Damien's POV
The moment I stepped into my house, I felt suffocated.
The walls of the Reynolds estate, massive and luxurious, felt like a gilded cage, closing in around me. I ripped off my tie, tossing it onto the marble floor before shrugging off my jacket. My fingers moved to the buttons of my shirt, loosening them as I made my way down the private elevator to the underground level.
The doors slid open with a low chime, revealing the dimly lit training area. This was the one place where I could shut off the noise, the expectations, the weight of everything that came with my name.
Ronan was already waiting, standing near the boxing ring with his arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed in black athletic gear, his massive frame a stark contrast to the sleek surroundings. The faint hum of music played from the overhead speakers, but it barely registered.
Ronan raised an eyebrow as he watched me enter. "You look like you're ready to kill someone."
I stepped onto the mat, stretching my arms. "Not someone." My jaw tightened. "Just need to hit something."
Ronan smirked, grabbing a pair of gloves and tossing them to me. "Let me guess—Aurora."
I caught the gloves midair and shoved my hands into them, tightening the straps around my wrists. "She doesn't listen," I muttered, rolling my shoulders.
"She's not supposed to," Ronan said, strapping on his own gloves. "That's why you're pissed."
I stepped forward, getting into position. "Shut up and fight."
Ronan didn't hesitate. He lunged forward with a quick jab, testing my reaction. I dodged, my body moving on instinct. He was strong, but I was faster.
I countered with a right hook, aiming for his ribs. He blocked it, shifting his stance.
"Your form's sloppy," he taunted, throwing another punch. This one landed against my shoulder.
I barely felt it.
The rage burning inside me was too strong, too consuming. I threw another punch—this time with more force. It connected, slamming into Ronan's side with a satisfying thud.
He grunted but didn't back down. "That all you got?"
I didn't answer. I launched into another attack, my fists moving faster, harder. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed through the room as we exchanged blows. Ronan was good—one of the best—but I wasn't fighting for technique. I was fighting to feel something other than frustration, other than the goddamn pressure suffocating me.
Aurora's defiant gaze flashed in my mind.
Her sharp words.
Her refusal to submit.
I snarled, throwing a brutal strike aimed at Ronan's jaw. He barely managed to dodge, but I followed up with a knee to his ribs, forcing him back.
Ronan coughed, shaking his head. "You're a damn menace when you're pissed."
I exhaled sharply, sweat dripping down my forehead. My muscles burned, but I didn't stop. I threw another punch, and Ronan barely had time to block it before I followed up with another.
Left hook.
Right jab.
Another strike, aimed at his ribs.
Ronan staggered but recovered quickly, using his weight to push me back. "What's the real problem, Daemon?" he asked, dodging my next hit. "The marriage? Or the fact that she's not afraid of you?"
I tensed.
That split second of hesitation cost me.
Ronan moved in, landing a powerful punch against my jaw. Pain exploded through my skull, but I didn't fall. Instead, I stepped back, rolling my neck before wiping the blood from my lip.
I let out a low chuckle. "Nice hit."
Ronan smirked. "Needed to get your head out of your ass."
I took a deep breath, the adrenaline still pulsing through my veins. But the rage had dulled, just slightly. Enough for me to think clearly.
Aurora wasn't going to make this easy.
But that didn't matter. She would be my wife soon.
And whether she liked it or not, she would learn that in this world, power wasn't given—it was taken.