Damien's POV

I stepped forward, my hands reaching for her, fingers sliding beneath the fabric of her skirt, feeling the firmness of her body, the warmth of her skin. She didn't flinch, just exhaled a breath, but her back arched ever so slightly as my touch traveled higher.

"Damien..." Her voice, barely a whisper, sent a pulse through me. It was like she was calling me, pulling me closer with nothing but her words.

I gripped her hair, fingers curling into it, pulling her head back gently, exposing the delicate line of her neck. Her green eyes flickered with a mix of hesitation and something else—something darker, something I couldn't resist. She wasn't begging. No, she was challenging me, daring me to take control.

Without thinking, I lowered my lips to her neck, tasting the heat of her skin, moving with the slow burn of desire. My breath was ragged, controlled only by the iron will I kept in check. She moaned, the sound vibrating through me, igniting every nerve.

I moved my lips lower, my breath tracing the curve of her collarbone, every kiss deeper, more purposeful, as though I was marking her, staking my claim. She melted into my touch, her body softening against mine, but there was a fire building between us—something too hot to ignore.

With a sharp motion, I pulled her skirt higher, the action so sudden it made her gasp. I let my fingers trace the edge of her thigh, grazing just enough to make her shiver. Every inch of her skin seemed to beg for more, and I was more than ready to give it to her.

Her breath hitched when my hand slid further, closer to where she was aching for me. I took my time, letting the anticipation build, watching as she squirmed, wanting more but holding back, waiting for me to make the next move.

"Damien," she breathed again, her voice raw now, the word like a prayer, a plea. Her body tensed against mine, and I knew she was right there, on the edge.

I wasn't going to make her wait any longer.I slid my fingers gently inside her,feeling her walls tightened against my touch and her pulse în the same rhythm as mine.

And then, just as the tension reached its peak, the world shifted. The dream shattered, and I was jerked awake by the sound of Martin's voice, harsh and cutting through the haze of sleep.

"Damien! Are you listening?" His voice felt like an anchor pulling me back into reality.

I blinked, still disoriented, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like a fever. My skin felt too tight, the air thick with an electricity that hadn't dissipated. If anything, it was intensifying, winding tighter with every passing second.

God, what the hell has that woman done to me?

"Sorry, Martin. I must've nodded off for a bit."

"Yeah, you did. And Valentina saw you when she left Antonio's room. She told me to wake you. Good job, moron."

Fuck.

A sharp jolt ran through me, my heart rate spiking. This was bad. This wasn't just some mistake I could brush off. I needed her trust, needed to prove I was worthy of it—and sleeping on the job wasn't going to cut it.

Damn it, Damien. Why the hell did you even agree to this?

The question hovered in my mind, twisting like a knot in my gut. Ever since I stepped into her office, ever since her eyes locked on mine and she made me feel like no woman ever had, I couldn't shake the pull. She'd claimed me—completely, without hesitation. And I couldn't deny it. I fucking adored it.

But this situation was not only about me. Kayden's reliance on me was paramount; he needed my full focus  The task at hand was clear, and the stakes had never been higher. Any lapse in my attention or composure could cost me everything. If Valentina sensed any weakness, any sign that I was distracted or off balance, the consequences would be swift and fatal. She was not a woman who hesitated. She would not think twice before eliminating the threat.

I walked briskly through the hallways, my pulse hammering in my ears. As I passed a mirror, I barely spared a glance, smoothing my hair and tugging at my wrinkled shirt. No time to fix the mess—I just had to move.

The moment I stepped outside, I spotted the black car idling at the entrance. The passengers were already inside. Shit.

With my head bowed in shame, I hurried toward it, my stomach twisting.

Through the tinted window, I caught sight of the man in the passenger seat—tall, broad, his tanned skin marked by old scars and inked warnings. His fingers scrolled lazily over his phone, his posture radiating indifference, like I didn't exist.

Antonio. It had to be him.

I swallowed hard and slipped inside, keeping my shoulders squared despite the weight of my mistake pressing down on me.

"Good morning, boss," I said carefully, turning toward the backseat. "I'm terribly sorry for keeping you waiting."

Valentina barely acknowledged me. She didn't glance up from the document in her lap, her fingers flipping the pages with cool precision. The sleek leather jacket hugged her frame, the deep purple corset beneath it molding to her curves in a way that was downright sinful.

She didn't answer.

She's pissed.

Finally, she spoke, her voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade.

"I have a meeting at—" she flicked her gaze up, her eyes briefly meeting mine before she checked her watch, "—La Rouge Élite. And, oh look, we should be there in five minutes. How delightful. I simply adore being late."

She snapped the file shut and leaned back, her gaze flickering to me, sharp and unamused.

"Drive, Damien. And try to stay awake this time, will you?"

Heat crawled up my neck, my grip tightening around the steering wheel as I swallowed the sting of humiliation. Without another word, I put the car in motion, eyes fixed on the road, forcing my breathing to even out.

Silence settled, thick and suffocating, but it didn't last.

"You know," Valentina's voice sliced through the quiet, smooth yet laced with ice. "I counted."

I didn't dare look in the rearview mirror.

"I could have been killed by the new doorman at the estate. By Antonio." She turned another page, the rustling of papers filling the space between her words. "And let's not even mention the other... interested parties who might have wanted to test their luck."

Her bracelet jingled as she shifted, the soft metallic chime eerily calm.

"At least three people," she continued, voice steady, almost amused. "Three people who could have slit my throat while my so-called bodyguard was asleep on a couch outside Antonio's room."

A thick, pulsing silence followed.

I clenched my jaw, my fingers pressing white against the wheel.

"I'm not paying you to sleep, Damien." Another turn of the page. "I'm paying you to keep me alive. So do it properly, or else—"

Antonio moved before she could finish, his hand landing gently—but firmly—on her knee. The sudden shift in energy was palpable.

"Val," he said, his tone light but laced with something deeper, something edged. "How about we stick to the motto one bodyguard a month? He's only been here a week. Might be a little early to put a bullet in his head, don't you think?"

Then, Antonio turned to me, exhaling through his nose, shaking his head like a disappointed older brother.

"But seriously, man. Get your shit together. A lot of people want her dead. That's not a joke."

The words sat heavy in my chest, pressing down like the cold barrel of a gun. I gave a curt nod, jaw tight, hands steady on the wheel. It wouldn't happen again.

"We're here," she said, voice flat, uninterested.

I exhaled, pushing open my door, stepping out first. My eyes swept the street—checking corners, scanning faces, every instinct tuned for danger. Nothing stood out.

Satisfied, I moved to her side, opening the door with a practiced motion. She slid out smoothly, her presence commanding even in the simplest movement.

Behind us, Antonio sighed dramatically.

"Of course. No one opens the door for poor Antonio."

I smirked, not taking my eyes off the surroundings. "You're not the one paying me, Mr. Rivera."

Valentina barely spared me a glance before swatting my arm, a silent reprimand.

"Focus, goddamn it."

We stepped into the restaurant, the silence so thick it felt like we were walking through an empty cavern. Not a single soul in sight. My eyes scanned the dim hallway, every shadow a potential threat. I led the way, my instincts kicking in. Valentina followed closely behind, the click of her heels sharp against the cold, hard floor.

I reached the door at the end of the hall first, my hand brushing the cold, sleek surface of the passcode panel. I punched in the code, feeling the weight of every moment. As the door swung open, Valentina's polished fingers grazed the button on the device. Her voice, cool and steady, whispered through the small opening. "Belladonna."

The door clicked open, revealing a room bathed in soft, amber light. At the round table sat four men, the air thick with tension. Two of them were older, their faces marked by age, the wrinkles telling tales of decades spent under the unforgiving sun. A third man stood, his body like a coiled spring, muscular and ready for action. The gun at his waistband was a subtle reminder of his purpose—this one was the bodyguard. His posture was loose but alert, eyes constantly flicking around the room, always scanning for danger.

I stepped forward first, feeling the weight of the situation settle on my shoulders. Valentina moved behind me, her presence almost a whisper in the back of my mind, a reminder that I was the one who needed to protect her.

Valentina's entrance was effortless. She approached the older men with practiced grace, her smile warm, her voice polite but distant. She hugged one of them, the greeting perfunctory, before making her way to the last man at the table.

He stood to meet her, tall and striking, his blonde hair shining under the soft lights. His icy-blue eyes didn't leave Valentina as she embraced him, and he kissed her cheek—his touch lingering just a little too long, his fingers squeezing her waist with a possessiveness I didn't like.

I stayed in the background, my eyes constantly moving, searching for any flicker of movement, any sign of trouble. Valentina turned, her gaze meeting mine with an unspoken command. She gestured for me to sit next to her.

I hesitated for a second before speaking, my voice low, "I think it's better if I stay here behind you." My fingers flexed at my sides, ready for anything.

Antonio, who had slipped in after us, threw himself down next to Valentina, completely at ease, slinging his arm casually over the back of her chair. His grin was wide, unbothered by the undercurrent of danger hanging in the air.

The room was thick with tension, like a storm waiting to break. Every breath felt heavy, like the air itself was thick with something I couldn't name. I stood at the edge, a silent sentinel, my instincts on high alert. Valentina moved with a fluid grace, commanding the space despite the four men seated at the table. Older, experienced, yet it was her presence that held the room in place, like she was the only force that mattered.

The blonde man leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on her. The older men shifted in their seats, casting furtive glances, like they were waiting for something to happen, but none of them dared speak first. Their eyes flickered to me, sizing me up. They weren't concerned with me. They were watching her.

Finally, one of the older men broke the silence. His voice was smooth, like he'd been rehearsing this moment in his head "Valentina, we've discussed this matter at length." His gaze shifted to his son, Marcus, the blonde man. "We think it's time to solidify the bond between our families. Marcus is... of good age now. A fine man, strong. He could be a valuable ally. We would be honored if you would consider a marriage between our families, a union that could ensure our future."

I watched Valentina closely, waiting for her reaction. But there was no flinch, no immediate response. She just stared, her expression impassive. Her lips curled slightly, but it was a smile more dangerous than any frown. I knew that look—like she was savoring the moment, measuring her words.

She leaned forward just a fraction, the leather of her jacket creaking slightly with the movement. "A marriage, huh?" Her voice was smooth, almost too calm, like she was mocking them without even trying. "You think this is the solution to your little problems? That tying me to your son will give you more power, more control?" Her eyes flickered briefly to Marcus, who was still staring at her with that unsettling hunger. "I didn't come here to play your little family game. And I'm not in the business of securing some weak alliance through marriage."

Her words cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. The room went still. It wasn't just the shock of her response—it was the way she delivered it. Unflinching. Unyielding. The older man's eyes narrowed, his anger flickering beneath the surface, but he stayed silent. For now.

Valentina stood, the scraping of her chair loud in the stillness, and she walked toward the door. The tension in the room thickened—no one moved, no one breathed. Her heels clicked on the floor, each step sending a pulse of electricity through the room.

"Mr.McKenzie,I came here for business," she said, her voice unwavering, "not to be married off like some prize to bolster your family's ego. If that's all you've got to offer, then I'll take my business elsewhere."

She turned sharply, her back to them, her words hanging in the air like a challenge. 

But then, something changed.

A subtle shift. A flicker of movement. The blonde man's eyes were no longer just hungry—they were calculating, cold. The older men exchanged a brief, nearly imperceptible glance, their faces suddenly tight with an emotion I couldn't place, but it felt off—dangerous.

My senses were on high alert now. My fingers twitched involuntarily, my hand drifting toward the gun at my side. I didn't move—couldn't—because I knew something was wrong. I felt it.

I could see it in the way one of the older men's hands shifted slightly under the table, just enough to catch the faint glint of metal. And then—almost imperceptibly—the other men followed suit. 

My hand shot to the gun holstered under my arm, my heart slamming against my chest. Every muscle in my body tensed, ready to spring into action.

And then, like a slow-motion sequence, the air in the room seemed to freeze. The tension reached its peak—everything was too quiet, too still. I could hear the faintest click, a cold sound that echoed in my mind.

In an instant, the men's hands came out from beneath the table—guns gleaming in the low light.

Valentina didn't flinch. She didn't even blink. But I saw the change in her, a subtle shift in posture, like she'd anticipated this. She was ready.

But I wasn't.