Chapter 33 I was exposed
His breath brushed against my ear, warm and deliberate.
“Very easily,” he purred.
A shiver tore through me.
My brain short-circuited completely.
His proximity was overwhelming—the heat radiating from him, the faint scent of leather and something distinctly him.
Goosebumps erupted across my skin, my pulse roaring in my ears.
Everything I had rehearsed—every sharp retort, every demand—evaporated.
I barely had time to react before his hand lifted, fingers brushing my jaw with a hesitation that felt uncharacteristic of him.
His thumb hovered near my lip, as though he were fighting something internal, something fierce.
“Tesoro…” he murmured, voice low, rough.
Then he leaned in.
His lips met mine—firm, sudden, unmistakable.
I should have stopped him. I knew I should have.
I didn’t.
When his lips met mine, the kiss was slow—careful, almost reverent. There was no rush, no hunger yet.
Just warmth. Just pressure.
Just the quiet slide of his mouth against mine that sent a sharp, unexpected shiver through me.
My breath hitched.
Without meaning to, I leaned in.
My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, grounding myself as his other hand settled at my waist, steady and possessive. The kiss deepened, heat unfurling between us like a spark catching fire.
His lips moved with intention now, no longer cautious, and I responded—matching him, melting into the pull of it.
For a moment, nothing else existed.
Not the questions.
Not the fear.
Not the chaos waiting outside this room.
Just him.
Then reality slammed back into me all at once.
What was I doing?
My eyes flew open as awareness crashed down hard, my heart pounding violently against my ribs. I pulled back abruptly, shoving him away with more force than I intended.
“No—” I breathed, stumbling a step back.
My cheeks burned, my lips tingling, shock and embarrassment flooding me all at once. I stared at him, chest rising and falling unevenly, completely undone.
Damien froze.
Whatever heat had been there vanished behind a hard, controlled expression, though his eyes still burned—dark, intense, conflicted. His jaw flexed as he took a step back himself, giving me space.
“I—” he started, then stopped.
Before either of us could speak—
The doors burst open.
“Boss, we’ve got them all together. The meeting will happen in the next few days—”
Ray froze mid-step.
The room went dead silent.
Damien and I stood there, staring at each other, tension thick enough to choke on. Ray hadn’t even noticed me yet—too focused on Damien.
I cleared my throat.
“Is there a reason,” I said pointedly, “there’s an emergency meeting?”
Ray finally looked at me.
His eyes widened.
“I—uh—” He fiddled nervously with his sleeve, then turned sharply to Damien. “I thought you were going to tell her!”
He whisper-yelled it like I wasn’t standing right there.
“I’m still here, you know,” I snapped.
Ray winced and turned back to me.
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
I glanced between the two men, unease curling in my stomach. The air felt wrong—tight. Charged.
“Ray?” I prompted.
He avoided my gaze.
Damien sighed.
“Come on.”
He gestured for me to follow.
And to my own irritation, my body obeyed before my mind could catch up.
We left the study, Ray trailing behind us.
The hallway was just as stunning as before—white marble walls, black accents, gold lighting casting warm rays that glimmered off polished surfaces. Everything about this house screamed power.
Wealth.
Control.
We stopped in front of a sleek grey elevator.
My eyes widened.
He had an elevator.
In his house.
Of course he did.
We stepped inside. Damien placed his finger into a glowing green slot I hadn’t noticed before. It scanned him, shifted blue, and the doors slid shut. He punched in a code, and the elevator began descending.
“You okay?” Ray asked softly. “You look kinda… red.”
My cheeks flared even hotter.
“Just peachy,” I squeaked.
I cringed internally.
Did I just squeak?
“Where are we going?” I whispered hurriedly.
“Wait and see,” Ray whispered back.
The elevator slowed. Dinged.
The doors slid open.
I stepped out last—and froze.
The carpet beneath my feet was plush, swallowing my toes in soft fur. I wiggled them unconsciously, momentarily distracted by the sensation.
The room was massive.
A giant flat-screen television dominated the far wall, mounted above a stone fireplace that somehow made the space feel warm despite its grandeur. Chestnut brown and gold blended seamlessly, luxury wrapped in comfort.
A massive L-shaped couch took up half the room, paired with single chairs arranged with intention. Marble tables gleamed under the lights. Velvet curtains framed towering windows.
I barely had time to take it all in before—
“You’ve heard it first, folks. The infamous billionaire Damien Blackwood is suspected to be in a secret relationship with his personal assistant, Ms. Jasmine Scott.”
I spun around.
My blood ran cold.
The screen displayed a woman in corporate attire, microphone in hand, her expression grave.
“Mr Blackwood refused to answer questions and was later seen leaving the event with his assistant in his arms.”
Images flooded the screen.
Me.
Unconscious.
In Damien’s arms.
His hands on my face. His expression dark, furious, protective.
My knees buckled.
I collapsed onto the couch behind me, my breathing growing erratic.
I looked up at Damien, eyes wide.
“What the hell?”
He met my gaze—then looked away.
Guilt flickered across his face. Sadness.
“The media twisted it,” he said quietly. “They let paparazzi in. Someone sabotaged the event.”
“You said they weren’t allowed!” I cried, panic clawing up my throat.
“They weren’t,” he snapped back, then softened instantly when he saw my state. “That bastard had a hand in it.”
Ray spoke before he could stop himself. “It’s everywhere. Your name, your photos—every channel.”
Damien shot him a lethal glare.
But it was too late.
The truth crashed into me.
I was exposed.
He could find me now.
My chest tightened painfully.
The walls closed in.
“I told you I’d always find you, Cass.”
The voice echoed in my head—dark, familiar, terrifying.
I clamped my hands over my ears.
“Make it stop,” I sobbed.
The room spun.
I couldn’t breathe.
Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a solid chest.
“Tesoro,” Damien said urgently. “You’re having a panic attack. Breathe.”
His hands held my face, grounding, firm.
“Look at me,” he demanded softly. “In. Out. With me.”
I tried. Failed.
My vision blurred with tears.
I stood there shaking, confused, scared—and painfully aware of the way my lips still tingled.
Nothing about this was simple anymore.
And that terrified me more than the headlines ever could.