Page 58 of Deliah
“To feel wanted. And safe.”
Silence. He was right. I hated that my walls were cracking, and I could feel the emotion behind my eyes, burning. He didn’t press. Just waited. Calm. Still. Safe.
“What do you really want from me, Damion?” I asked softly.
He answered without hesitation. “I want to take care of you. In every way. The way you need—not the way you ask.”
I laughed, bitter and aching. “You think I need taking care of?”
“I think you’re tired of being the strongest person in every room. And I think you’re dying for someone to finally say, ‘You can let go. I’ve got it.’”
I looked away, blinking fast.
“Why me?” I whispered. “You barely know me.”
He reached across the table and gently took my hand. Warm. Steady. Intentional.
“Because from the second you said you were going to ruin me,” he said, “I knew you’d already ruined yourself for anyone who wasn’t ready to love the chaos.”
I looked at him—and in that moment, I saw it. All of it. Desire. Control. Devotion. I think he wanted to fuck me, maybe he did. But more than that—he wanted me. All of me. And that made me feel more alive than I had in years.
My heart was still racing, but I needed to breathe. Needed to dial it back before I combusted in the middle of a candlelit restaurant. So I shifted the tone, leaning back and cocking my head.
“So… what do you actually do for work?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “And don’t give me some vague, sexy, ‘I move money’ answer. I need details.”
His lips twitched. “You want the boring version or the real version?”
“I want the ‘are you in the mafia’ version.”
He laughed. A real one. Deep, low, and annoyingly attractive. “No, Deliah. I’m not in the mafia.”
I squinted. “Hmm. That’s exactly what someone in the mafia would say.”
“I trade currencies,” he said, still smiling. “Mostly futures, some indexes. Started when I was about nineteen. Blew a few accounts, learned the hard way, and eventually got good.”
“So… you make money by clicking buttons.”
“I mean… technically? Yes.”
I gave him a slow blink. “Wow. And here I am, grinding my way through life like a peasant.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple. You have to know what you’re doing—timing, discipline, risk. Most people lose.”
“But you don’t?”
“I did,” he said simply. “At first. But I’ve made some good investments over the years. And a few of them paid off. Well.”
I looked at him over the rim of my glass. “Well enough to rent a villa with a view of the sea and a wardrobe full of designer skincare?”
He gave a small shrug. “I like nice things. I work for them.”
I smirked. “So do strippers.”
He didn’t flinch. “Exactly.”
I set my glass down, eyes gleaming. “So if we ever got married, would I have to sign a prenup?”
He smirked again. “Are you proposing?”
