"Tears are words the mouth can't say nor can the heart bear."
JOSHUA WISENBAKER
Damian
Sitting in the back of my Rolls-Royce, I adjusted my cufflinks with practiced ease.
In a few minutes, I'd have to face a room full of people... all smiles and small talk... and people exhaust me to my bones.
I leaned back into the leather seat, closing my eyes for just a moment.
Lately, I'd been feeling like I'd aged a thousand years in just a handful of days.
"Sir, we're here," my driver said, pulling me out of the fog of my thoughts.
I opened my eyes slowly. The car had stopped in front of one of the city's finest five-star hotels. Outside, a crowd of paparazzi buzzed like flies, cameras raised, ready to feed.
Tonight, the guest list was a glittering roll call of the elite... ministers, dukes, royals. The kind of night that reeked of power and appearances.
I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and pushed open the door.
Flashes erupted instantly, blinding me for a second as the shutters snapped in a rapid, hungry chorus.
I offered them my signature smirk and walked inside.
The ballroom shimmered with wealth.
Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like frozen rain, orchestral music floated in the air like a well-rehearsed lie, and the scent of expensive cologne and politics hung thick in the room.
I stood beside my father and brother, dressed in a tux that fit too well and felt too tight. We were here because my father... Roman Demir... was officially announcing his re-election campaign for president. That meant the whole Demir dynasty had to be present.
Even the reluctant heir.
Even me.
I listened as my father spoke to the French crown prince, nodding, laughing at the right cues, offering the kind of charm that didn't reach my eyes. My brother handled most of the talking. He liked this world... thrived in it. He was made for stages and strategy.
I wasn't.
And then...
I felt it before I saw her.
That shift in the room.
Like someone had opened a window and let magic in.
I turned slightly... almost on instinct... and there she was.
She hadn't changed.
Or maybe she had, in all the ways that hurt.
She stood a few feet away, her back was to me... smooth, bare, framed by a backless silk gown that fit like temptation itself.
The same back I had kissed a thousand times in the dark.
The one that used to press into my chest in the quiet hours of the night.
For a moment, everything around me faded... the voices, the cameras, the clinking glasses.
All I could see was her.
God, she still moved like music.
Her presence had always done that to me... pulled me out of my head, out of my numbness. Like gravity realigned itself when she entered a room.
And for one stupid, fleeting second, I let myself believe nothing had changed.
Until she lifted her hand to take a glass from the tray of a passing waiter... and I saw it.
The ring.
Big. Bold. Loud.
Not mine.
It caught the light like it was proud to sit on her hand.
And just like that, the spell broke.
I remembered.
She wasn't mine anymore.
She belonged to someone else now.
Someone with a title.
Someone who wasn't me.
I swallowed hard, forcing my jaw to stay relaxed, my smile to remain frozen in place.
It was muscle memory at this point... pretending.
But inside, something cracked. Something small and sharp and familiar.
She turned slightly, laughing at something someone said. That soft, tinkling laugh I used to know so well.
And that's when I saw him.
Her fiancé.
Rage surged through me like lava.
His arm wrapped around her waist like she belonged to him.
That smug, polished prick.
If he weren't the second prince of Norway, I would've knocked the arrogance off his royal face without hesitation.
I looked away, fighting the sudden, ridiculous urge to punch a wall...or fate, or anyone who dared to smile.
The flute of champagne in my hand suddenly felt like a weight I didn't want to carry.
So I set it down, gently but deliberately, and excused myself from the conversation.
Because I knew if I stayed a second longer, I'd do something I couldn't take back.
Something I'd regret for the rest of my life so I left the ballroom without looking back.
Being rich has its perks...and its curses.
I headed straight for the elevator, My room was on the 37th floor. And right now, it felt like the farthest place from her in the entire building.
As the elevator doors were about to close, a very familiar feminine voice rang out.
"Wait."
My hand shot out, stopping the gate from shutting.
And there she stood, My nemesis. looking like a fucking temptation itself
"Thank you," she said politely, as if we were strangers sharing a ride and not two people who'd once set fire to each other.
I gave her a stiff nod. Nothing more.
She didn't press a button.
I didn't ask.
I jabbed the button for the thirty-seventh floor and leaned against the cold steel wall, trying to ignore the weight of her presence beside me.
Two minutes.
Two painfully slow, silent minutes.
When the doors opened, I stepped out and walked straight toward my room, pretending I didn't notice her footsteps echoing right behind mine.
At the door, I swiped my keycard, and the my gaze settle on the blinking red light.
Right, remind me to visit the security room before I leave.
Taking a sigh i opened the door and stepped aside without a word.
And just like that, she walked in.
Like she belonged here.
Like she owned the place.
A fucking princess for a reason.
I followed her inside and closed the door behind us with a solid, deliberate click.
Now she couldn't run.
She turned slowly, the illusion of calm starting to falter.
"What are you doing here, Princess?" I asked, voice full of mockery. "You do realize walking into my room like this could cause a scandal?"
I took a step toward her. She didn't move.
Another step...and I had her pressed gently but firmly against the nearest wall. Her eyes widened, lips parting slightly as I leaned in.
"Or is that what you want?" I whispered, eyes locked on hers.
"You want to make headlines for your precious fiancé?"
"Damien, please..."
My name from her lips stirred something dangerous. But the teasing vanished from my voice. What replaced it was ice.
"Why are you here, Isa?"
"Why now?"
Her eyes darted away, the first crack in her carefully constructed calm.
"I... I just wanted to talk to you."
I let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it.
"Talk?" I repeated coldly.
"Now you want to talk?"
"Damien..."
"Don't you think it's a little too late for that?"
She looked like she wanted to cry. But she didn't. She never did.
"I'm sorry, Damien... please-"
My fist slammed against the wall beside her, making her flinch.
"Shut up, Isa," I growled. "Just fucking shut up."
I stared at her... really stared.
God, she looked the same.
Beautiful.
Untouchable.
Like the same woman who once made me believe love could survive anything.
Like the same woman who walked away.
My chest ached, my throat burned, but I couldn't show it. I wouldn't.
So I stepped closer, fire crawling up my spine.
"Why are you sorry, Isa? Huh?"
My voice was low, but laced with venom.
"For ruining us? For getting engaged to that scum? For wearing his ring?"
I took a step closer, breathing heavy.
"Just tell me... what the fuck are you sorry for?"
She flinched, her hands trembling at her sides.
"I'm... I'm sorry, Damien but you know I never wanted to end things like that..."
Her words hit me like gasoline to fire.
I was burning.
But I held it in. Barely.
My jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
"Why are you here, Princess?" I hissed.
My fists were clenched at my sides.
She hesitated, guilt flashing across her face. "I just... I just wanted to apologize." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't-"
"Don't you fucking dare say that," I growled, stepping closer.
"But that's..."
"I dare you, Isa," I cut her off, and before I could stop myself, my hand shot up, fingers wrapping around her throat. Not squeezing... just holding, just feeling.
God, I wanted to strangle the pain out of her.
I wanted to kiss the truth out of her.
She was driving me insane.
A fucking mess.
My mess.
And then, I snapped.
My lips crashed into hers with violent desperation, tasting her like salvation and punishment all at once.
"Fuck, Isa..." I muttered between kisses, my mouth trailing to her jaw, her neck, her collarbone.
"You shouldn't be here."
"I know," she gasped, gripping my biceps, her nails digging into my skin like she needed something to hold her together.
I ran my fingers down her exposed back, feeling every inch of her tremble, before pulling her tightly against my chest. Our bodies fit like they'd never learned how to be apart.
Without hesitation, I slipped the delicate straps of her dress off her shoulders. The fabric slid down her body like it, too, was tired of waiting.
It pooled around her legs, and I stared... breathless. Bruised by memory. Wrecked by want.
Then, without another word, I swept her into my arms and threw her onto the bed. Not so gently, I ripped her panties and, throwing her legs apart, I dipped my head between her thighs.
As my tongue touched her glistening core, a dark chuckle rumbled from my throat.
"You're such a filthy whore, Princess," I murmured, eyes locked on hers.
"Such a dirty little slut... Your fiancé is downstairs, probably sipping his wine, waiting for his perfect, polished bride... while you're up here... spread open for another man."
Her body trembled as goosebumps raised on her porcelain skin.
I grazed my teeth against her clit, just enough to make her jolt. She cried out... a sound caught between pain and pleasure... and my name slipped past her lips like a prayer she wasn't supposed to say.
"In front of the world, you're untouchable. Elegant. Proper."
I growled, tongue flicking against her slick folds.
but just look at you now. The world should see this, should witness me ruining you,"
She moaned again, her hands fisting the sheets, hips lifting desperately toward my mouth.
But just as she was about to fall over the edge-just as her body started to convulse in anticipation-I pulled away.
"Damien, please..." she sobbed so vulnerably.
"Do you beg him like this too?" I asked, hovering above her. "Do you moan his name the way you moan mine?"
I unzipped my trousers, stroking myself a few times before aligning myself with her entrance.
"Tell me, princess. Do you beg him for his cock the way you beg for mine?"
"No... Damien... please..."
"Please what?"
"Just... fuck me."
"Tell me first. Do you beg him to fuck you the way you're begging me?"
"No... God, no... I've never been intimate with him."
A pleased sensation surged through my veins, and in one hard thrust, I buried myself deep inside her.
"Such a good girl," I murmured, sucking on her throat.
"Say you're mine." I picked up my pace, and her eyes rolled back in her head.
"I'm... I'm yours," she moaned.
I grunted and rolled my hips harder, hitting that one spot deep inside her that made her see stars.
Her body arched beneath mine, a strangled moan slipping from her lips.
"Yes... Damien... y-yes... ohhh... God..."
Her voice cracked as her nails dug into my back, leaving angry red trails I'd wear like medals.
I leaned down, brushing my lips against her ear before biting her earlobe, just enough to make her shudder.
"Say it," I whispered. "Say you'll break your engagement with that scum."
She froze for a heartbeat... just one.
Her breathing stuttered.
"You... you know I... I can't... Damien..." she whispered, voice broken.
And just like that, the fire inside me turned to something darker. Sharper.
I pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. My jaw clenched, rage and need battling in my chest
Hearing her refusal, I lost the last shred of control. I drove into her harder, faster... my anger fueling every brutal thrust.
"Da...mien... pl...ease... slow down... ahh," she sobbed, her fingers clawing at my arms.
"Say it," I growled. "Say you'll break your engagement."
"I can't..." she whispered, her voice breaking. A fat tear slipped down her cheek, soaking into the pillow beneath her head.
Something snapped inside me. I couldn't look at those tear-filled eyes, couldn't face the agony in them-so I flipped her onto her stomach. Without missing a beat, I plunged back into her, deeper this time, my thrusts punishing and unforgiving.
She screamed my name as I pushed her to the edge, her body convulsing around me as she came undone. But I wasn't done. I flipped her onto her back again, crashing my lips onto hers, swallowing her gasps. She shattered once more, her walls gripping me so tightly I finally found my own release, spilling deep inside her.
I collapsed against her, my face buried in the crook of her neck, both of us breathing heavily. Time stood still.
Minutes passed before I finally pulled out, reaching for a tissue to clean myself up. I tucked myself back into my trousers, running a hand through my hair as I sat at the edge of the bed. The silence between us was deafening.
Then, I felt her hand on my shoulder... soft, hesitant.
"I'm... sorry, Damien," she whispered.
"I let out a bitter laugh, one that tasted like blade and blood. But I couldn't look at her... not because I hated her... but because if I did, I'd fall apart. My fists clenched at my sides, trembling with rage and hopelessness. So I did the only thing that would keep me breathing.
'Get out, Isa,' I said emotionlessly but in reality every said word was a blade to my own throat."
She didn't argue. Didn't plead. But I heard her...the stifled sobs as she picked up her clothes and slipped back into her dress.
And then... she walked out of my room the same way she walked out of my life a year ago.
But this time, I didn't fall to my knees.
I didn't beg. I didn't reach for her like a drowning man gasping for air.
I didn't hold her like she was t
he only thing keeping me alive.
I didn't do any of those things... not this time.
I just let her go. As if I'd never wanted her to stay.
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving behind only the faint trace of her flowery scent for a moment... then vanished, like a ghost...just another ghost to haunt me.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
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