Page 19 of Claimed By the Damned

Because she needs it.

BecauseIneed it.

And because one day, those marks will be gone.

Erased. Replaced by marks ofourchoosing – signs of pleasure, not reminders of fear.

I stand up slowly, smoothing my hands over her waist before stepping back to give her space. She exhales, reaching for the top she’d been trying to put on. I turn, giving her privacy as she finishes dressing, but the image of those bruises burns into my mind, fueling the protective fire in my chest.

When she finally steps out of the dressing room, she glances at me, then down at the clothes draped over her arm. It’s a bigger pile than the toiletries, a few pairs of jeans, some soft-looking tops, a few other essentials. She approaches the counter, her movements slow, hesitant. I see her hand drift toward her jacket pocket, toward that worn envelope, and then pause.

Her gaze flicks between the clothes piled on the counter and her pocket. A troubled line appears between her brows. I can almost see the mental calculation, the amount she has left versus the cost of these clothes. That small stash wouldn't cover this; not even close. She starts subtly sorting the items on the counter, her fingers brushing over a sweater as if deciding what has to go back.

My chest tightens. Seeing her forced to choose, to sacrifice basic needs because of money after everything she's been through... No. Absolutely not.

Before the cashier can even start ringing things up, before Lila has to make that decision, I step smoothly beside her, pulling out my card.

Lila looks up sharply, eyes wide, ready to protest. Her mouth opens, that defiant spark I saw earlier back in her eyes.

I lean in slightly, keeping my voice low, just for her. "Angel," I murmur, offering a small, almost apologetic smile. "Look, I know you want to handle things yourself, and I respect that. I do." I gesture subtly around us, then meet her gaze directly. "But... we're okay. More than okay." I let out a quiet, almostsoundless whistle. "Like, stupidly okay. Millionaire-level okay. It's... what we do."

Her eyes search mine, confusion warring with stubborn pride.

"We take care of our own," I continue softly but firmly, holding her gaze. "Right now, that includes you. You don't need to worry about this stuff. Let me handle it. Please? Just let me take care of you."

The fight seems to drain out of her, replaced by a weary sort of surprise. Maybe the quiet sincerity gets through, or maybe she's just too exhausted to argue. She studies my face for another long moment, then her shoulders slump almost imperceptibly. She swallows, the protest dying on her lips, and gives a tiny, jerky nod, her gaze dropping to the counter.

I give the cashier a confirming nod and hand over the card.

Lila looks up at me, surprise still warring with that familiar guardedness in her eyes. The brief flash of defiance is gone, replaced by wariness. She gives that tiny, jerky nod again, her gaze dropping back to the counter as if finally, tentatively, acknowledging that maybe, just this once, she can let someone else carry the burden.

I stay close while the transaction finishes, my attention shifting between her and the entrance, instincts on high alert. Once the clothes are bagged, I take the bag from the counter before she can. "Ready?" I ask softly.

The tension in her shoulders hasn’t eased, but she nods, managing a small, slightly strained smile as she gestures vaguely down the street. "Just... need one more stop."

We walk out, the bags rustling softly. Despite her attempt at a smile, the weight of the earlier moments, the bruise reveal, the money situation, still hangs between us. She's walking stiffly again, eyes downcast.

"Okay," I say, trying to inject some normalcy back into things. "Where to?"

She points hesitantly towards a small boutique storefront a few doors down, the delicate window display showcasing lace and silk. "There."

An underwear store. Right.

Trying to lighten the mood, I grin. "Ah, getting the essentials. Good call. Though," I add, leaning in conspiratorially as we approach the door, "can't say I didn't enjoy the preview earlier."

Her head snaps up, eyes wide for a second before narrowing. She elbows me lightly in the ribs, though there's no real force behind it. "Shut up, Ethan."

"Hey, just appreciating the view," I chuckle, holding the door open for her. "Seriously though, if you need a second opinion on anything... happy to help. You know, purely from an aesthetic standpoint." I wink.

This time, she actually rolls her eyes dramatically, but a small, genuine laugh escapes her lips. The sound is light, unexpected, and it hits me right in the chest. Mission accomplished.

"You're impossible," she mutters, but the tension in her shoulders has eased fractionally as she disappears amongst the racks of delicate things.

I wait near the entrance, doing my best not to look like a total creep lurking in a lingerie store, keeping an eye on the street outside. I watch her browse hesitantly, picking up a few items. When she heads towards the checkout counter, I see her hand automatically reach for that damn envelope again.

Nope. Not happening.

I quickly intercept her before she gets there, pulling my credit card from my wallet.

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