C17 Seventeen

~Bianca's POV~

Martha's hands moved gently, rhythmically, as she dabbed the cloth along my shoulder, unfazed by the bruises or the raw, trembling skin.

"From how he was when Sir Herman first brought him in," she murmured in a soft but certain voice, "I can definitely say… this is him being happy."

I froze.

What?

That shut me up completely.

How was he when Herman first brought him in?

My lips parted to ask, but Martha was already wringing the cloth out, her face smoothing into that calm, blank stillness that told me the conversation was over. A wall I couldn't push through.

So I shut my mouth. But my thoughts wouldn't follow.

Back in high school, everyone knew Damien, not because he was popular, but because he stood out. Quiet. Odd. Dirt-poor. The kind of boy who wore the same shoes all year and never looked anyone in the eye. A foster kid who eventually slipped through the cracks and onto the streets.

Then prom night came… and he disappeared.

Vanished. No trace. Like the world swallowed him whole.

Now here he was, dressed in power, dripping in wealth, feared like a god.

So what could've been so bad, so broken, that Herman—the man rumored to despise children—chose to take him in?

I had questions, dozens of them, but not a single answer.

By the time I blinked out of the spiral, we were back in my room. Martha moved with silent efficiency, helping me into a silk black nightgown. It felt like wrapping shame around bruises.

"You should rest," she said softly, brushing hair from my face. "Breakfast is served at nine. He expects you there."

I nodded, dazed.

She gave the faintest smile, almost motherly, and left without another word.

I crawled into bed, but sleep didn't come easily. My mind was loud.

Nathan. Elena. My father's murder. The red room. My own stupid desire.

Everything twisted inside me like barbed wire. But one thought managed to rise above the noise: I needed to show Dr. Emily those pills. First thing in the morning.

*****

A soft knock stirred me. I blinked groggily, my body aching everywhere. My wrists throbbed. My thighs burned. A dull soreness pulsed between my legs.

"Come in," I croaked.

The door pushed open, and the maid from last night—the one who'd led me to the red room—stepped inside. Her eyes didn't meet mine. Her hands were clasped so tightly her knuckles were white.

"Good morning, miss," she said quickly. "Master Damien sent me. It's almost past eleven. He… he's been waiting."

Shit.

I jolted upright, panic flaring. Eleven?

Damien was probably seething.

I glanced down—still in the silk nightgown. No time to change. No time for anything.

"I'm coming," I muttered, shoving off the blanket.

The maid fetched a robe draped over the chair and handed it to me without a word. I slipped it on, tied the sash tight, and followed her through the hall.

My feet were bare. The floor was cold.

Every step toward the dining room felt like walking a tightrope over fire.

And then I saw it.

The dining room.

A long, gleaming mahogany table stretched down the center, flanked by tall-backed chairs. Sunlight filtered through crystal chandeliers, bathing delicate rainbows on trays of steaming food. It looked like royalty dined here. Or executioners.

At the head of the table sat Damien.

Immaculate in a tailored charcoal suit, tie pinned perfectly, silver watch glinting against the light. His gaze lifted as I entered, and didn't waver.

The maid at my side disappeared without a word, slipping out the door and leaving me alone.

My heart pounded.

He said nothing for a moment, just took me in. Then his jaw flexed.

"Glad you could finally join me," he said, voice like ice under silk. "Though if you thought deliberately keeping me waiting was some kind of rebellious punishment for last night…"

Leaning forward slightly, he set his cutlery down with a soft clink. "You have another thing coming."

I opened my mouth—maybe to explain, maybe to apologize—but blue eyes warned me not to try.

"This is the last time you show up late to breakfast," he said. "Next time, I'll assume you're not hungry. And if you're not hungry…" A pause. "You'll wait until lunch."

I swallowed hard. "I understand."

"Good," he said simply. "Sit."

I obeyed, sliding into the chair across from him.

Another maid, silent as a shadow, filled my plate: fluffy pancakes, fresh fruit, eggs, and bacon. It all looked delicious. I could barely taste it.

Damien watched me the entire time.

Fork. Bite. Chew.

I tried not to tremble.

Finally, he spoke again, interrupting the awkward silence.

"About our agreement."

I looked up quickly.

"You did well yesterday," he said. "I'm impressed."

I stared. "You are?"

He gave a small nod. "So it's only right I fulfill my part."

Hope stirred in my chest. At last.

"You're meeting with Nathan today?"

"Yes," he said. "If you have a plan—something specific—I'm listening. Otherwise, I'll improvise."

A pit opened in my stomach. I hadn't planned that far. I just knew I needed Damien. I needed power. I needed leverage. But how?

My mind raced. Backward. Forward. Trying to see something I'd missed.

And then…

"Elena Hathaway," I blurted out.

He arched a brow. "Who?"

"The woman from the dinner yesterday," I said quickly. "Nathan's real love."

He stilled. "Ah. That one. What about her?"

"She knows," I said.

She was there—when I died. I remembered the satisfied look in her eyes just before everything went black. She knew Nathan had killed Father. I was sure of it. I saw it.

Damien watched me silently.

"And you saw her last night," I added. "She didn't even glance at Nathan during dinner. She was all over you."

I leaned in slightly.

"If you can use her… if you can get her close… she might be the one way we can get to Nathan without him ever seeing it coming."

A beat of silence stretched between us. Then Damien slowly leaned back, expression blank.

And he clapped.

Once.

Loud in the silent room and unexpected.

"Well, damn," he said. "You've been thinking."

His tone turned wry. "In as much as I think you're crazy… I did make a deal. And I don't break those."

Standing, he smoothed a hand down the front of his suit.

"But wait."

"What?"

"You do realize what you're asking me to do… don't you?"

My chest tightened. "I-I mean… yeah?"

He walked around the table: slow, precise, like a predator circling prey.

"To truly use her," he said, now beside my chair, "I'd have to fuck her."

The words punched the air out of my lungs.

"You don't have a problem with that, do you?" he asked in a low and dangerous voice.

I stared ahead, unable to speak.

Leaning closer, his mouth brushed my ear. "Would I tie her the same way? Would I make her beg? Cry? Or maybe I'd bend her over my desk," he whispered, "spank her until she sobs my name, fuck her until she forgets his."

My thighs clenched. Shame washed over me in a hot wave.

I hated it.

Hated how the words hit me.

How part of me wanted to be back on that cross.

How my body betrayed me.

Elena Hathaway. Nathan's love. The woman with all the answers.

The woman who might soon have Damien too.

I forced myself to look up at him, jaw tight.

"This is what I want," I said flatly. "Do whatever it takes."

He studied me. For a moment, he didn't move. Then he leaned down and slowly dragged his tongue along the corner of my mouth making me freeze.

"You had something there," he murmured. Straightening, he adjusted his tie. "As you wish."

And then, just like that, he walked out of the room, not before saying, "I'll be off to work now."

The front door shut loudly behind him.

Only then did I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding.

My heart was still racing. My body still aching.

And between my legs…

Still slick.

I was in deeper than I thought.