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Memories crashed over me—the way his hands had gripped my hips, the heat of his breath against my neck as he pulled me closer. How could something so wrong feel so right? Each recollection twisted my insides, leaving me tangled in confusion.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the flood of sensations that came rushing back. The kisses we shared weren’t just physical; they were charged with years of unresolved tension and longing. I hated how easily he slipped back into my life, igniting feelings I thought I’d buried deep.

I wanted to scream at myself for letting him in again, for being drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The way he could shift from anger to desire in an instant made it impossible to breathe sometimes.

As I lay there, trapped between desire and despair, I grappled with the truth—I wasn’t sure if I could ever truly escape him. My heart clenched at the thought; how could I reconcile these feelings? This mess was everything I had tried to avoid since he walked away two years ago.

But now? Now he was back—more dangerous than ever—and somehow… it felt like home.

I forced myself to sit up; the sheets slipping away as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The chill of the floor made me shiver, grounding me in the reality that I couldn’t escape. Last night had happened, but I refused to dwell on it any longer.

I padded to the bathroom. The mirror reflected a girl with wild hair and eyes still glazed with sleep—nothing like the confident woman I wanted to be.

I turned on the shower, letting the steam fill the small space while I stripped down, each piece of clothing falling to the floor like my resolve. As the hot water cascaded over me, I let it wash away everything: my guilt, my anger, and most importantly, him. I scrubbed my skin as if it could erase his touch, but no matter how hard I tried, memories lingered like stubborn shadows.

After what felt like hours, I stepped out and wrapped a towel around myself. My reflection was clearer now—red cheeks and a determined glint in my hazel eyes. I could pretend last night hadn’t happened; it was just another mistake in a long line of them.

I dressed quickly in a comfortable pair of jeans and a loose boyfriend tee that felt more like armor than clothing. Each layer covered me from head to toe—physically shielding me from thoughts of Damien. With every button fastened and strand of hair tamed into place, I pieced together an image that would hold up against whatever came next.

I caught sight of my phone on the nightstand, but I ignored it as if it were on fire. If Damien wanted to play games, he’d have to find someone else willing to join him.

I stepped out of my room with a newfound determination buzzing through me. No more slipping back into old patterns; today would be different. Today, I would take control and show everyone—including myself—that last night meant nothing.

I hesitated at the top of the stairs, listening to the faint sound of my father’s voice drifting up from the kitchen. It was sharp, clipped, like he was already in work mode even though it was still early. The smell of coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the tension that hung heavy in my chest.

Something had shifted since last night. I could feel it gnawing at me. Did he find out? Did he know about me and Damien? My stomach twisted at the thought. I didn’t want to imagine how that conversation would play out—my father’s disappointment slicing through me like a knife.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself and descended the stairs slowly, every creak of the wood beneath my feet echoing my apprehension. As I entered the kitchen, I found him standing there in his usual suit—impeccably tailored, as always—looking more like a man ready for a board meeting than a father having breakfast with his daughter.

He barely glanced at me when I walked in, his attention focused on something just out of sight on the counter.

“Something was delivered for you this morning,” he said without preamble.

I frowned, my heart quickening. “What do you mean?” My voice came out softer than I intended, laced with confusion.

He turned slightly but didn’t meet my eyes. “A package. It’s on the table.” His tone remained cool and detached, as if discussing something mundane like last night’s game scores rather than what felt like a potential bombshell.

I moved to where he gestured, glancing at the small black box that sat innocuously on the table. Anxiety coiled tighter in my gut as I approached it. My mind raced with possibilities—what could it be? The questions piled up as I picked up the box and examined it closely.

No label. No return address. Just my name, written in perfect script that made my heart race.

Holly Walker.

A cold chill ran down my spine as I stared at it, a familiar tension tightening around my chest.Damien?The thought darted through my mind uninvited, sending a shiver through me. I glanced up at my father, who still had his back turned, oblivious to the turmoil swirling inside me.

I reached for the box cautiously, half-expecting it to explode or reveal some dark secret when I opened it. My fingers brushed against the smooth surface as if it were a live wire ready to spark at any moment.

My father’s gaze pierced through me, impatience radiating off him like heat from a fire. “Take it upstairs. I don’t have time for whatever it is.”

His tone felt dismissive, like I was a nuisance interrupting his busy day. I nodded, gripping the box tightly as if it were my lifeline, and walked away. Each step up the stairs felt heavy, my pulse quickening with every creak of the wood beneath my feet.

It’s fine. It’s probably fine.

I repeated the mantra to myself like a protective spell against the unknown lurking within that box. As I entered my room, I placed it on my desk and took a deep breath. The morning light streamed through the window, illuminating the dark surface and casting strange shadows that seemed to dance around me.

With shaking hands, I slowly lifted the lid. Inside was another box—smaller, shiny black—like one of those Russian nesting dolls I used to play with as a child. My throat tightened as curiosity warred with anxiety.

I swallowed hard, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the cool surface of this new mystery. It felt wrong to open it—to peel back another layer when so much uncertainty already surrounded me—but I couldn’t resist.