The next morning, Elena sat beside Damian in the dining, her hand pressed against her lower stomach, a soft frown curling on her face.
She'd barely touched her breakfast — even the tea beside her had gone cold.
Damian had just finished adjusting his cufflinks when he noticed how pale she looked.
"What's wrong cupcake, are you okay?" he said, his tone more curious than demanding.
Elena hesitated for a moment, then sighed.
"It's just... my monthly visitor is here."
Damian's brows furrowed. He blinked, confused. " Your what Visitor?"
She looked up at him, half-amused despite her discomfort.
"My period, Damian."
"Oh," he said simply, as though processing new data.
His brows drew together — not in annoyance, but genuine concern. "Is that why you're hurting?"
She nodded weakly, her hand pressing against her abdomen. "It's normal, it just hurts sometimes. And I, um… I'm out of tampons."
He was silent for a few seconds, staring at her as if she had just spoken another language. Then, suddenly, he grabbed his car keys.
"I'll get it for you," he said simply.
Elena blinked in disbelief. "What?"
"I said I'll get it for you," he repeated, heading toward the door.
"Tam… tam—" He stopped mid-word, realizing he didn't even know how to say it properly.
"Those things," he muttered, gesturing vaguely.
She couldn't help it — a small laugh escaped her lips despite her pain.
"You? Go buy tampons?"
He turned back to her with a half-smirk, walking up until he stood right in front of her.
"I'll do anything for my cupcake," he said softly, his voice low but sincere.
Her heart gave a strange flutter she couldn't explain.
The same man who spoke to his enemies with a gun in hand, was now talking about buying tampons like it was a matter of national security.
Before she could respond, Damian leaned down and brushed a gentle kiss on her cheek.
"I'll be back soon."
She sat frozen as he left, the door closing behind him.
Her fingers touched her cheek where his lips had been. Her heart was beating too fast for something she can't even define.
Did he really just say that? Did Damian Volkov, the cold, dangerous Damian, just say he'd do anything for her?
She touches her cheek slowly, feeling the faint warmth from where his lips had been.
Her heart wouldn't stop racing.
--
He didn't need his chauffeur this time. He wanted to do this himself. He didn't even understand why—he just knew he needed to.
He drove through the city, his jaw tight, one hand on the steering wheel.
The thought of what he was doing made him scoff under his breath.
Damian Volkov, feared by hundreds, was on his way to buy tampons.
He stopped at a grocery store, parking his car right at the front.
As he was about to walk in, a curvy woman in dark sunglasses her lips curling in a flirty smile.
Mara Leone, a popular model — and one of his past.
They'd shared one night together months ago, nothing more he didn't even care to remember. .
"Well, if it isn't the elusive Mr. Volkov," Mara said, tilting her head. "Long time no see. You've been ignoring my calls."
Damian's expression stayed cold, unreadable.
"And you should take that as an answer."
She laughed lightly, trying to touch his arm, but he moved past her without another glance.
Mara blinked, watching as he disappeared into the grocery store, muttering under her breath.
Inside, Damian paused, realizing just how out of place he looked — a tall man in a sharp black suit, standing between aisles of pink packages and floral-scented soaps.
He exhaled slowly.
What am I doing?.
He walked through the aisles, scanning the shelves until he found the section.
Rows and rows of pink, white, and blue boxes.
He froze.
What was he even supposed to pick?
He crouched a little, staring at the endless brands and sizes, reading every small label like it was a secret code.
Ultra? Maxi? Wings? "What the hell did wings have to do with this?
He rubbed his forehead, sighing. This was insane.
He pulled out his phone, searching best tampon for period cramps.
Then he heard it.
"Damian?" a female voice called, too familiar.
He turned, and his face tightened instantly. Noami, Isabel's talkative friend, stood there holding a shopping basket.
Her eyes went wide when she saw him — Damian Volkov, standing in front of the tampon shelf like a lost child.
"Oh my God," she said, nearly dropping her basket. "You? Here? Buying—"
He didn't even let her finish.
Without a word, he reached out and grabbed several boxes — every color, every brand — and dropped them into his basket.
Noami blinked, dumbfounded. "You… you're actually buying those?"
Damian gave her a flat, dangerous look. "Do you plan to keep talking?"
Her mouth snapped shut instantly.
Just then, one of his men, Andrei, walked in hurriedly, scanning the aisles. "Sir! I followed you.
You shouldn't be shopping alone, what if—" He froze mid-sentence, his eyes darting to the basket in Damian's hand.
"…Sir, are you—buying those?"
Damian didn't answer. He simply handed the basket to Andrei. "Pay for it."
Andrei looked at the contents, mortified. "Sir, there are like… ten brands here—"
"Then pay for all of them and get chocolates too," Damian said, already walking toward the exit.
"Yes, sir."
Noami stood by the end of the aisle, watching the scene unfold, her jaw slack.
"Did Damian Volkov just—"
"Not a word," Andrei muttered as he walked past, clutching the basket like it was contraband.
Outside, Damian leaned against his car, lighting a cigarette, staring into the distance.
The absurdity of it all hit him, but so did something else — the strange warmth in his chest. Why am I doing this? Why do I care so much?
He exhaled a cloud of smoke, shaking his head. It's nothing. She's just my plaything. Just a girl in my house.
But the moment he thought of her face, pale and tired, whispering that she was hurting, his chest tightened again.
Minutes later, Andrei returned with a bag full of items,carrying the bags out like it was the most sacred mission of their lives..
"Sir, all done. The cashier looked terrified."
"Good," Damian said, taking the bag and sliding into his car.
As he drove home, he didn't care about what anyone thought. He didn't care that his men had just witnessed their ruthless boss buying feminine products.
As he drove back, he caught his reflection in the rearview mirror and smirked bitterly.
"What the hell are you doing, Damian," he muttered to himself.
"This isn't me."