DAMIEN
Damien stood in the doorway, his broad frame blocking the light from the hall as he watched her. Amelia froze near the desk, the notebook still half-open in her hand. She didn't try to hide what she'd been doing, which surprised him. Most people, when caught rifling through his things, would start stammering apologies or excuses. But not Amelia.
Instead, she straightened her spine, clutching the notebook tightly against her chest as if it were a shield. Her gaze locked with his, and for a moment, he saw it again—that fire in her eyes, the same fire that had drawn his attention the first time they'd met.
"I asked you a question," he said, his voice calm and low. "What are you doing?"
She didn't flinch. "Looking for answers," she replied, her tone sharp. "You've kept me in the dark long enough."
Damien stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him with a quiet click. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were stalking prey. Her defiance didn't irritate him. Quite the opposite—it intrigued him. Most people in her position would cower, but she stood her ground.
The silence stretched between them as he crossed the room. He stopped just a foot away from her, his dark eyes flicking to the notebook clutched in her hands.
"You're bold," he said finally, his tone more curious than angry. "I'll give you that."
She didn't move, didn't look away. "You think keeping me in the dark is going to work forever? You forced me into this marriage, Damien. I deserve to know what you're planning."
His smirk deepened. "Deserve?" he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like a taunt. "You think this is about what you deserve?"
Amelia's jaw tightened, but she didn't back down. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped the notebook as though it were her lifeline.
"Everything you need to know," he continued, his voice low and dangerous, "is that you belong to me now. Your curiosity? Your defiance? Those are luxuries I haven't decided whether to allow you."
For a fleeting moment, something flickered across her face—fear, perhaps, though it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. She held her ground, but Damien could sense the cracks forming in her armor.
"What's in this notebook?" she demanded, her voice trembling slightly. "Why is my father's name in it? What are you planning to do to him?"
Damien's gaze darkened, and he reached out, prying the notebook from her hands with ease. She let out a small, frustrated sound but didn't resist. He held it up, flipping through the pages casually, as if the contents weren't damning.
"I don't need to explain myself to you," he said, snapping the notebook shut. "But since you're so eager to know, I'll tell you this much—your father is a man who made a mistake. I'm the one ensuring he pays for it."
Her breath hitched. "You mean we're paying for it," she said bitterly. "That's why you married me, isn't it? To punish him."
Damien tilted his head, his smirk returning. "Clever girl. But you're only half right. Punishing your father is part of it, yes. But marrying you? That's about something far more important."
Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering in her eyes.
"You're leverage, Amelia," he continued, his voice softening to a near whisper. "A pawn in a much bigger game. One that you don't even understand yet."
Her lips parted, but she said nothing. He could see the conflict raging within her—the anger, the fear, the desperate need to understand what she'd been dragged into.
"You think this is just about revenge?" he asked, his voice turning colder. "It's not. This is about power. Control. I didn't choose you because of who you are, Amelia. I chose you because of what you represent."
Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he thought she might lash out at him. But then she took a small step back, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady her breathing.
"You're a monster," she said finally, her voice quiet but laced with venom.
Damien chuckled, the sound low and humorless. "I've been called worse."
He stepped closer, his presence looming over her. She tensed, her gaze darting briefly to the door before returning to his.
"Let me give you some advice, Amelia," he said, his tone almost conversational. "If you're going to snoop, be better at it. And if you're going to call me a monster, make sure you're prepared for the consequences."
Her defiance didn't falter, though he could see the uncertainty lingering in her eyes. She was testing him, pushing his limits, but she didn't fully understand what she was dealing with. Not yet.
"Now," he said, brushing past her and placing the notebook back on his desk. "Go back to your room. I have work to do."
For a moment, she didn't move, as if debating whether to challenge him further. But eventually, she turned and walked toward the door, her steps slow and reluctant.
As the door closed behind her, Damien leaned against his desk, his fingers tracing the edge of the notebook.
Amelia was fire and fury, a storm barely contained. She thought she could fight him, outwit him, but she was wrong. He would break her, just as he'd broken everyone who dared stand in his way.
But as he stared at the closed door, a small, uninvited thought crept into his mind. Breaking her might be his greatest challenge yet—and for reasons he couldn't quite explain, the idea didn't irritate him. It excited him.