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I wake up in Damien Luciano’s arms.

A sentence I never thought would leave my lips. The sun is shining, gravity is making things gravitate and I’m in the arms of a man I swore I would hate for the rest of my life.

But I don’t hate him. Not even a little bit. And that’s terrifying.

Because as strongly as my feelings are for this man, if I don’t hate him, then it means I feel the opposite. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet. Last night was… indescribable. It felt like I was on a sprint or running through a tunnel and the exit only led to him.

It feels like my entire life has been like that. He’s an uneasy sleeper. His brows furrow and his face twitches. It’s like he’s fighting the same battles he fights during the day in his dreams as well or should I say, nightmares? Surprisingly, he doesn’t wake when I shift in his arms.

I slowly inch my hand towards his forehead, trying to smooth out the creases there. As soon as my finger touches his skin, his eyes fly open.

“Hey,” I say, my heart pounding.

“Mi vida,” he says, voice gruff and so freaking sexy.

I would have been sleeping here more if I knew I’d get to hear that every morning. I feel a clenching in the pit of my stomach and suddenly remember that he promised me another round and then left me in bed. Flashbacks from last night play in my head. The way he fucked me, the things he said.

For years, I replayed the night we met like a scene on loop—the way he touched me, the way he took me, like my body already belonged to him. One night. That’s all it took for him to brand himself into my skin.

I went back to that club more times than I care to admit, hoping to see him again. He called me his… and then vanished like smoke.

I spent years chasing that high—traveling, dating, pretending to move on—but nothing ever compared. My friends thought I was crazy. Maybe I was. Because no one ever made me feel the wayhedid. Not before. Not after.

I told myself he forgot about me. That a man like him—powerful, rich, devastatingly gorgeous—wouldn’t waste a second thought on some girl he’d already had.

He got what he wanted. And he left me wrecked and wanting.

But I was wrong.

Because now?

I’m his wife.

And I still can’t wrap my head around it.

After all this time, I had no idea it would be like that. that it would feel so good, even better than I remember. Everything about Damien both scares me and draws me in. Which is why I decided to stay. Because great, heart shattering sex aside, it also felt right. Being here, with him. I intentionally fell asleep beforehe came back, though, because I had no interest in seeing the smug look on his face.

Guess there’s no escaping it this morning.

“Good morning,” I say as casually as possible, sitting up to stretch my arms.

He sits up as well, running his hand through his hair. The messiness is a good look on him, not that he has any bad looks. If he does, I certainly haven’t seen it.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, staring at me in that intense way of his.

I nod, “Yeah I did. You seemed not to though. Bad dreams?”

“I don’t remember my dreams,” he murmurs. “But I slept better than I have in a while, thanks to you, sweetheart.”

“Glad I could help,” I say, raising my eyebrows nervously.

He cocks his head to the side, gaze trailing over my face before shifting down to the shirt I stole from his closet.

“You stayed,” he points out with an annoying smirk.

“Don’t get cocky,” I state, pointing a finger at him. “I just didn’t feel like walking all the way to my room last night.”

“It’s only a couple feet away,” he says dryly.