When the car started moving, I sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window while he drove in silence. He hadn't said a word since we got in, and the atmosphere felt heavy. The car itself looked ridiculously expensive, and curiosity got the best of me.
"Hey, how much did this cost? I mean, the car—it looks so expensive and cool, I can't stop looking around."
His answer wasn't what I expected. "Are you counting my money now? Well, if you must know, it cost… enough to buy a new house. Counting all the modifications I've made to it."
My eyes widened, my mouth slightly open. That was an insane amount of money. At that point, I hadn't realized just how much wealth surrounded him—it was beyond my imagination. I turned my head to look at him, studying his expression.
"That sounds like a lot to me..." I mumbled.
I wanted to learn more about the person I was now living with, but I didn't know how to start the conversation. That was the problem—I didn't know what kind of person he truly was. It was unsettling, yet intriguing. The way he didn't constantly talk about himself fascinated me.
The loud roar of the engine speeding up snapped me out of my thoughts. We had left the woods and entered the highway. I looked around at the cars—different brands, different colors—but one caught my attention the most. A police car.
The thought of asking for help crossed my mind, but just as quickly, it disappeared. I knew Damien had power. He could probably just bribe the officer with money and words, and they'd let him go. It wasn't worth it. So, I didn't even attempt to move or escape. I was exactly where he wanted me to be. Damien must have noticed my lingering gaze on the police car because I caught the slight smirk on his lips. He had also noticed the moment I let the thought go and resigned myself to my seat.
He continued driving.
Eventually, we arrived in the city. It was still morning, and people filled the streets—some rushing to work, others heading to school, a few enjoying their time in cafés. So many lives, so many different stories.
Damien drove straight to the center of the city and parked in front of a store. He put the car in park and stepped out. I opened my door and saw him waiting for me. Without hesitation, he took my hand, guiding me out.
"Come," he said, still holding my hand as we walked toward the store.
"Was that really necessary?" I mumbled, feeling my cheeks heat up slightly.
"I can do whatever I want with you, and you know it, so just accept it." His voice was smooth, unwavering.
I fell silent. He was right. He had power over me, and I couldn't do anything about it.
"Isn't this abuse?" I questioned myself.
But the answer came just as fast. "Even if it is, what can I do about it? Fight him? He's stronger. Call the police? He has influence. Run away? He'll find me anywhere. Even if I die, I doubt I'd escape him. But… What is all of this for? How long has he known me?"
All these questions spun in my head as we entered an elite clothing store. The shop was filled with designer bags, elegant dresses, and sharp suits. As soon as Damien stepped inside, an assistant rushed over, a bright smile plastered on her face.
"They probably know him already..." I thought.
She was a tall, pretty woman dressed in a black skirt and white blouse, a pen and measuring tape in hand.
"What can I get for you today, sir?" she asked politely.
"Not for me," Damien replied smoothly. "For my… girlfriend."
My eyes widened in shock. I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could, he placed a firm hand on my shoulder and whispered into my ear, "Just go with it. They'll do a better job if they think you're my girlfriend."
The assistant led us to the women's section and began pulling options for me. I glanced at Damien, feeling completely lost.
"Hey, Damien…" I whispered, leaning toward him. "I have no idea what suits me. I don't understand fashion at all… help."
He chuckled at my words, then carefully selected a few outfits that complemented my color palette. He handed them to me, and I examined them—they were gorgeous. I loved all of them. But there was one problem.
"You want me to choose from these?" I asked nervously.
He raised an eyebrow. "Who said you need to choose? We can get them all if you want. One outfit isn't enough—you need at least five. You're not going to wear just one thing for the rest of your life. Pick what you like, and let's move on. This is just the first store."
Eventually, I picked the ones I liked best, and he bought them all. I felt… happy. For the first time in my life, someone had bought me something without expecting anything in return.
"Can't wait to wear all of this… Thanks, Damien," I said, smiling. "But I guess I deserve it—I've worked hard. And honestly? I'm starting to think your company isn't that bad."
We spent the day going from store to store, and by the time we got home, I was exhausted. I barely made it up the stairs before collapsing onto my bed. I didn't even bother closing my bedroom door—I just grabbed a pillow, hugging it like it was the most important thing in my life.
I fell asleep instantly.
The next morning, I woke up—again—to the sound of those damn birds.
"Agh! I hate you already! I've only been here for a few weeks, and I'm already annoyed!" I groaned.
Before I could finish my irritated rant, I felt someone watching me. I turned my head and, sure enough, Damien was standing in the doorway, staring at me like he'd just seen a ghost.
"That wasn't directed at you," I muttered, covering my face with my hand.
"Then who was it for?" he asked, amused.
"The birds! They keep waking me up every morning! It's like they never stop screeching! Do you have that problem too? Or is it just me?"
He chuckled. "Nope, I sleep just fine. Which is weird, considering the night we met in the kitchen… Maybe they just like the tree outside your window. Or maybe you're Snow White, and they just want to talk to you."
I rolled my eyes as he added, "Come downstairs. The chef is out today, so we're on our own. What do you want me to make for you?"
I hesitated, realizing that despite spending weeks together, I barely knew Damien. And yet, I trusted him so much, speaking to him like I had known him my entire life.
"Three eggs, some bacon, a bit of salad, and something to drink," I finally said, getting out of bed.
He remained in the doorway, watching me. Something in his face shifted—concern?
"Are you okay? How do you feel? Does anything hurt?" he asked suddenly.
I froze. "Uh… yeah, I'm fine. Why?"
He tilted his head slightly, smirking. "Look down."
A sense of dread crept up my spine as I followed his gaze.
My stomach dropped.
Blood.
"Shit—"
Before I could even finish the word, I heard his voice echo from down the hall.
"One more bad word, and I'll help you change your clothes myself!"