustration. “She’s good at her job, Damian. She saved me that day. When Melissa dropped those drinks, Vicky was the one who tackled the tray before it could hit me.” My voice drops to a whisper. “She’s the only one who’s looked out for me.”

Still, nothing. His expression is a cold, unreadable mask.

I step back. “Who am I even pleading with?” My voice shakes. “When have you ever done anything I’ve asked for?” Shaking my head, I turn and run, tears burning my eyes as I head for the library.

I sit in silence, heartbroken. Except for Summer, Vicky was the only one who really cared for me. She understood me. Now, with her gone, I feel like Damian has pushed me back into the cold void of isolation.

An hour passes or maybe two, I don’t know. I’m just glad to be left alone.

As the sun sinks lower, casting long shadows across the room, a soft knock breaks the stillness. I don’t bother to turn; I’m too numb.

The door creaks open, and someone steps in, placing a tray of snacks on the table beside me.

“Take it away. I’m not hungry,” I say flatly.

But the figure doesn’t budge. My irritation spikes. “Didn’t you hear me? I said—” My protest fades as I finally look up.

It’s Vicky, standing there with her hands clasped behind her back, a warm smile spreading across her face.

In an instant, I’m on my feet, wrapping her in a tight embrace. She laughs softly, squeezing me tightly in return.

“Vicky! You’re back!”

She nods, a hint of pride in her eyes. “Mr. Montgomery personally called me and insisted I return.”

“Damian called you?” I blink, incredulous.

She nods again, grinning now. “Although it was rather abrupt and I received a long warning, I’m happy to be back. More than that, watching Hal’s face was priceless.”

We share a laugh. But then the laughter fades. “I’m really glad you’re back,” I admit, my voice earnest.

“I’m glad too. We missed you at the art festival,” she says, her expression softening.

“You went?” I ask, a twinge of regret twisting in my stomach.

“I did. It was fun, but it wasn’t the same without you. Everyone missed you,” she replies, her words tinged with sadness.

I sigh, wishing I could have been there. “I’m just relieved it all went well. Everyone worked so hard.”

“Yes,” Vicky agrees, her tone shifting. “I have something for you from Matt.”

“What is it?”

She pulls out a folded piece of paper from her pocket. She hands it to me, and I unfold it.

Hey,

It’s me. Matt. Well, I suck at writing letters. Don’t even remember the last time I wrote one but I wanted to start this letter by telling you that I miss you.

I miss you like crazy, River. The center feels empty without you. The art sessions lack their spark, and even Erin’s cookies taste a little less sweet without you to share them.

I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off since you stopped coming. I hope it’s not me that pushed you away. If I hurt you in any way or said something when we were in the storage room, I’m really sorry.

Please come back. Everyone misses you. Even the moody Anne asked about you.

When you left that day with your husband, I was so mad. After meeting him, I understand the sadness in your eyes now.

The asshole is intimidating, and even though I might probably lose, I would still fight him for you. Just say the word.

I promised to find out about your father, so I started looking into Melissa. That’s when I found out she’d been in a serious accident just over a week ago and was now in a coma. The news left me rattled.

What made it worse was what I saw at the hospital. She was completely alone—no family, no friends, not even her ex-husband, who couldn’t be bothered to show up.

The more I looked into her life, the darker the picture became. Her husband went bankrupt a few months back, and their marriage had been falling apart even before that. Then there was her father—he took his own life six months ago. No one knows why. Some blame the mountain of debts he couldn’t escape; others say he was tormented by loan sharks. The truth remains a mystery.

Her mother, Nadine Thompson, has turned her back on her entirely. She’s now working as a live-in housekeeper for a surgeon and refuses to acknowledge Melissa at all. Even when the hospital contacted her after the accident, she didn’t come.

Melissa was hit by a car near her apartment, and the authorities said the CCTV footage from the area was mysteriously wiped. I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right.

I’m still gathering information, but I’ll keep you updated through Vicky’s email.

And don’t worry about your father; I’m going to look into him next, and find out what’s happening.

Take care of yourself, River.

Love,

Matt.

I collapse back into the chair.

“River? What’s wrong? What does the letter say?” Vicky’s voice breaks through my haze of shock.

Too stunned to reply, I pass the letter to her. She reads quickly, her face shifting from confusion to disbelief. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah.” I whisper, the reality of it all crashing down around me.

“Her accident sounds like—”

“It was planned.” Dread pools deep in my stomach. The thought that Damian might have a hand in this chills me to the bone.

“I need to find him,” I murmur. I excuse myself, urgency driving me as I hunt for Damian.

William Thompson is gone. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that he committed suicide. The man who always seemed so larger-than-life, so sure of himself and unshakable, chose to end it all. It doesn’t feel real. He was Dad’s best friend—I can’t imagine how broken he must be.

And Melissa… she’s lying in a coma. Then there’s Nadine. How can a mother turn her back on her own daughter like that? Abandon her in a time like this? It’s unthinkable.

I find him in his home office, seated at his desk, papers scattered around him. I stride in without knocking. He looks up.

“I needed to talk to you.”

He sets down the stack of papers and leans back in his chair. “I’m listening.”

“I-I wanted to thank you,” I begin, my voice faltering as I gather my thoughts. “About Vicky. I didn’t expect you to listen… let alone bring her back.” I confess, breath catching as he stands.

“Come here.”

I hesitate for a moment before walking around the desk to stand before him.

His fingers grip my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, the action so intimate, it leaves me breathless. “Are you happy?”

My mind blanks for a second. Happy? How do I even begin to answer that? This twisted, dangerous world I’m trapped in offers no room for happiness. But I think of Vicky, the only sliver of peace I’ve had in days. “Yes,” I whisper, because it’s the truth.

“Good,” he murmurs, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “What else did you want to talk about?”

I hesitate, the truth lodged in my throat like a blade. I can’t ignore it any longer. “Melissa.”

His hand drops, his face unreadable. “What about her?”

“Did you get her fired?” I ask, attempting to get the truth out from him. “You know, after knowing what she did?”

Damian sinks back into his chair, pulling me onto his lap as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. My breath catches in my throat, the sensation of his body beneath mine both thrilling and terrifying.

His arm wraps around my waist, his hand resting possessively on my hip. “The club owner took care of it.”

I search his face, but there’s nothing. “So she’s... jobless?”

“For now,” he says, burying his face in the curve of my neck, kissing the sensitive skin with maddening slowness.

“Damian...” I try to pull away, but his lips trail lower. I call out his name again but he ignores me, tugging my dress off my shoulder. “Are you even listening to me?”

His mouth moves along my collarbone, lazy, unhurried. “Hmm,” is the only sound he makes, clearly enjoying my frustration.

My hands push against his chest, but it’s like pushing a wall. “Don’t you think it’s odd for a woman from her background to be a waitress.”

“I don’t think about irrelevant things.”

“But I do!” I snap, yanking his head back by the hair, forcing him to look at me. “Did you do something you shouldn’t have?” The question slips out, my stomach twisting in dread even before he answers.

“Why bother asking when you already know the answer?”

My breath catches in my throat, the realization hitting me like a blow. “You... caused her accident?” I choke out.

Damian’s smile fades, replaced by something harder. “She deserved it.”

I pull away and stagger back from him. “That’s a crime, Damian! She could have died!”

“She’s lucky she didn’t,” he replies, completely unaffected. “I don’t let anyone hurt what’s mine.”

My pulse quickens as panic rises. This isn’t protection; this is madness. “You… you have no right to ruin lives like that,” I whisper, backing away.

“I have every right. She hurt you, and she paid the price. End of story.”

“You committed a crime! You’re going to end up in—”

“In prison? Who would testify against me?” His voice is cool. “You?” The arrogance in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. I’m too stunned.

“I can’t believe this! You don’t feel any remorse at all.”

“Why should I?” He rises to his feet again. “She got what was coming to her.”

“All this over spilled drinks?” I ask, incredulously.

“No. This is about all the years of torment she put you through.”

I shouldn’t have told him about her bullying. I shouldn’t have shared anything.

I cover my mouth with trembling hands. Shaking my head, I look up at him. “Why now then? Why did you wait until now to avenge me.”

“Who said I waited?”

The satisfaction in his voice is chilling, and dread pools in my stomach. I can’t shake the feeling that her father’s suicide and her ex-husband’s bankruptcy are somehow linked to Damian.

As I start to retreat, he closes the distance, his grip seizing my chin with a possessive fierceness. “Why are you so shocked, angel? You’ve been surrounded by people who’d do anything to achieve their goals. Why shouldn’t your husband be the same?”

“If you’re talking about my father, you’re mistaken. Yes, he held me against my will. Yes, that’s a crime. But he had his reasons— good reasons.” I see his expression shift, and within a blink of an eye, his hand is closing around my throat—the same throat he had kissed moments before.

“Is that so?”

I gasp when he squeezes my throat. “Y-yes! He was protecting his d-daughter.”

“And I was protecting my wife.”

“But you had no right to do that to Melissa!”

“Do what? Turn her from a privileged heiress to a beggar? Or leave her terrified for her life?” His tone is cold, his satisfaction palpable.

“Stop!” I plead, gripping his wrist as the pressure increases, choking off my breath. I gasp as his fingers cut off my air. Just as my vision begins to blur, he releases me. I stagger back, coughing, my hands flying to my throat.

“There. Now you can hate me a little more,” he says, his voice cold.

I stare at him through unshed tears, still clutching my throat.

“You can justify your father’s actions all you want, angel. You’ve already made him out to be the hero, and me the villain.”

Grabbing me by the hair and pulling me close, his lips brush mine in a soft, almost tender kiss that leaves me trembling. “Didn’t I tell you that you don’t get to regret marrying me?”

Before I can respond, he steps back. “Get some rest. We’re leaving in a few hours.”

“L-leaving?”

“I have to leave for business tonight.”

“But why does that involve me?”

“Because, my dear wife, you’re coming with me.”

My eyes widen and he smiles coldly. “You see, I refuse to be an incompetent husband any longer.”