Chapter 4: The Signature

Damian did not let go of me for a long time.

His arms stayed wrapped around my body, his face buried in my hair. The phone with Victoria's messages lay face down on the nightstand. The photograph of me leaving my apartment burned in my memory.

Someone had been watching me before any of this started. Before the contract. Before the diner. Before Damian Black ever walked through that door.

I asked who would do that.

Damian said he did not know. But he would find out.

His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came before violence.

He pulled back. Looked at me. His thumb traced my lower lip.

He said he needed to make some calls. I should go back to my room. Rest. The gala was in eight hours.

I did not want to leave. But I nodded. I found my robe on the floor, pulled it on, walked to the door.

Damian stopped me. His hand on my wrist. He turned me around. Kissed me again. Soft this time. Almost gentle.

He said thank you.

I asked for what.

He said for last night. For not running away when you should have.

I did not know what to say. So I left.

I did not go to my room.

Instead, I stood in the hallway, my back against the wall, my body still aching from his. Between my legs was sore. My lips were swollen. My skin smelled like him.

The photograph kept flashing in my mind. Someone had been outside my apartment. Watching me. Following me. And I never knew.

I should have been terrified. I was. But something else burned underneath the fear. Anger. I was tired of being a victim. Tired of things happening to me. My father leaving. My mother getting sick. The debt. The eviction. Now this.

Someone wanted to hurt me.

I decided I would not make it easy for them.

I found the kitchen. Poured myself a glass of water. Leaned against the counter. The penthouse was silent. Too silent. Every shadow looked like a person. Every sound made me jump.

I heard Damian's voice from down the hall. Low. Angry. He was on the phone. I could not make out the words, but I heard the tone. He was scared. Not of Victoria. For me.

That should have made me feel safe. Instead, it made me feel trapped. I was in too deep. The contract was supposed to be simple. Three days. One million dollars. Walk away.

Now I had slept with him. Now someone was stalking me. Now I was in the middle of something I did not understand.

My phone buzzed. Sophie.

Are you alive? You disappeared with a hot billionaire and now you are ghosting me?

I almost laughed. Almost. I typed back: Busy. Explain later.

Her reply came immediately: Busy doing WHAT exactly?

I put the phone down. I could not explain. I did not understand it myself.

Damian found me in the kitchen an hour later.

He was dressed now. Black pants. A grey shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was damp. He looked like he had showered. I wondered if he thought about me in there. I wondered if he touched himself.

He said he had made some calls.

I asked what he found.

He said someone in his company had access to his private files. Someone with a grudge. Someone who wanted to see him fail.

I asked who.

He said he had two suspects. Both would be at the gala tonight.

He walked toward me. Stopped in front of me. His hand came up. His fingers brushed my cheek.

He said I looked scared.

I said I was.

He said he would not let anything happen to me.

I wanted to believe him. But I had heard those words before. From my father. From people who promised things and then disappeared.

I asked what happened after the gala. After the weekend was over. After Victoria was humiliated and I got my money.

Damian's hand dropped. His jaw tightened.

He said he had not thought that far ahead.

I said maybe he should.

He stepped closer. His body pressed against mine. His hands gripped my hips. He backed me against the counter.

He said what if he did not want it to end after the weekend.

My heart stopped.

I asked what he meant.

He meant, he said, that last night changed things. That waking up next to me changed things. That the thought of me walking away with a check and never seeing him again made him feel something he had not felt in a long time.

I asked what.

He said fear.

Then he kissed me.

Not soft. Not gentle. Desperate. His hands slid under my robe. Found my bare skin. He lifted me onto the counter. The marble was cold against my thighs. His body was hot.

He pulled back just long enough to speak.

He said he wanted me again.

I said yes.

He pushed the robe off my shoulders. It fell around my waist. His mouth found my breast. His tongue circled my nipple. I gasped. My hands fisted in his hair.

He said he could not get enough of me.

I said then do not stop.

He did not stop.

His hands pushed my legs apart. He stood between them. His fingers found me. Wet. Ready. He groaned.

He said I was already wet for him.

I said I had been wet since I woke up.

He undid his pants. Freed himself. He was hard. Thick. I reached down and guided him to me.

He pushed inside in one stroke.

I cried out. The counter dug into my back. His hands gripped my hips. He moved fast. Hard. Nothing like last night. Last night was slow. Intimate. This was desperate. Urgent. Like he was trying to prove something. To me. To himself.

He said I was his.

I said yes.

He said no one else would ever touch me.

I said I did not want anyone else.

He came with a groan, buried deep inside me, his forehead pressed to mine. I came right after, my body clenching around him, my nails digging into his shoulders.

We stayed like that for a moment. Both breathing hard. Both shaking.

Then he pulled back. Looked at me.

He said he was sorry.

I asked for what.

He said for losing control. For dragging me into this. For not being able to stop wanting me.

I said I did not want him to stop.

He kissed my forehead. Lifted me off the counter. Helped me back into my robe.

He said we needed to get ready. The stylist would be here in two hours.

I nodded. My legs were still shaking.

The next two hours were a blur.

A team of people arrived. A stylist. A makeup artist. A hairdresser. They swarmed around me like bees, touching my face, my hair, my body. I stood in the middle of the living room, trying not to think about what Damian and I had done on the kitchen counter an hour earlier.

He watched from the couch. His eyes followed every stroke of the makeup brush. Every pin the hairdresser placed. Every inch of skin the stylist exposed.

The stylist held up a dress. Red. Silk. Thin straps. A neckline that plunged between my breasts.

She said this was the one.

Damian stood up. Walked toward me. His eyes were on the dress. On the neckline. On the space where the silk would end and my skin would begin.

He said yes. That one.

I took the dress and went to the bathroom to change.

The dress fit like it was made for me.

I stared at my reflection. The woman looking back was not me. Red silk clung to every curve. The neckline dipped between my breasts, revealing skin I usually kept hidden. The straps were thin as whispers. The hem stopped mid thigh.

I looked expensive. Desirable. Like someone a billionaire would put on his arm.

I walked out of the bathroom.

Damian was standing right outside. Waiting. His back was against the wall. He pushed off when the door opened. Took one step toward me. Stopped.

His eyes traveled down my body. Slow. Deliberate. He started at my face. Moved to my neck. Paused at the neckline. Dropped lower. Lower. All the way to my bare legs. Then back up again.

He said I looked like a different person.

I asked if that was a good thing.

He stepped closer. His hand came up. His fingers traced the strap of the dress. From my shoulder to the edge of the neckline.

He said it was dangerous.

I asked why.

Because, he said, every man at the gala is going to look at you. And I am going to want to kill every single one of them.

My breath caught.

Then his phone rang.

He ignored it at first. But it rang again. And again. He pulled it from his pocket. His face changed as he read the screen.

He said Victoria had just arrived at the Plaza. Early. She was requesting a private meeting with him. Before the gala. Before everyone else.

I asked what she wanted.

He said he did not know. But he had to go.

I asked if I was coming.

He shook his head. He said it was too dangerous. Victoria would try to provoke him. Try to get information. He needed me to stay here. Stay safe.

I opened my mouth to argue.

He kissed me. Hard. Quick.

He said trust me.

Then he was gone.

The door closed behind him.

I stood alone in the penthouse, wearing a red dress and a stranger's mark on my skin, waiting for a man who had just walked into a trap.

My phone buzzed.

A text message. From a number I did not recognize.

He cannot protect you. No one can. See you tonight, fake fiancée.

I dropped the phone.

The clock said six thirty.

The gala started at eight.

And somewhere out there, Victoria was waiting.