The morning after Damion's office…
God, his presence is still on me.
I wake like I've fallen asleep inside the memory of his whisper:
"Mira… look at me."
And the way he said my name — like he was claiming it with his mouth — sends a flush crawling up my throat before the sun even peeks through my curtains.
I shouldn't feel this.
Not for a man like him.
Not for a man who moves like the air obeys him.
Yet here I am, standing barefoot in my kitchen, pretending I'm not waiting for something from him — a message, a call, an echo. Anything.
My phone is dark.
And that's the problem.
When Damion wants something, he acts.
When he is quiet… it means he's thinking.
And when he's thinking about me, it feels like the earth tilts slightly to one side.
I sip coffee that tastes like nothing.
He's ruined the flavor of everything that isn't him.
At Ross Tower
Security clears me with a nod, but the moment I step inside, the temperature feels different — colder, sharper, as though the building remembers him too.
I don't even see him, yet I feel him.
A pull.
A hum.
A string tightening somewhere behind my ribs.
I try to shake it off and walk toward the main lobby elevators, but a woman with a sharp bob and darker lipstick than her mood blocks me.
"Miss Ross," she says with a tight smile that fails to reach her eyes. "Mr. Kade would like to see you."
My breath stutters.
Of course he would.
I follow her through a quiet hallway that feels too aware of my footsteps. She knocks once on a tall, black door.
A voice on the other side — cool, low, devastating — says:
"Send her in."
The woman opens the door and retreats fast, like she doesn't want to be caught alone inside whatever storm lives there.
I step in.
Damion
He's standing by the tall windows, the skyline burning behind him like a halo crafted by devils.
He doesn't turn.
He doesn't greet me.
He just speaks.
"You're late."
I blink. "I'm five minutes early."
"Exactly," he murmurs, finally turning to face me. "Usually you're fifteen."
The way he looks at me — slow, assessing, deliberate — makes heat slither down my spine.
He's dressed in a charcoal suit that was probably tailored in a country where currency bends to his will. His hair is pushed back, but one rebellious strand has fallen over his brow.
It shouldn't make him more dangerous.
But it does.
He moves toward me like the room shifts around his steps.
"Mira." He says my name soft. Too soft. Dangerous-soft. "Yesterday. Are you thinking about it?"
Am I thinking about it?
It's the only thing I thought about.
But I lift my chin. "We had a meeting. That's all."
His eyes darken.
He steps closer.
"A meeting," he repeats, voice low. "Is that what you think that was?"
I swallow.
His smile — slow, curved, wicked — answers for me.
He moves nearer
Damion closes the space between us with predatory ease. He stops just close enough that I can feel the warmth from his body.
"Mira," he breathes, "look at me."
I do.
I wish I didn't.
God, I wish I did.
His eyes drag over my face like he's memorizing pressure points, searching for the place I break first.
"Yesterday," he murmurs, "you said the wrong thing."
I blink fast.
"What are you talking about?"
He leans in, voice brushing my ear like a fingertip.
"I told you," he says, "I only want to hear my name on those lips."
My breath catches.
He knows it does.
He watches the way my chest rises, the way my fingers twitch, the way my skin betrays me.
He inhales softly.
His voice dips lower.
"Say it."
"Damion…" I whisper before I can stop myself.
His lashes lower, slow and sinful.
"Good," he says.
The Air Shifts
Before I can figure out what to do with my heart, my lungs, my entire stupid nervous system, his phone buzzes on the desk.
He checks it.
His expression changes — barely — but I see it.
A flicker of something sharp and irritated.
"Magnus is here," he mutters.
My stomach dips.
Damion pockets his phone, straightens, and the temperature in the room shifts back to freezing.
"We're done for now," he says, but his eyes lower to my mouth like he's not done at all. "Go downstairs. Don't leave the building."
"Why?"
His jaw flexes.
He steps closer again, crowding my breath.
"Because I said so."
I hate that my pulse jumps.
He exhales through his nose like he's fighting something.
"And Mira?"
"Yes?" My voice is too soft.
His lips brush my cheek — not a kiss, not quite, but close enough to brand me.
"Don't make me repeat myself."
Elevator Down
I leave his office with my pulse refusing to settle.
The elevator doors close, and my reflection stares back at me with flushed cheeks and eyes that look like they've been touched by something forbidden.
I exhale shakily.
What is happening to me?
Is Damion dangerous?
Yes.
Is he wrong for me?
Absolutely.
Do I want him anyway?
God. Maybe more than I want to breathe.
The Lobby
I step out just as Magnus enters.
He pauses mid-step.
His eyes catch mine, and something sparks in the air — curiosity, interest, a slow realization.
He looks at me like he's been waiting without knowing he was waiting.
His smile forms, warm and easy, the opposite of Damion's razor-edge intensity.
"Hey," Magnus says, voice smooth and a little surprised. "You're Mira, right?"
Before I can answer, Damion's voice echoes behind him from the mezzanine above.
"Magnus."
His tone is colder than stone.
He descends the stairs, gaze locked on Magnus like a silent warning.
Magnus glances up at him, then back at me.
"Oh," he murmurs. "She's that Mira."
What does that even mean?
Damion reaches us, stance sharp.
"Mira was just leaving."
His possessiveness burns the air.
Magnus raises a brow. "She doesn't look like she wants to."
My heart stutters.
Damion's expression doesn't change, but something lethal flickers in his eyes.
"Magnus," he says quietly, "not today."
Magnus smirks, hands sliding into his pockets.
"I'll see you around, Mira."
Damion watches him walk away, jaw tight, shoulders coiled.
Then he turns to me.
And the look he gives me?
It's not professional.
It's not friendly.
It's not even jealous.
It's absolute possession wrapped in silence.
"Don't go near him," Damion murmurs. "Ever."
"Why?" I ask softly.
His eyes drop to my lips again.
"Because you're mine."
(Part 2)
"Because you're mine."
The words hang between us — heavy, impossible, electrifying. Like someone just lit a match in a room full of oxygen.
I blink. "Damion… you can't just say things like that."
His jaw tenses. He steps closer, lowering his voice to a carving whisper.
"I don't say anything I don't mean."
My throat tightens. "You hardly know me."
He studies me with quiet, devastating concentration.
"Don't I?" he murmurs.
I don't know what to do with that.
I don't know what to do with him.
The lobby suddenly feels too small for the two of us. People move around us — yet it feels like the world has slowed, softened, blurred. As if the only real thing in the entire building is the man standing in front of me and the way his presence fills my bloodstream like a drug.
"Damion," I manage, "Magnus was just being polite."
His eyes harden.
"That's not what that was."
"Then what was it?"
His voice is a low, controlled growl.
"He looked at you like he wanted to take something that isn't his."
My pulse stumbles. I shouldn't feel flattered. I shouldn't feel anything.
But the truth is a wildfire under my skin.
"You're overreacting," I whisper.
"I'm not reacting," he says quietly. "This is me holding back."
And somehow…
that scares me more.
He steps closer
"Mira," he says, and the way he says my name unravels me. "I don't want him near you."
"I don't even know him."
"I don't care."
He leans in slightly, his breath brushing my cheek like a warning. "Stay away from him."
I fold my arms to stop my hands from shaking.
"You can't control who I talk to."
He doesn't flinch.
He doesn't step back.
Instead, he exhales slowly — a dangerous, simmering sound.
"Maybe not," he says, "but I can control what he does."
My breath catches. "Damion—"
His gaze drops to my mouth again.
"I don't want to fight with you," he murmurs. "Not right now."
I don't know which part scares me more:
the protective edge
or the possessive one
or the soft way his voice lowers at the end — like it's only for me.
Before I can reply, Liam appears at the far end of the lobby.
"Mir! Hey—"
Damion straightens.
His eyes sharpen, cold and unreadable.
"Go to him," he says quietly, but it's not permission. It's an order he hates giving. "You have five minutes."
"For what?"
"For me to calm down."
My stomach flips.
I walk toward Liam, but Damion's gaze stays hooked to my spine — I can feel it like a hand between my shoulder blades, hot and invisible.
With Liam
"Mira, what's going on? You look—"
"I'm fine," I whisper quickly.
Liam looks skeptical. "Are you sure? You look like you just saw a ghost."
Worse.
I saw Damion.
"Well," Liam sighs. "I came to take you for that lunch break, remember?"
I flinch.
Lunch.
Normal life.
Things that don't involve men who speak like storms wearing suits.
"I… I don't think I can leave the building."
"Why not?"
Because a dangerous man who has no right to want me told me not to.
"I just can't today," I say.
Liam studies me with the earnest worry he's always had since we were kids. But before he can push, Damion appears again — not close, but watching. Waiting.
Liam follows my gaze.
"Is that—"
"Yes," I whisper.
Liam nods slowly. "And is he… the problem?"
I swallow. "He's not a problem. He's…"
I can't finish.
Because how do you explain a man like Damion?
Liam leans in.
"Mira. Be careful with him."
I am.
God, I'm trying.
"I will," I say softly.
He squeezes my hand before leaving. His warmth lingers for a moment.
But then Damion's presence pulls all the heat in the lobby toward himself again.
Back to Him
I walk toward him, slow, unsure, pulled by something I don't want to name.
He watches me like he's reading every inch of my expression, every breath I take.
"Did you calm down?" I ask.
"Not even close," he says quietly.
There's no smile.
No softness.
Just honesty stripped bare.
"But I can talk," he adds. "For now."
"What does that mean?"
He exhales — frustration, desire, and something darker tangled together.
"It means," he murmurs, "you bring out sides of me I'd rather keep buried."
The confession hits harder than it should.
"Damion…"
"Come upstairs," he says softly.
My heart free-falls. "Why?"
"Because I'm not finished with you."
The Elevator Up
We step into the private elevator.
The doors slide shut.
Silence.
But not really — I can hear his breathing, steady and deep, and the soft hum of the elevator's ascent, and my own pulse slamming in my ears.
He steps closer.
Just one step.
But it changes everything.
"Mira," he says quietly, "tell me to stop."
I look up.
"I'm not sure I want to."
His eyes flicker — heat, warning, restraint hanging by a thread.
"You should," he whispers.
"Why?"
He leans down, lips brushing the air above my cheek.
"Because if you don't… I won't."
My breath catches.
His hand lifts — hesitates — then slides lightly along my jaw, his thumb grazing my bottom lip with barely-there pressure.
I feel the stroke everywhere.
"Damion…"
His breath mixes with mine, slow and devastating.
"I told you," he murmurs, "say my name like that again…"
The elevator dings.
He steps back like he's been physically dragged.
"Not here," he says, voice rough. "Come on."
His Office Again
We walk inside.
He closes the door.
Locks it.
My pulse rushes in my ears.
"Damion—"
"Don't talk yet," he says, steady but strained. "I need a minute."
I stand still.
He runs a hand through his hair — the first real crack in his perfect armor — pacing once, twice, breathing deep.
"Mira."
He stops.
Faces me.
"You're going to pull me apart."
I swallow.
"I'm not trying to."
"I know," he says. "That's why it's worse."
He steps closer, slower this time.
No rush.
No sudden movements.
Just gravity.
"You don't know what you're doing to me."
I whisper, "Then show me."
His eyes darken completely — something dangerous, something hungry, something he's been fighting too long.
He lifts my chin gently with two fingers.
"Mira."
"Damion."
Silence snaps tight between us.
His gaze drops to my mouth again.
And for one dizzy second, I think he's going to kiss me.
He wants to.
He really wants to.
I see it in the way his lips part, the way he leans in—
But then—
A soft ping from his computer screen.
He freezes.
His expression shifts violently.
"What is it?" I whisper.
He turns toward the screen.
"No," he mutters. "Not again."
He steps forward.
My heart stutters. "Damion—"
He stops reading.
And slowly, he looks back at me with a rage I've never seen in him before.
"Mira," he says tightly. "Go home. Now."
"But—"
"Go," he snaps, then breathes hard, forcing control back into his voice. "Please. I'll send a car."
"What happened?" I ask.
He hesitates.
Then—
His voice breaks soft, dangerous, terrified.
"You were sent another message".
(Final Part)
For a second, I can't move.
The room doesn't feel real anymore — it feels like it's tipping sideways, like there's water in my ears and the floor is shifting under my feet.
"Another message?" I whisper.
Damion's expression is carved stone — beautiful, lethal, and frighteningly controlled.
"Yes," he says quietly. "One you're not going to see."
"I want to see it."
"No."
The refusal snaps out of him like a command.
Low. Sharp.
Unarguable.
I straighten. "Damion. I've dealt with this since I was thirteen. I'm not fragile."
"I know," he says, softer, but it feels like the softness is breaking him. "Which is exactly why I'm not letting you look at this."
I step toward him.
He steps toward me.
For a moment we're standing too close — close enough that the anger, the fear, the desperate protectiveness rolling off him touches my skin like heat.
I lift my chin. "You're not my shield."
"No," he murmurs, "but I am the one who's going to handle this."
"Why you?"
His jaw flexes.
He hesitates.
Then:
"Because I know his kind."
My breath catches — just for a heartbeat — because there's something in his tone… something ancient, something worn, something he's not ready for me to understand.
"Damion," I whisper. "What does that mean?"
He doesn't answer.
Instead, he closes the space between us until there's barely air left.
"Go home, Mira."
"I'm not scared—"
"I am."
The words punch the breath out of me.
His eyes are dark, simmering, but not with anger now — with something much worse.
Something like dread.
"I don't want him near you," Damion says, voice low and rough, "not even through a screen."
I swallow, because the air feels thick, heavy, electric.
The kind of air that comes before storms.
"What did he say?" I ask.
His lips tighten — a flash of fury he tries to smother.
"Damion. Tell me."
He finally exhales — long, slow, a tremor of barely controlled violence in it.
"He sent a photo."
I freeze. "Of what?"
"Of you," Damion says. "Taken tonight."
My skin goes cold.
"Where?"
"Here."
His voice drops even softer. "Inside this building."
My breath shatters in my throat.
That's impossible. I would've seen someone. I would've felt someone. I—
Damion steps closer again, as if my fear is physically pulling him in.
"I'm not letting you walk out of this office alone. I'm sending Liam and Kia with you."
"No," I whisper.
"Mira—"
"I don't want them involved."
He sighs sharply, a sound full of frustration and something painfully protective.
"You are not going home by yourself."
"I never asked to—"
He steps in, cutting me off without touching me, just using his presence, that disarming gravity.
"I don't care what you asked."
His voice is low, cold, dangerous in a way that feels less like anger and more like fear wearing armor.
"You're going home with someone," he says, "even if it's me."
The words slip out before I can stop them.
"I'd rather go with you."
He stops breathing.
Literally — he just… stills.
Like the world pressed pause on him.
"Mira," he says slowly, "you're saying the wrong things."
I swallow. "What are you talking about?"
His eyes darken — in hunger, in warning, in something he can't hide anymore.
"I told you," Damion murmurs, "I only want to hear my name on those lips."
My pulse hits a hard, sharp beat.
"Damion…"
He closes his eyes for half a second.
Like he's fighting himself.
Like he's losing.
"No," he whispers. "Not now. If I touch you right now, I won't let you leave."
Heat coils under my skin, traitorous and wild.
"I didn't ask you to touch me."
His eyes open — slow, deadly, consuming.
"No," he murmurs. "But you want me to."
Before I can respond, a sharp knock hits the door.
Damion's head snaps toward it.
His entire body shifts — predator, protector, something older than fear. His shoulders tense, his voice drops into something too calm to be safe.
"Stay behind me," he murmurs without looking back.
My breath stutters.
"Damion—"
"Now."
The knock comes again — softer this time, but the sound bends the air in the room.
He moves to the door slowly, silently, and for a moment I can't tell if I'm terrified of what's behind it…
or terrified of what Damion will do if it's the wrong person.
The door opens.
A familiar voice stands on the other side.
"Brother," Magnus says smoothly. "We need to talk."
Damion doesn't move. Doesn't blink.
His body is a wall, blocking Magnus's view of me completely.
"This isn't a good time," Damion says, voice sharp as frost.
"It never is," Magnus answers, too calmly. "But it involves Mira."
My heart stalls.
Damion's shoulders go rigid.
"And," Magnus adds lightly, "it involves what you're not telling her."
The silence is instant.
Electric.
Lethal.
Damion's voice drops to something dangerous and quiet.
"Magnus."
"Yes?"
"Not. Here."
Magnus's smile is small — and knowing.
"So then," he murmurs, "perhaps it's time you tell her yourself."
Damion inhales, one slow, furious breath.
"Leave," he says.
Magnus lifts a brow, steps back, and offers me — just barely — the ghost of a nod over Damion's shoulder.
Then he disappears down the hallway.
The door closes.
Silence thickens the room until it's almost physical.
I look at Damion.
He looks at me — like he's standing on the edge of something he never planned to face.
"What is he talking about?" I whisper.
Damion doesn't answer.
Not yet.
He just stares at me like the truth is a weight he doesn't know how to set down gently.
"Mira," he finally says, voice low, quiet, devastatingly serious,
"There are things I have to tell you before this gets worse."
I swallow.
My heart is pounding.
"And the part you won't like," he adds, "is that I should've told you a long time ago."