C23 Twenty three

~Damien's POV~

I'm pissed.

Not just irritated. Not mildly annoyed.

Fucking livid.

She's getting too comfortable. Wading into territory that doesn't belong to her. Prodding old scars like she has the right. Poking around in rooms that were locked for a reason.

Bianca's never known how to leave things alone.

Even now—after I've drawn the lines, after I've dragged her across them and shown her what happens when she crosses me—she still doesn't learn.

Still keeps prying.

And what's fucking worse is that I walked away yesterday before I did something I couldn't take back. Locked myself in the office. Buried myself in numbers and paper and hollow distractions.

But it hadn't been enough.

I came home hoping for peace.

Instead, I walked into the kitchen and overheard Bianca pushing Martha, digging for answers with that soft, manipulative voice, acting like she's not slicing me open.

And now I'm boiling. It's in my blood. Beneath my skin. Coiled and lethal.

There's only one way I know to burn it off.

Remind her who she belongs to.

Remind her how far the drop is when she stops playing by the rules.

That thought was the only thing driving me as I caught her wrist, still tucked close to her chest, slipped the spoon from her fingers, dropped it onto the counter, and took her hand in a firm grip that made her stumble.

She sucked in a sharp breath but didn't resist.

"Come," I said.

I kept walking, never once turning around because there was no need.

I could sense her just behind me, tight with tension, bracing for whatever was coming.

Martha, now standing near the entrance, watched us pass in silence, but her eyes said plenty. The subtle lift of her brow, the faint twitch in her jaw… she knew exactly what this was.

She'd seen this version of me before.

The one I didn't show in daylight.

By the time we reached the living room, I let her go.

She stayed by the doorway, hovering.

The room felt colder: cavernous and full of antique elegance. Gilt frames. Deep navy drapes. A piano no one touched. Every detail meant to impress.

Or intimidate.

I sat in the old armchair, the one that always creaked under pressure.

Walking in slowly with no makeup, just jeans and a cotton top… still tempting like sin, her hands fidgeted, eyes narrowed, trying to read me, sensing something was coming… just not what.

Good.

Arms once again folded, she eyed me warily. "What is this?"

I cocked my head. "Let's play a game."

Her brows pulled together. "A game?"

"Yes," I said. "Hide and seek."

She stared at me. "You're joking."

My expression didn't change. "You get a five-minute head start. You can hide anywhere in the house."

She folded her arms more tightly. "And if I win?"

"That orgasm I denied you," I said. "This time, I won't stop."

Shifting her stance, her throat bobbed with a swallow. "And if I lose?"

I rose to my feet. One slow step. Then another. Until I was right in front of her. Close enough to catch the sweet scent on her breath.

"Then I punish you. For prying."

Her lips parted slightly. "This is insane."

"Probably."

We stared at each other.

And just when I thought she might back out… she gave me a small nod. "Fine. I'm in."

A hint of a smirk tugged at my mouth. "Good girl."

I glanced at my watch. "Five minutes. Use them wisely."

She lingered for a heartbeat, then bolted, and as she vanished down the hallway, the mask slipped… and something deep inside me stirred to life.

Old feeling. Familiar hunger.

I'd played this game before.

Not with her.

And never for pleasure.

I was seventeen the first time… new to this house, simmering with rage.

One night, I brought a woman back from a bar. She asked for rough. I needed control.

Told her to hide.

She thought I was joking, then she ran.

The house fell still. I gave her ten minutes.

Then I started the hunt.

I didn't remember her name.

But I remembered the sound she made when I found her, tucked behind the wine cabinet, breathing like a caged thing.

I remember the belt.

And the silence that followed inside me, the stillness I'd been chasing.

That night didn't break me.

It shaped me.

There was no red room yet, but the seed was planted.

And now it was Bianca's turn to meet that version of me. Up close.

Five minutes. No more, no less. I rose, slowly.

I always found what was mine.

The hallway stretched ahead like a promise waiting to be claimed.

She was clever.

She'd make it a challenge.

Even better.

Because when I found her—and I would—the game would be over.

And the real punishment would begin.

I turned the first corner, and my grin turned cruel.

"Run, little Bianca."