Page 54 of Fragile Twisted Vows

And he’s noticed.

And he’s rewarded me for it.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted in this life. To be recognized for my efforts or seen period. And he does. Damien watches me close and he sees me. And I shouldn’t be seeking validation like this, especially from him, but I can’t help it. I’ve been in the shadows for so long that even if my captor praises me for my good work, I brighten like the sun. I feel warmth spread all around me and it’s both confusing and addicting. I want it all of the time.

I want him all of the time.

He stands and pulls my dress down, even though it’s covered in paint. When he pulls me away from the easel, we both stare at the artwork that we’ve just created. Everything is smeared, except for the bottom, where you can see where my ass was pressed against it and where both of our hands touched it.

I look down at Damien’s hand because it smacked against the canvas during one of my orgasms. Red covers his skin. When he moves his eyes from the canvas to his own hand, he smiles that wicked smile again.

“I think this is your best work to date,” he says, and I beam at him,

He stares at me then, taking in my smile for what feels like an eternity. I want to ask what’s going through his mind, but I refrain. I just stand there in my post orgasmic glow and admire him.

“I finalized the merger with Fleur de Femme yesterday,” he says after a while and I tilt my head at him.

“How did that go?” I ask and he bites down on his lip as he smoothes a strand of hair away from my eye with his clean hand, something he does often.

“I fired the PR team and most of the staff,” he exclaims and my eyes widen in shock.

“Why did you do that?” I ask and he shrugs.

“Because they were trash at their jobs. The business has been sinking money for years,” he says and I sigh, not sure what else to say in response.

They turned me away in an instant, money be damned.

“Anyways, I need a new head for the marketing staff. That’s why I’ve agreed to the degree. I need someone to be well versed on the job when they take it,” he says and I tilt my head at him in confusion, mostly because I don’t want to believe what he is saying.

“You start next week. Make sure the classes align with your schedule when I send it to you,” he says as he straightens his shoulders and goes to leave.

Me? The head of marketing at a major fragrance retailer? This is too good to be true.

“This is a handout,” I say and he stops at the door before he turns slowly to face me.

“No, this is an opportunity, Lucille,” he says in a dark tone, narrowing his eyes at me. “So, I wouldn’t fuck it up if I were you,” he growls before he leaves with the door open, leaving me alone with his warning.

This is a test. Yet another that Damien loves to give.

I should sit here and ponder over it, maybe even lean into more of my anger and frustration, but I pay no mind to it. Instead, I grab my laptop and respond to the admissions counselor at the university and schedule my meeting for tomorrow afternoon.

As fucked as everything is, as fast as everything is moving, I have a plan. I’m going to get my life back on track. That way, when everything crashes and burns, when Damien inevitability leaves me on my ass, I’ll have a back-up plan.

And then maybe my heart won’t be so shattered when the time finally comes.

Maybe.

* * *

I arrive at my old school with Bruno leaning against the Escalade. He gives me a short nod as Andy follows me into the admissions office. He’s new apparently. Bruno mentioned Andy was transferred here from Columbia a month ago. He doesn’t speak any English which I don’t mind, because that means we never have to talk. He’s just my shadow. Simple as that. I tend to find his presence comforting as well. Safe even. Andy seems like the type to rip anyone’s head off in a millisecond, which is terrifying to most, but he’s been nothing but polite to me. He even smiles at me, which is quite the contrast to the rest of Damien’s team that I’ve only met briefly.

The meeting with the admissions counselor is short and sweet. My transcripts state that I only have a total of fifteen credit hours to complete, just under a year as I predicted. I’m almost thrilled, but a part of me hates that I won’t be going for my dream degree. I’ll only get to take a couple of art classes, most of them being graphic design. But maybe one day I can go back and get my masters.

“So, what loan servicer will be providing payment with us this semester?” the old counselor asks as she types aggressively on her keyboard, eyes trained to the computer as she speaks.

“None, I’ll be paying in full,” I say as I hand her my new AMEX.

Damien deposited fifty thousand dollars into my bank account this morning. Thirty thousand more than my monthly allowance that was stated in the contract and twenty thousand more than the cost of the actual semester, which I explained to him at breakfast this morning.

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