Page 44 of Deliah

I turned to her. “It’s fine. Go wait in the car. I want to hear what he has to say.”

Her eyes darted between us. “Deliah—”

“I’ll be five minutes,” I said more firmly.

She hesitated, jaw set, then gave Charlie a look like she’d happily strangle him with her handbag strap and stormed out.

I turned back. “Right. Go on then. What the fuck are you trying to say?”

He leaned back against the lockers like he had all the time in the world. “I’m just warning you, Deliah. I know what he does to women.”

I clenched my fists. My pulse thudded in my ears. “How the fuck would you know that?”

“Because I saw what he did to Layla.”

My head jerked back. “Who the fuck is Layla?”

His face darkened. “Some girl he got his claws into. Got in her head. Made her fall for him—properly fall. Then tossed her out like trash when he got bored.”

I stared at him, heart hammering, breath caught somewhere in my throat. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. Close enough to smell the whisky on his breath.

“You’re just another one of his fucking whores he’s going to ruin.”

That was when the staffroom door burst open. The air cracked with it. Damion stood in the doorway, tall and lethal, eyes burning.

“What the fuck did you just say to her?”

Charlie turned, smug like he’d been waiting for this. “I said she’s just another one of your fucking whores.”

It was instant. Damion launched. Fist first. The sound of knuckles against bone rang out like a gunshot.

Charlie’s head snapped back, blood blooming from his nose as he stumbled—but then he came swinging.

Fists. Elbows. Bodies slamming into lockers.

Bottles clattered to the floor, chairs toppled, one of them knocking over a coat rack with a deafening crash.

“Stop it!” I screamed, shoving forward, trying to wedge myself between them. “Damion—stop!”

They didn’t hear me. Didn’t see me. They were too far gone.

Charlie swung wild. Damion ducked low, then slammed him back against the lockers.

Metal dented. Skin split. Shouting erupted from the hallway.

Then, in the tumult, Charlie shoved me. I tripped—backwards—towards the table.

My head hit the corner. The sound wasn’t even loud.

Just a sickening little crack. And then came the pain.

Hot. White. Blinding. I dropped to the floor like my strings had been cut.

My fingers scrambled to my scalp, slick and wet and warm.

When I looked down, they were red. Blood.

So much blood. Everything tilted sideways.

“Deliah!”

Damion’s voice was far away at first, muffled like it was underwater. Then it sharpened. Closer. Panicked. He dropped to his knees beside me, pale as death. His hands hovered above me like he didn’t know where to touch. “Baby—fuck—baby, are you okay? Talk to me!”

I couldn’t. My throat was thick with copper and shock. My body wouldn’t move. He gathered me up like I was weightless and kicked open the staffroom doors. Cherry was standing right there.

She screamed. “What the fuck happened?! She’s bleeding!” she cried, eyes wild, running after us. “What did you do?!”

“I didn’t fucking do anything!” Damion shouted, voice cracking with rage. “We have to go—now.”

He cradled me in the back seat like something breakable. I barely registered the slam of the door or Cherry clambering in beside me, whispering my name like a prayer.

Damion was gone and back in seconds, pressing a cold cloth to my scalp, swearing under his breath, trying to keep pressure where it poured.

The car roared to life. Tyres screeched.

Their voices blurred, melting into shouts and static.

I couldn’t tell if they were yelling at each other or at themselves or at the sky.

All I knew was the blood on my hands, the spinning lights of Marbella, and the black pulling me under like a tide I couldn’t fight. And then—nothing.

I woke up to bright lights and a pounding in the back of my skull.

Everything felt hazy—thick, like I was underwater.

Damion was hunched over me, holding a blood-soaked cloth against my head, his hand trembling slightly.

On the other side of the bed, Cherry sat stiffly in the visitor’s chair, eyes red, mascara smudged like she’d been crying. They both looked terrified.

“What’s happening?” I croaked, my throat dry like I’d swallowed sand.

“You passed out, baby,” Damion said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “They’re coming to stitch you up now, alright? You’re okay. You’re safe.”

My vision swam again. “What… happened?”

“Shhh.” His voice was low, soothing. “Don’t worry about that now. Just rest. I’ve got you.”

The doctor came in a few minutes later. Young, efficient, barely looked me in the eye.

They cleaned the wound, numbed me, and began stitching as Damion sat beside me, hand gripped tight in mine.

I flinched with every tug of the needle, but I didn’t make a sound.

I just stared at the ceiling, trying to piece everything together like a dream that kept slipping through my fingers.

The fight. The blood. Charlie’s voice calling me a whore.

Damion throwing punches like a man possessed. And then nothing.

I drifted in and out of sleep for the next hour. I could hear the murmur of Cherry and Damion talking quietly beside me. At one point, I felt Cherry squeeze my hand and whisper, “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Get some rest.” I think I nodded. Or maybe I imagined it. Tommy came to collect her.

And then it was just me and Damion. He carried me to the car and strapped me into the passenger seat so gently it made my chest ache.

The drive was silent, the kind of silence that says everything without needing words.

When we got home, he carried me into the house, straight through the darkened villa, and into the bedroom.

He laid me down like a fragile little baby.

Tucked the duvet around me. Sat on the edge of the bed, brushing his thumb over my temple like he didn’t want to stop touching me—even for a second.

“I’m here,” he whispered again. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me.