Page 13 of Give It a Day (Song-Smith #1)

Damon

The air in the study holds a stillness that comes from years of secrets locked behind these walls. I stand by the window, overlooking the vineyard below. The golden glow of lanterns stretches across the rows of vines.

My mother’s down there, directing the staff.

Servants hustle back and forth, setting tables, arranging flowers, making everything as flawless as it must be.

The reception will be perfect. It has to be.

I don’t perform below expectations. I always surpass them, especially when it comes to such an important occasion as this reception, where wolves in sheep’s clothing will be making trades with our family, seeing that our power’s only grown now with my marital union with a Knight.

But my focus isn’t on the view below, where they’re preparing the party. It’s on what’s weighing down my mind even more—that being with Kayla isn’t a simple business arrangement. Marriage with Kayla is a high-risk, high-reward investment, and like any gamble I’ve ever taken, I intend to win.

I’ve been in my study for the past while, reviewing my stock portfolio while the reception is being prepared. The wedding was planned to take place even later than this, but I’m a man who gets what he wants .

The edge of my lips lifts. And I got what I wanted even earlier than planned, because when I have a goal in mind, I do nothing but pursue it.

It’s much like my family’s line of work. I’ve spent my life stacking the odds in my favor, making calculated moves that turn impossibilities into certainties. That’s what I do. It’s who I am.

To most people, I might appear to have a gambling addiction. When I see a roulette table, I don’t hesitate. I go with my instincts and bet it all on black. After all, when has my gut ever been wrong?

Kaye is a high-risk investment personified, and I’ve built an empire on betting it all on black. High risks yield high rewards, and she is the highest risk I’ve ever taken. The stakes are monumental. This isn’t only about money or power anymore. It’s far more personal now.

There’s a clicking across the hall outside of my study. Then, a subtle, floral fragrance drifts through the air, soft but unmistakable. It’s her . My shoulders tense instinctively, and I turn toward the door. Before I can stop myself, I cross the room and open it.

Kaye stands in the hallway. She’s a vision, her dark hair impossibly sleek, falling straight down her back.

The light pink-colored dress she wears clings to her curves, celebrating every inch of her, while the silver bracelet on her wrist catches the light.

The rose charm dangling from it sways with her as she turns to face me.

The rose reflects the pink of her dress so fittingly.

That dress was made for her. My lips curl into a smile before I realize, but I’m pleased, thoroughly .

As I eye my wife, I appreciate that she can make plainclothes pretty, but in this body-clinging dress, she is every bit as perfect as I could only imagine in my dreams. Seeing her here and knowing she’s my wife makes my chest constrict in a way I’ve never felt before.

Is this what greed over someone feels like? Possessiveness over a person?

Her lips curve into a faint smirk, amusement evident in those beautiful brown eyes of hers I could stare at all day. “Were you planning to let me in, or are you just going to stare from over there with your jaw dropped?”

“You’re outside my study,” I say, pointing out the obvious, but my voice is steady as I carry some warning to my voice, though my pulse quickens when her amused smirk turns into a shimmering smile. “What brought you here? Were you looking for something, or rather, someone ?”

“Don’t get any ideas. I was looking for a moment of peace,” she replies, lifting her chin. “It seemed quieter over here.”

Her words are casual, but her gaze is anything but. She’s already taking in my study behind me. And before I can stop her, she steps past me, into the study, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

“Kayla,” I say sharply, closing the door behind me. My voice drops, edged. “This isn’t a room you can just walk into.”

She doesn’t answer immediately, her attention drifting to the shelves lined with books and files. Her fingers trail lightly along the edge of the desk as she moves toward the window. “Nice view,” she says, her tone light. “You can see everything from here. Including everyone else’s secrets, I bet.”

My voice comes out sounding like a snarl. “Do you have any idea what’s kept in this room?”

She turns to face me, unnervingly unbothered by the edge in my tone. Her smirk returns, still faint but rousing. “Already keeping secrets from your wife, sweet husband of mine?”

While I think of all the different ways I can make her maddening mouth shut, her gaze sweeps the room again, landing on the black bar cart in the corner, carrying a couple of bottles of liquor and some glassware.

“You’ve been holding out on me.” She speaks with a teasing lilt. “Pour me a drink, dear husband. Something strong while you’re at it. It’ll make going through this reception much easier. ”

I follow her gaze, frowning sternly. “That’s decades-old whiskey from Japan, and high-end soju from Korea.” I’m not saying no, but I like hearing her barter. My implication hangs between us—my way of teasing her right back.

“Come on,” she says, stepping closer, her eyes sparkling with that mischief I’ve grown fond of so swiftly. “Don’t tell me you’re the type who hoards the good stuff and never shares. That’s practically criminal.”

I smirk slightly. It’s a fitting word, being called criminal.

I move to the cart, picking up a crystal shot glass.

“One drink. Then we’re both heading to the reception.

” When she nods, I pour soju into the glass.

The whiskey was a gift from my father’s relatives, and it takes fifty-five years for it to reach its peak.

I’m an impatient man, and the soju—a gift from my mother’s relatives—is more fitting for Kayla.

She’s strong, swift, quick, and dirty. Just how I expect my wife to be. How else could she keep up with me?

“Why, thank you, husband .” There’s that teasing lilt in her voice again, and it’s music to my ears, as much as her impassioned moans were.

I stretch my neck slightly, eyes briefly closed, imagining her under me.

By the vineyard below this study, Kayla and I are expected there to start the wedding reception soon, but my body wants to claim hers right at this moment.

When I hand her the glass, our fingers brush. The brief contact feels like a spark igniting between us. It makes my desire for her much, much worse.

She takes the shot, her gaze never leaving mine. “Smooth,” she says, her lips curving around the word. “I could get used to this.”

“You can. I’d give you anything you want, but…” I say, my voice rough, as I take the empty shot glass from her. I have to give her fair warning to put her in her place. “My study isn’t a place for you, little bird.”

She pouts. It’s rather adorable. “Here I thought I was given rein over the entire mansion. ”

“The mansion is all yours. Even the vineyard. But not my study. Not for”—I briefly pause to point at both of us—“chats like this. This is where I hoard more than liquor. There are secrets here that I use to plan, strike, and win.”

Her brow arches. “What are you trying to win right now, Damon?”

My jaw tightens, but the truth spills out before I can stop it. “You.” The word hangs in the air, heavy between us.

She doesn’t speak. The silence stretches taut, pulling tighter with every passing second.

Her lips part slightly, as if to respond, but instead, she steps closer.

Her gaze dips briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes, the moment charged and electric.

Does she know how much power she has over me?

Because I’m close to admitting much more if it means she’ll stay by my side.

“Good luck with that,” she says, and the words ignite something in me. Her defiance is as I’ve said to her before—a red flag to a bull.

She steps past me, her shoulder brushing mine. But I catch her wrist, pressing the silver bracelet she’s wearing—the family heirloom—into her skin. My vise grip could brand the bracelet into her.

“Kaye,” I say, my tone steadier than I feel. “You’ve had your drink. Let me at least get you something to eat before you decide to pass out at the reception.”

She pauses mid-step, her lips curling into that maddening smile. I want to see it for as long as possible, but just as badly, I want to see her lips parted, letting out soft whimpers. Instead, she moves her lips to speak teasingly. “Are you worried about me, Damon? That’s cute.”

I ignore the bait, moving to the mini fridge under the bar cart where I keep an assortment of inordinate snacks for long nights. Pulling out a platter of crackers, aged cheeses, and olives, I set it on my desk, along with a refreshed shot glass, knowing that’ll make her stay.

“Sit.” I nod toward the chair across from the desk. “It’s better than balancing your drink on those heels.”

“I’ve worn worse, but fine .” She lifts her shoulder, taking her time to move to the chair, her gaze sweeping over me like she’s measuring my intentions.

She sits, and for some reason, my body is less tense at the sight. Perhaps because she’s showing more signs of submission, that she’s becoming more and more compliant every moment that passes now that she’s my wife, now that she’s mine .

“Fancy,” she says, reaching for a piece of cheese. “Don’t think your cute gestures will get me to cater to your every whim, Damon.”

“Please, I insist you call me Dae. I’m your husband, aren’t I?” I smirk as I say that gratifying truth.