Page 69 of The CEO

“We’re home,” Damien says, his voice startlingly gentle compared to the harsh commands he’d issued earlier. The car stops at the grand entrance, and he comes around to my door.

As I step out, my legs nearly buckle beneath me. Damien’s arm is around my waist instantly, supporting me without comment.

“I need answers,” I say as we enter the mansion’s cavernous foyer. “That man tonight—who was he? Why did you?—”

“Patience,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “We need to get cleaned up first. We’re both soaked and filthy.”

I look down at myself, noticing the mud stains on my knees from when I fell in the alley, plus the smears of what might be blood on my hands, though I don’t remember touching anything bloody. My mind flashes to Damien’s white shirt, transparent from the rain and stained with crimson splatters.

“This way.” He guides me through corridors that twist and turn like a labyrinth, his hand never leaving the small of my back.

We reach his bedroom, a massive space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate grounds. Lightning flashes outside, illuminating his king-sized bed. The room is surprisingly minimal for such a grand house, containing only the essentials, all in shades of black and gray—something I hadn’t noticed the night I slept here.

“You’re shivering,” Damien notes, moving toward a door that presumably leads to a bathroom. “Let me run a shower for you.”

“I want answers,” I insist, my voice stronger than I feel. “I’m not waiting anymore.”

He turns to face me, studying me with those dark, penetrating eyes. “You’ll have them. All of them. But first, we need to take care of you.”

Before I can protest again, he approaches me slowly, like one might approach a frightened animal. His fingers find the remaining buttons of my blouse, working them open with surprising gentleness.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, though I make no move to stop him.

“Taking care of you,” he repeats, his voice low. “Let me do this, Eve.”

The tenderness in his actions seems at complete odds with the man I saw torturing someone just hours ago. His fingers brush against my skin as he slides the wet fabric from my shoulders, and I shiver again—but this time, not from the cold.

As he removes each article of my clothing, his touches are reverent, careful, and nothing like the demanding hands that had gripped me in the warehouse. When I stand before him in just my underwear, his eyes darken but his movements remain slow, controlled.

“You have bruises forming,” he notes, fingers ghosting over marks his mouth left on my collarbone, my shoulder, the curve of my breast. “I was rough with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to stop,” I remind him, my voice barely audible.

Something flashes in his eyes—hunger, possession, something deeper I can’t name. “No, you didn’t.”

He kneels to remove my wet shoes and socks, then rises to slide my underwear down my legs until I stand before him completely naked and exposed. Again, I expect him to pounce—to show the predatory hunger I glimpsed at the warehouse. Instead, he steps back, creating space between us.

“The shower is through there.” He gestures to the bathroom door. “I’ll find you something dry to wear.”

“Aren’t you coming?” The question surprises me as much as it seems to surprise him.

His expression shifts, softens. “If that’s what you want.”

“I want answers,” I remind him. “And I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He nods once. “Then yes, I’m coming.”

The bathroom is as luxurious as the rest of his home; dark marble and stark white linens make it feel like a luxury hotel I could never afford. The shower alone is bigger than my entire bathroom, with multiple shower heads positioned at different heights. Damien turns on the water with a touch to a digital panel, then begins unbuttoning his own shirt.

I watch, transfixed, as he reveals himself. His body is lean and muscled, mapped with scars that tell stories of violence survived. My eyes again catch the tattoo of my name over his heart, and a million questions come racing back, but strangely, I don’t want to ask them in this moment.

“Who was that man tonight?” I ask as Damien steps under the spray of water, extending his hand to me in invitation.

“Someone who betrayed The Shadows,” he answers, helping me under the warm cascade. “He was selling information to rival organizations, and it put our operations at risk.”

“And that’s worth torturing and killing him for?” The water streams down my face and body, washing away the remnants of earlier.

Damien reaches for a bottle of expensive-looking body wash, squeezing some into his palm. “In our world, yes.” His hands create a lather that he applies to my shoulders with careful attention. “Betrayal has consequences. Severe ones.”

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