*Isabella's POV*
The silence was a fucking physical thing, a heavy, suffocating blanket that had settled over us the second we got in the car. I was trying to lose myself in the blur of city lights outside, pretending I was anywhere else, with anyone else.
Then his voice cut through it, low and dangerous. "You care a lot about Jacob, don't you."
My head snapped towards him before I could stop myself. "What?" The word was out before I could think, sharp and defensive. I'll just brush it off, I thought, my heart hammering against my ribs. I'm sure he'll let it go.
But he didn't. Of course, he fucking didn't. He turned his head slightly, his eyes, dark and intense, pinning me in the dim light. "I've asked you a question, Isabella." The use of my full name was a deliberate, calculated move. It was the boss talking, the man who was used to getting answers.
"And I don't know where that came from," I said, my voice tight as I tried to wrestle back control. "You know I don't want to answer that." I looked away, staring at my hands in my lap.
"Because it's true," he countered, and I could hear the frustration in his voice, the slight edge of jealousy that was so fucking clear it made my stomach clench.
"No," I snapped, my head whipping back to him. "Because I don't do feelings." It was my go-to defence, a flimsy shield I held up whenever things got too real, whenever someone got too close to the truth. "Don't make this ride home more uncomfortable than it already is," I added, my voice dropping as I turned to stare out the window again, the city lights a blur of meaningless colour. It was a dismissal. A desperate plea for him to just leave me the fuck alone with my own goddamn guilt.
"Then what's with the fucking guilt?" he pressed, his voice cutting through my defences. "We're adults, Isabella. We can own up to what we did. Who even makes the rules in this... relationship?" he asked, the word sounding foreign and complicated on his tongue.
"We all made the rules together," I shot back, my voice weak.
"Wrong," he said, his tone sharp, certain. "Jacob made them. We didn't even discuss them. We just agreed." He shifted in his seat, turning his body towards me, the small space of the car suddenly feeling even smaller. "I want you to understand that I'm not sorry. At all."
Before I could process his words, he moved closer, his hands closing around my waist. In one smooth, powerful motion, he pulled me from my seat and onto his lap. I gasped, my hands flying to his shoulders to steady myself. I was straddling him, the hard muscle of his thighs pressing against me, the scent of his cologne flooding my senses.
"I'd fuck you again right now if you wanted me to," he said, his voice a low, husky rumble that vibrated through my entire body. His eyes were dark, burning with a raw, unfiltered desire that made my head spin.
"Damien, you... You're breaking the rules... knowingly?" I stuttered, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"I would break every rule in the world to have you right now," he said, his voice dropping to a possessive whisper. He leaned in and planted a soft, lingering kiss on my forehead, a gesture so tender it made me blush.
"Damien," I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. He had me completely and utterly out of breath. My body was screaming 'yes,' every cell in me buzzing with a desperate need for him. But my mind... my mind was a fucking mess. I couldn't do it again. I couldn't betray Jacob again. We can't.
"I can't," I whispered, the words feeling like they were tearing me in two. "I'm sorry."
For a moment, he just looked at me, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly. Then he sighed, a deep, heavy sound of resignation. He let go of my waist, his hands falling back to his sides. I scrambled off his lap, back to my own seat, the sudden space between us feeling cold and vast. He didn't say another word. He just turned his head and looked out the window for the rest of the drive home, leaving me alone with my guilt and the deafening, suffocating silence.
As soon as we got home and stepped inside the grand foyer, we were met by a delicious, warm aroma that wafted from the direction of the kitchen. It was the smell of a home.
"Wow, smells amazing in here," he said, his voice a little too bright, a little too forced. "I take it Violetta made us a surprise dessert." He was trying. He was trying to act normal, and it was grating on every last one of my already frayed nerves.
"Yeah, well, I'll be in my room," I said, turning to leave, desperate to escape into the solitude of my own space.
"Isabella," he said, his voice stopping me in my tracks. It wasn't a request. "I know you're hungry. You can't skip dinner." He said it firmly, the inner boss re-emerging, the man who thought he could dictate every aspect of my life.
"You're driving me crazy, woman," he snapped, his composure finally cracking. A flash of the raw, frustrated man from the car. He took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself down, running a hand through his dark hair. "Please have dinner," he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I'll go to my study if I bother you that much." He didn't wait for an answer, just turned and walked away, his retreat a heavy, defeated sound in the echoing silence.
I stood there for a long moment, my anger deflating, leaving behind a hollow ache. I made my way upstairs to my room, stripping off the clothes that felt contaminated by the day's events. I stood under the hot spray of the shower, trying to wash away the guilt, the memory of his hands on me, the look on his face when I'd rejected him. After, I changed into a pair of sweatpants and a comfy hoodie.
And then, because I was a fucking idiot and because his plea had somehow gotten under my skin, I headed back downstairs to the dining room.
True to his word, Damien gave me space. The dining room was empty, the only sounds the clinking of my fork against the plate and the distant, low hum of the fridge. He didn't come in. He didn't try to make small talk. In all honesty I wasn't gonna play nice, but fuck, I can't really say no to free food, especially when it's this good. I ate in silence, each bite a quiet, resentful acknowledgement of his control.
After dinner, I retreated back to the safety of my room, pulling up my laptop and flopping onto the bed. "Time for Netflix," I muttered to the empty room, pulling the duvet up to my chin. I needed to get lost in something, anything that wasn't my own fucked-up life. I clicked on an episode of Friends, letting the familiar laughter wash over me. I lied back, letting the warm, comforting glow of the screen lull me into a false sense of security. For a little while, it almost worked. I was just starting to forget, to lose myself latest drama, when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I ignored it at first, not wanting to break the spell. But it kept ringing, with a groan, I leaned over and grabbed it, not even bothering to look at the screen.
"What?" I snapped my eyes focused on the name flashing on the display.
Holy fuck. It can't be.