Page 18

Chapter 18

Damien

I barely stepped inside the Sinclaire estate when her voice cut through the silence like glass shattering.

“Damien.”

I turned, bracing myself for the encounter. My mother sat in the dimly lit parlor, a glass of red wine cradled in her delicate hand. The light caught the contours of her face, highlighting a coldness that never failed to unsettle me.

Her expression was calculated, as if she were weighing my worth against the standard she had set long ago. “You’ve been reckless.”

I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms, defiance bubbling just beneath my skin. “And you’ve been watching me.”

She let out a small sigh, disappointment flickering across her features. “You know how much is at stake, Damien. This isn’t just about you.”

“Then maybe I should stop being a pawn in your little games.”

Her lips curled into a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You think you’re in control? That you can act without consequence? You’re playing with fire.”

“Funny coming from you,” I shot back, frustration surging within me. I hated how she always had a way of twisting things, making me feel like I was still that helpless boy trying to earn approval.

“Do not dismiss this lightly,” she warned, lowering her voice slightly. The shift in tone sent a shiver down my spine—a reminder of who held the real power in this house.

I didn’t slow down as I headed for the stairs, my mind racing with thoughts I refused to acknowledge. The last thing I wanted was to entertain whatever game she had in mind tonight.

But her voice, smooth and cold like ice, sliced through the air. “That girl—Holly.”

My steps faltered for just a second, a momentary slip that I hated myself for. But she caught it, her smile widening like she’d just landed a blow.

“Still clinging to her, are you?”

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms as I forced myself to keep walking. No way was I letting her get to me—not tonight. I could feel the heat rising within me, a familiar anger igniting at the mere mention of Holly’s name. It was always there, simmering beneath the surface.

I reached the bottom of the staircase and paused only briefly before turning back to face her. “What do you want from me?” My voice came out low and dangerous, though deep down I felt that familiar knot tightening in my stomach.

She stood there, poised and confident as ever, wine glass still in hand like a trophy of victory. “You know exactly what this is about,” she said softly, her tone dripping with false concern. “Your father’s name carries weight here—your actions affect us all.”

“Is that what you’re worried about? Your precious reputation?” I shot back, irritation bubbling over. The facade of control she tried so hard to maintain grated on me.

“Don’t be foolish,” she replied, her voice losing its warmth. “Holly is not just some distraction for you to indulge in. She’s a liability.”

I turned away again, heart racing as my thoughts spiraled back to Holly—the way she looked at me with those fierce hazel eyes that both ignited desire and drove me mad with frustration. She was everything this family despised: wild and free-spirited.

But then she stood, moving toward me with that perfect, predatory grace that always sent a chill down my spine.

“You know she’s not good for you, don’t you?” Her voice dripped with condescension. “She makes you weak.”

I turned sharply, anger igniting in my chest like a match struck against a wall. “Say her name again, and I’ll make you regret it.”

My mother halted in front of me, too close, invading my space with that air of superiority she carried like armor. A perfectly manicured hand rose slowly, fingers skimming the side of my jaw.

I stiffened at the contact; the revulsion was instant. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to step back, to escape the suffocating familiarity of her touch. It was as if the warmth she offered was laced with poison, and I refused to let her slip under my skin again.

“Damien,” she said softly, almost sweetly. “You need to understand what this could cost us. You can’t afford to let someone like her distract you.”

I felt my pulse quicken as I fought against the urge to shove her away. She didn’t get it—could never understand what Holly meant to me. She was wild and untamed in ways I found intoxicating, not a weakness to be exploited or discarded.

“She’s not a distraction,” I bit out through clenched teeth. “She’s everything.”

A smirk played on her lips as if she reveled in our back-and-forth game of wills. “Everything? Or just your latest obsession? Surely you don't love her more than your own mother?"

The question hung between us like a noose tightening around my throat. I wanted to retort, to show her how little she knew about me and Holly, but I found myself at an impasse. My mother always had a way of pushing all my buttons—flaunting my vulnerabilities while pretending to care.

“I won’t let you use her against me,” I declared firmly, willing myself not to show any weakness as her fingers lingered longer than necessary.

“Oh sweet boy,” she murmured softly, tilting her head slightly as if studying me beneath a microscope. “You’re already too far gone.”

I felt the familiar tightening in my chest, the way her presence twisted my insides like a vise. Memories of childhood rushed back, memories I tried to bury deep beneath layers of anger and chaos. Her love always came with strings attached, a suffocating embrace that made my skin crawl.

She tilted her head, her eyes glinting with a knowingness that unsettled me. “So tense, Damien.”

I ground my teeth, willing myself to stay calm. It wasn’t easy; she had this way of prying open old wounds, digging into places I’d rather keep hidden.

“You were always such a good boy,” she continued, the words sliding off her tongue like honey but tasting bitter in my mouth. The mockery hung in the air between us, thick and oppressive.

My vision tunneled as I fought against the onslaught of memories: her cold touch tracing down my back when I had tried to follow orders, each brush of her fingers reminding me of how far I’d fallen from that innocent boy who sought approval at any cost.

Breathing sharpened, each inhale becoming more difficult than the last. I couldn’t be here—couldn’t stand another second under this roof filled with ghosts that echoed through every corner. The walls seemed to close in around me as if they too were complicit in this twisted game.

“Damien?” Her voice cut through the haze like a knife.

I swallowed hard, battling against the urge to scream. To run. The weight of her gaze pressed down on me like lead, anchoring me to a past I despised yet couldn’t escape.

“Just... stop.” The words came out low and gravelly, barely above a whisper.

She smiled then—a small, infuriating smile that felt like ice running through my veins. It was a reminder that no matter how hard I fought to break free from her grasp, she always found a way back into my head.

I couldn’t be in this house—not with her watching every move I made like a hawk sizing up its prey. Every step felt calculated; every interaction weighed against some unseen scale where love equated to control and affection morphed into manipulation.

I took a step back instinctively, needing distance from her predatory stare—the all-too-familiar feeling creeping up on me again.

I felt her hand brush against my arm, the familiar chill creeping up my spine. I wasn’t about to let her touch me again.

Before she could make contact, I caught her wrist, gripping it hard—too hard. A flash of surprise crossed her face, but it faded quickly, replaced by that infuriating smirk. She thrived on the chaos between us, always pushing buttons and testing limits.

“Damien,” she said, her voice low and taunting. The challenge in her eyes stirred something primal within me—a flicker of anger mixed with a twisted sense of satisfaction that I could still rattle her cage.

But I couldn’t afford to play this game anymore. I shoved her hand away like it was a live wire, my heart racing as I stormed past her. The urge to lash out was overwhelming; every part of me screamed to unleash the chaos bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Don't touch me,” I snapped, not looking back as I made my way down the hall. I could feel the weight of her gaze drilling into my back—her silent disbelief mixed with curiosity about what made me tick.

But it was too late for me to unravel now. If I didn’t get out of there, if I stayed even a moment longer in that suffocating atmosphere filled with memories and expectations, I’d end up doing something worse than just shoving her away.

I shoved open the front door and stepped outside into the cool evening air, drawing in deep breaths as if trying to clear the fog in my head. But no amount of fresh air could cleanse the heat swirling inside me—the rage mixed with a desperation that made me feel alive and utterly consumed at once.

The rain fell in sheets as I stepped out of the Sinclaire estate, the cold drops soaking through my clothes within seconds. Each drop felt like a cleansing of sorts, washing away the suffocating expectations my mother always draped over me.

Washing away her touch.

I climbed into my car, slamming the door shut against the storm. The engine roared to life, but my mind was a blur—no direction, no destination in mind. Just a need to escape. I hit the gas and let the tires grip the slick pavement as I tore away from that house, away from her voice still echoing in my ears.

The rain battered against my windshield like an army of fists, obscuring everything beyond the glass. I focused on nothing but the road ahead, letting my instincts guide me. The city blurred by in a haze of neon lights and wet asphalt until suddenly, through the chaos of falling water and darkness, there it was—the rink appeared like a ghost rising from the depths of my memory.

Pandora’s Box.

The familiar outline brought a rush of adrenaline through me; it called out like an old friend who understood every piece of me. I pulled into the lot and parked with a screeching halt, water splashing up around me as I stepped out again, this time heading straight for the entrance.

The chill from outside couldn’t compete with what awaited inside—cold air and ice that promised relief from everything pressing down on me. As soon as I crossed through those doors, everything shifted; all thoughts of Holly and my mother faded into white noise.

I needed to move. Needed to feel something else other than this simmering rage and confusion swirling within me. The world outside fell silent as I laced up my skates with hurried fingers. Each tug of the laces was a promise to myself—tonight would be different.

I pushed off hard from the edge of the rink and glided onto the ice, carving through it with ferocity. The cold air stung my lungs as I picked up speed, lost in the rhythm of skating until nothing else mattered but each turn and stride—until all that remained was me and this unforgiving surface beneath my feet.

But tonight? It wasn’t enough. It never was.

I skated harder, sweat mixing with rain on my skin as I fought against the urge to let frustration take over. Every movement felt like an attempt to outrun something lurking in the shadows, but it always caught up with me, no matter how fast I went. My mind flickered back to Holly—her eyes, her fire—and I swore under my breath.

Then, movement near the exit caught my eye.

Holly.

She stepped into view, pulling up the hood of her jacket against the rain drenching everything outside. My heart stumbled at the sight of her, as if it recognized a part of itself that had been missing. She looked so small against the backdrop of pouring rain and dim light, yet there was an undeniable strength in her stance.

Something inside me settled and cracked all at once.

She’s here.

The sight of her stirred a whirlwind of emotions—rage and desire tangled together in a way that left me breathless. I wanted to shout at her for putting herself in danger; for stepping back into my world after everything that had happened. But another part yearned for her to stay—needed her to understand what I would do to keep her safe.

My skates glided to a halt as she paused at the entrance, hesitating for just a moment before stepping further inside. She didn’t see me yet; she seemed lost in thought, shoulders hunched against the elements as she took in the rink’s emptiness.

I leaned on my stick, unable to tear my gaze away from her. Every instinct screamed at me to approach—to bridge this distance between us—but fear held me back. What if she turned away? What if she saw through my carefully constructed facade and uncovered all the jagged pieces beneath?

But standing there like a statue only intensified the tension coiling around us both.

Before I could think, before the swirling chaos in my head could ground me, I was already moving. My feet propelled me toward her, driven by something primal that demanded I close the distance.

I stepped off the ice, yanked off my skates, dropped my stick…

I needed to get to her.

I needed to see her.

Holly stepped outside, the rain drenching her almost instantly. She startled when she caught sight of me approaching, eyes widening in disbelief as if she hadn’t expected to see me here. The cold water poured down from my hair and clung to my shirt, but all I could focus on was her.

She stood there—wild hair cascading around her shoulders like a storm cloud, drenched and shimmering under the dim lights of the rink. Her hazel eyes glimmered with confusion and something deeper, something that mirrored the turmoil raging within me. It felt like an electric current pulsed between us, sparking recognition of all we had shared.

I stepped in front of her, blocking her path. The way she looked up at me made my heart race—a mixture of anger and vulnerability swirling together as she took a step back, instinctively trying to distance herself from whatever it was that hung heavy between us. But there was nowhere to go; the rain drummed against the pavement around us like an urgent heartbeat.

“Damien,” she breathed out my name like it was both a question and an accusation. The way it rolled off her tongue ignited something in me—a flicker of hope tangled with frustration.

“Why are you here?” I demanded, my voice gruff as I tried to suppress the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. It wasn’t just about wanting to protect her; it was about needing to understand what drew her back into this chaos we shared.

“I… had to drop off something” she stammered, glancing away for a moment as if grappling with what to say next. The water continued to pour down around us, soaking our clothes through completely while time hung suspended between us.

But all I could see was Holly—her delicate features framed by raindrops glistening like diamonds on her skin. She looked so beautiful and fragile beneath the weight of it all, yet there was fire in her gaze that both terrified and thrilled me.

I fought against the urge to reach out—to pull her closer—and instead stood firm, heart pounding as if daring fate to intervene.

“Damien, what are you doing here?” Holly’s voice came out quiet, wary.

I exhaled sharply, tilting my head slightly as I tried to gauge her reaction. “Skating.”

She scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “In a storm?”

My eyes dragged over her, taking in the way she shivered against the downpour. The rain plastered her hair to her face, and for a moment, I felt the familiar tug of protectiveness rise within me.

“You’re out in it too, little lamb,” I shot back, unable to hide the edge in my voice.

She frowned at me, pulling her jacket tighter around herself as if it could shield her from everything I represented—everything we were tangled up in together. But deep down, she couldn’t protect herself from this. Not from me. Not from us.

I moved closer, narrowing the distance between us even further.

“Why did you come back?” I asked, letting my curiosity seep through the frustration. My tone softened just enough to show her I wasn’t just looking to lash out; there was a genuine desire for understanding buried within me.

“I told you,” she replied defensively, eyes darting away like she could hide from the truth if she turned long enough. “I dropped off something for the planning committee.”

The words stung like ice against my skin, reminding me of how easily she slipped back into that world—a world where I didn’t exist outside of some dark shadow lurking behind closed doors.

“It’s pouring,” I pointed out again because it was hard to believe she’d willingly put herself through this.

Her jaw tightened as if my concern irritated her rather than warming her heart. “Maybe I like the rain.”

I stepped closer, letting the tension thicken between us. The rain dripped down my forehead, mixing with the anger boiling inside me. I lowered my voice; the words dripping with urgency. “Why didn’t you react?”

Her brows furrowed, confusion flashing across her face. “What?”

I could see the way she fought against the urge to back away, but she held her ground. My fingers itched to touch her, to break through the barrier she put up like a shield. But I couldn’t let that stop me.

“The hands, Holly. The fucking gift I left you. You should have run. You should be terrified.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, and I noticed how her hands shook—just slightly—but enough for me to feel the weight of it. But, she didn’t step back; she stood her ground.

“What do you want me to say?” she asked, defiance creeping into her tone despite the fear simmering just beneath the surface.

My breathing slowed as I focused on her. I needed to know what was going through her mind, why she was still here instead of running from me or calling for help.

“I want to know why you’re still here.”

A long beat of silence stretched between us as we stood in the rain-soaked night. I could feel every heartbeat echoing in my ears while my chest tightened with anticipation.

Finally, she whispered, “I don’t know.”

That’s all it took—those three little words ignited something deep within me. They unraveled whatever threads of control I’d managed to weave together since I’d first laid eyes on her again.

I moved before I could think, my instincts taking over. My fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her into me with a force that surprised us both. Her breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, I expected her to push away. But she didn’t.

“Tell me to stop, Holly,” I murmured, my voice ragged as I brushed my lips against her temple. The warmth of her skin ignited something deep within me—a primal need that demanded release.

She didn’t answer.

My grip tightened, desperation clawing at my insides as I held onto the only anchor I had left in this chaotic storm of emotions. She always pulled me back from the edge; she still could if she wanted to.

With that thought spinning in my mind like a wildfire, I kissed her—hard, desperate, brutal. It was a collision of everything we were and everything we’d tried to forget. Our lips crashed together with an intensity that left no room for doubt or hesitation.

And to my astonishment, she kissed me back.

It was raw and hungry—like she was drowning too and I was the only thing keeping her afloat. The world outside faded into nothingness as our connection surged like electricity between us, drawing us closer even as it threatened to consume us whole.

I felt the rain drench us both as our bodies pressed together—each drop mingling with the heat radiating from our skin. Every part of me screamed for more, to lose myself in this moment where nothing else mattered but Holly and the way she made me feel alive again.

Her hands found their way into my hair, tugging gently as if trying to pull me deeper into this whirlpool we created together. A moan escaped from her lips, igniting every nerve ending in my body until all rational thought slipped away entirely.

The rain drummed down around us, a relentless curtain that blurred the world beyond our cocoon. Each drop hit my skin like an electric pulse, but neither of us pulled away. I could feel her warmth seeping into me, mingling with the chaos that raged inside.

This was what we did. This was what we were—two broken pieces colliding in a storm of desire and desperation. It felt so familiar, yet so dangerously thrilling. I pressed my body against hers, feeling her breath hitch as if the mere contact ignited a spark between us.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer as if she was afraid I might disappear into the tempest. I gripped her waist tighter, claiming her as my own under the onslaught of rain and memories. This was our dance—the push and pull of passion and pain.

If she didn’t run after this moment, if she didn’t pull away from me now…

I knew it in my gut—she never would. There was a wildness in her eyes that mirrored my own chaos, a fierce fire igniting between us like an unstoppable force.

Her lips parted against mine again, each kiss becoming more desperate, more hungry as if we were both drowning and needed to breathe through each other’s air.

It wasn’t just about the past anymore; it was about here and now. And with every kiss, every touch that sent shivers coursing through me, I realized how badly I needed this—how badly I needed her.

Holly wasn’t just another girl; she never had been. She was my tether to something real in a world filled with lies and masks.

I pulled back for just a moment to catch my breath and gauge her reaction. The rain cascaded down her face like tears—beautiful and raw.

And then it hit me: whatever happened next wouldn’t matter—not if she stayed with me right here, right now.