Chapter 38 Our Last Name
JASMINE
He didn’t.
Instead, he leaned in.
All his weight shifted forward, his hands planting on either side of me, trapping me against the bed. My breath caught sharply as I became painfully aware of how close he was.
The rage simmering in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine.
“I-uh—please leave,” I stuttered. “Y-you’ve helped already. I-it’s fine now.”
The air felt thick. Heavy.
“What happened?” he asked quietly, dangerously calm. “Who did this to you, tesoro?”
I looked away, fingers worrying at my lip. “I-I fell,” I lied weakly. “I tripped while running. That’s all.”
His face moved closer.
“I’m going to ask you again,” he murmured, his breath warm, his fingers pinched my jaw, directing my face to his and my gaze followed. “And you better not lie to me. Because I am losing my patience.”
My body betrayed me with a shiver.
“I-it was Jace,” I squeaked out.
He froze.
Pulled back.
The look in his eyes turned cold, lethal.
“Tell me everything.”
I told him. Almost everything.
When I finished, he stood slowly, his entire demeanor shifting. The softness vanished, replaced by something hard and merciless.
Without another word, he walked away.
I sank back into the bed, covering my face with my hands, cheeks burning.
I had a decision to make.
And I knew what I had to do.
~
It had been a few weeks since Jasmine last saw Damien.
The memory of him storming out of her room still clung to her like a shadow—his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with something feral and dangerous. Murder had been written all over his face, unrestrained and unapologetic.
She hadn’t slept properly since.
Every night, her thoughts spiraled back to the same questions, the same fears circling endlessly in her mind.
Would he finally do it?
Would he kill Jace?
She didn’t know. And that uncertainty gnawed at her more viciously than fear ever could. Damien was not a man who made empty threats.
Whatever promise had flickered behind his eyes that night—whatever silent vow he had made—she knew he intended to see it through.
But waiting had become unbearable.
She had tried again and again to reach Uncle Tom, her fingers numb from dialing his number so many times it felt etched into her skin. Each attempt ended the same way—voicemail.
Silence. Absence.
Frustration had eventually hardened into resolve.
She couldn’t keep waiting for someone else to save her.
She had to protect herself.
And so she made a decision.
Now, standing in the hallway outside Damien’s bedroom, the documents clutched tightly in her hands, her palms were slick with sweat. The papers felt heavier than they should have—like they carried the weight of her entire future.
Nervousness had become her closest companion ever since she’d decided to sign the contract.
A thousand thoughts swarmed her mind as she stared at the door.
Would she have to give him an heir?
Would they have to act like a real married couple in public… in private?
The thought alone sent an unexpected flutter through her stomach, a traitorous warmth blooming low in her chest. She hated herself for it. Hated that her body reacted before her mind could catch up.
She was deeply troubled—emotionally tangled in ways she didn’t yet understand. But she knew one thing with certainty: avoiding Damien would only make things worse.
Talking to him was the only way forward.
Exhaling slowly, she raised her trembling hand and knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Three monotonous knocks echoed through the quiet corridor.
Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it through the door.
“Come in.”
His voice reached her a few seconds later—deep, calm, unmistakably Damien.
Her breath hitched.
She shook her head slightly, forcing herself to breathe, to steady her racing thoughts. Pushing the door open, she stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, shadows stretching lazily across the walls. For a brief moment, confusion creased her brow—it looked empty.
She was certain she’d heard him.
Then she saw him.
Damien sat at the edge of his king-sized bed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers intertwined loosely as he stared at the floor. His posture was heavy, contemplative—like a man burdened by too many thoughts.
And he was shirtless.
Her throat went dry instantly.
Heat crept up her neck as her eyes betrayed her, tracing the powerful lines of his back, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the subtle flex of muscle beneath golden skin. She swallowed hard, painfully aware of the way her body reacted to him despite herself.
He lifted his head slowly, emerald eyes locking onto her.
He gestured for her to come closer.
Her feet obeyed before her mind could protest.
Each step felt heavier than the last, her mouth dry with that cottony sensation she always got when she was nervous—or overwhelmed. She stopped a few feet away, careful to keep a safe distance between them.
“Yes, tesoro?” he murmured.
His gaze dropped immediately to the stack of papers in her hands.
A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips.
He knew.
Of course he did.
She had finally decided to sign the documents. And that meant only one thing—she was his now, bound by ink and law.
The contract had always been more than a formality to him. It was a carefully constructed net, one he’d cast patiently and deliberately.
He intended to keep her.
To eliminate every threat.
To remove every reason she might ever have to leave.
Six months.
Six months to prove she belonged with him.
Six months to show her just how deeply he had craved her long before she ever realized it.
She was in too deep now.
“Um—here,” she said softly, thrusting the papers into his hands as if they burned her skin.
Her cheeks flushed as she picked nervously at her lower lip, unable to meet his eyes.
He took the documents, glancing at the signatures with clear satisfaction.
“Finally signed it, tesoro?” Damien asked, his tone light, teasing—dangerously calm.
“Y-yes,” she nodded quickly. “And… now what happens next? Will I be protected? Will I have to take your last name for the next six months, or will I keep mine?”
Her fingers twisted together anxiously as she spoke. She didn’t know where to look—his eyes felt too intense, his bare torso far too distracting.
Damien stood.
The movement alone sent her pulse skyrocketing.
He towered over her effortlessly, and she hated how small she felt beneath his presence.
Her gaze betrayed her again, sliding down his body—the long, tanned torso, the perfectly sculpted abs, the powerful chest rising slowly with each breath.
He looked unreal.
Like something carved from myth.
Her swallow was audible.
“Not my last name,” he said quietly.
Her heart skipped.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint trace of his cologne.
“Our last name,” he whispered against her ear.
A shudder rippled through her.