Sleep. That was the plan. That was all I wanted. But apparently, Damian Rossi had made it his goddamn mission to ensure I never knew peace again.
Because the man was snoring.
Not soft, innocent little exhales. Oh no. He was going full demolition site—gravelly, drawn out, like an engine struggling to start.
At first, I ignored it. I buried my head under the pillow. I tried humming lullabies to myself. Hell, I even tried pretending I was dead. But then he shifted, smirk tugging on his lips even in sleep, and I realized—this wasn't an accident.
The bastard was doing it on purpose.
I threw the pillow aside and sat up. "Damian!"
Nothing.
"Damian, I swear to God, if you don't shut the hell up—"
That got him. His lashes flickered open, and sure enough, that devilish spark lit up his eyes. He wasn't groggy. He wasn't dazed. He was wide awake, watching me lose my sanity with the smugness of a man who knew he had me cornered.
"What?" he drawled, voice thick with fake sleep. "I'm resting."
"Resting?" I snapped. "You sound like a tractor choking on nails."
His lips curved, slow and deliberate. "Maybe I like keeping you awake. You're cute when you're pissed."
I wanted to punch him. No—stab him. "Cute? Oh, I'm about to commit homicide."
Before I could rant further, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. Quick. Sharp. Infuriatingly soft.
My breath caught. "What the fuck are you—"
Another kiss. Longer this time. His hand slid to my jaw, pinning me in place, the smug bastard.
"I can silence you," he murmured, voice low enough to curl through me. "You're loud when you're awake. Might as well quiet you now."
I gawked at him. "You're insane. Absolutely, certifiably insane."
His smirk deepened. I could practically see the thought flashing through his mind: Yes. And I love how much it rattles you.
"Maybe," he admitted, brushing his lips against my cheek, deliberately slow, deliberately maddening. "But admit it, Selene—you like this little game."
I scoffed, pushing at his chest. "Like it? I'd rather throw myself out the damn window."
He chuckled, that low, rumbling sound that always felt like he knew something I didn't. "Funny. You're still here."
"I'm here because you basically kidnapped me, Rossi," I hissed. "Not because I'm enjoying your bullshit."
He leaned back slightly, studying me, that predator look in his eyes, like he was cataloging every flicker of my expression. "Mmh. Keep telling yourself that."
God, I hated him. And I hated even more that part of me wanted to laugh. Wanted to kiss him back.
"You're impossible," I muttered, yanking the covers over my head. "I'm terrifying, and you should be scared of me."
He pressed a kiss against the blanket where my head hid beneath. "Terrifying, huh? Sure. You're the scariest thing in this house."
I groaned. "I hate you."
"And you'll forgive me," he said simply, stretching out beside me, his warmth brushing my side. "By morning, you always do."
"Morning can choke," I muttered.
His chuckle was the last sound before he went back to his fake snoring. Louder. Purposefully louder.
And God help me—this time, I almost laughed.
------------------------------------------------------
I don't know what time it was. Midnight? Three a.m.? The kind of hour when the house sinks into a silence so thick it feels like the walls are holding their breath.
I had almost dozed off despite his ridiculous "snore symphony" when I heard it.
A sound. Low. Guttural. Nothing like his earlier, smug antics.
Damian.
He shifted beside me, thrashing once, twice. A bead of sweat glistened on his temple even in the dark. His breathing turned sharp, jagged, like he was being hunted.
"No… not her—don't—" His voice cracked, raw, broken in a way I hadn't heard before. Not the Damian Rossi I knew. This was something else. Someone else.
My first instinct was sarcasm. Great. The mafia heir is also a sleep-talker. Perfect.But then I saw his hands clutching the sheets, knuckles white, as if he were choking on something only he could see.
He was… afraid.
And if Damian Rossi was afraid, it had to be bad.
I reached out before my brain could talk me out of it. My fingers brushed his arm, light, tentative. "Damian?"
He jolted like I'd shot him, eyes flying open. But they weren't here. They were somewhere else—bloodshot, frantic, glassy. His chest heaved, breath shallow, broken.
For a moment, I thought he'd snap at me. Push me away. Pretend it hadn't happened. That's what men like him did, right? But instead—
He moved forward. Straight into me.
One second I was sitting up, the next, Damian had buried his face into my chest, arms wrapping around me with a desperation that stole my breath. Not the controlled predator. Not the cold mafia prince. Just… a man falling apart.
I froze. Every nerve screamed what the hell is happening? But then I felt it—the tremor in his shoulders, the damp heat of his breath against my skin.
He was shaking.
"Oh, shit," I whispered, my voice softer than I meant it to be. My arms moved, almost on instinct, threading through his dark hair, stroking slowly like he was some wounded animal. Because that's what he was right now. A wounded animal pretending to be a wolf.
He muttered something I couldn't fully catch. A name? A plea? It was all jumbled with pain.
"Shh," I murmured, rocking him lightly even though my chest tightened in panic. "It's okay. You're fine. No one's here. Just me."
His grip on me tightened like I was his lifeline, the only thing holding him from drowning in whatever hell his mind had dragged him back to.
For once, I didn't crack a joke. Didn't curse. Didn't fight him off.
I just… let him be.
And slowly, his breathing steadied. His face stayed pressed against me, hot, damp, heavy. His heart, once hammering like a gunfight, began to slow against my ribs.
I stared at the ceiling, wide awake, my hand still tangled in his hair. "Goddamn it, Damian," I whispered, though not with anger. More with… something else. Something softer. "You're making me care, and that's dangerous."
Eventually, his body grew heavy, his breath evening out again—this time into real sleep, not the nightmare kind.
Me? I didn't sleep at all. I just lay there, listening to the mafia heir breathe against me, wondering what kind of ghosts haunted him enough to break him like this.
And wondering why the hell I wanted to fight those ghosts for him.