Page 44 of Sticks & Serpents

Each second stretched on as I remained frozen in front of his name. It felt safer not to act—to stay in this limbo rather than risk confronting the truth: part of me craved his chaos even when logic screamed for distance.

As if sensing my hesitation from across the invisible divide between us, I could almost hear his voice echoing in my mind—low and taunting. “You know you want me.”

My breath quickened again at the memory of how he’d looked at me when we kissed—the way everything around us had faded until there was only Damien and me caught in our own world.

My hands shook as I typed out a message, each word feeling heavier than the last.

This can’t happen again. Whatever this is. It’s over.

I hit send and dropped the phone onto my bed, almost expecting it to combust from the weight of my emotions. My heart raced, and an unsettling quiet filled the room, wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket.

And then? I waited.

The seconds ticked by painfully slow, each one stretching into an eternity as I stared at the screen, willing it to remain dark.

But it buzzed barely a minute later.

I already knew it was him before I even looked.

You keep saying that, little lamb.

Let’s see if you can say it when I’m in front of you again.

My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out everything else. The words ignited a mix of anger and fear that roared to life within me, churning in my stomach like a storm threatening to break loose. He always had a way of weaving through my defenses with ease, playing with my emotions like they were marionette strings dangling from his fingertips.

In less than forty-eight hours, I would be standing in his house where everything began and where so much had ended in pain and heartbreak. The thought sent another shiver down my spine; every part of me felt on edge at the idea of being trapped in his world again.

What would happen when we were alone? Would he smile that wicked grin that made my heart race for all the wrong reasons? Would he push me against a wall again and whisper those intoxicating words into my ear?

My breath quickened as visions of our past danced across my mind—the laughter shared beneath starry skies and heated kisses that turned desperate. A part of me craved those moments while another part screamed for distance and safety.

I tossed the phone aside as if it burned me, but deep down, I knew I’d pick it up again.

I always did.

The storm inside me roared louder than ever as I prepared for what was coming—knowing full well Damien wouldn’t let me escape so easily this time, not when he had me exactly where he wanted me.

Chapter14

Damien

Iwalked into the Sinclaire estate, expecting the familiar silence that hung like a fog in the air. My father rarely summoned me home unless it was for some PR bullshit or family photo ops he believed would help maintain our pristine image.

The dining hall sprawled before me, an expanse of polished mahogany and ornate chandeliers that flickered with an artificial warmth. The long table was set meticulously, every place setting perfect—silver gleaming under the soft glow of candlelight. My mother had likely spent hours preparing something extravagant, as she always did for these dinners. She thought the effort would earn her some semblance of a happy family, but it never did.

I took my seat at the table, eyes scanning the place settings and lingering on the empty chair across from me. Cooper wasn’t expected to be here tonight; he had better things to do than engage in our charade of familial bliss. A tightness coiled in my chest as I fought back resentment. Why did he get to live his life free of this suffocating obligation while I was trapped in this gilded cage?

But today? I didn’t have time for this nonsense.

Dinner started with idle chatter about the latest gossip in town, which felt painfully hollow. My father led the conversation with his usual bravado, but I tuned him out, focusing instead on how many ways I could escape this dinner before my mother cornered me with questions about my future or—God forbid—my love life.

Just as I picked at my food, pretending to be interested, my father casually dropped a bombshell over dinner.

“The planning committee dinner is this Saturday,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly as if gauging my reaction. “You’ll be there.”

The fork paused mid-air. The words settled like lead in my stomach.

I barely heard the rest of my father’s words.

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