Chapter 196

After speaking, Damian released his hand from the back of her neck and instead supported her waist, lifting her from the sofa and making her kneel on the carpet in front of him.

The wool carpet was soft, but Grace's knees still ached as they hit the floor. She looked up at him, bewildered.

Damian looked down at her, his eyes dark and unfathomable. He said nothing, just raised his hand and unbuttoned the bottom two buttons of his shirt, then the high-quality leather belt at his waist.

The metal buckle made a crisp sound as it came undone.

As the belt loosened, Grace instantly understood what he was going to do.

Her face turned pale, and her body instinctively shrank back.

Damian's brow furrowed immediately. He reached out and grabbed her hair, forcing her to look up.

"What?" His voice turned cold. "You want to resist?"

The sharp pain in her scalp made Grace gasp. Seeing the naked warning and fury in his eyes, what little resistance she had left died instantly. She closed her eyes and desperately shook her head.

Damian released her hair, his fingers shifting to stroke her cheek—a seemingly gentle gesture, but the pressure of his fingertips carried an unyielding firmness.

"Be good," he said softly.

He unzipped his pants.

Grace closed her eyes in humiliation, her lashes casting dark shadows across her cheeks. She had no choice. Stiffly, she leaned forward and opened her mouth—

Just then, an urgent phone ringtone shattered the suffocating silence.

It was Damian's personal phone.

Damian paused, a flash of annoyance crossing his face at the interruption. He ignored it, but the ringtone persisted stubbornly.

Finally, he frowned impatiently and pulled the phone from his pocket.

He answered, his voice instantly returning to calm and steady. "Mom."

While on the phone, Damian stroked Grace's cheek with his free hand as she knelt before him. His fingertips traced from her brow to the tip of her nose, then to her cold lips—a gesture of perverse possessiveness.

"Damian," came Rowan's elegant but slightly displeased voice from the other end, "that guy from the Parker family just called the house."

Damian's movement stopped, his eyes darkening slightly, but his voice remained calm. "Ethan?"

"He said the Parker family's stepdaughter, Grace, is missing and asked if I had any news about her. He said the last place Grace was seen before disappearing was at Wolfe Corporation headquarters." Rowan's tone was full of contempt. "Do you know where she is?"

Damian's gaze fell on Grace's pale face, his fingers gently pressing against her lips, feeling their softness.

"No idea," he said clearly into the phone. "Grace and I have nothing to do with each other anymore. Ethan probably can't find her and is panicking, saying whatever comes to mind."

His voice was calm and steady, revealing no flaws.

Kneeling on the floor, Grace heard every word of this conversation.

Ethan... he had actually called Wolfe Manor.

In that instant, something jolted her numb heart. An unprecedented thought struck her like lightning.

This was her chance.

The only opportunity she'd had since being imprisoned here was to possibly connect with the outside world.

Once the thought took root, it consumed her—reason, fear, everything—like wildfire.

She looked at Damian's handsome, cold face so close to hers, watched him lie so calmly on the phone. Desperation and reckless courage surged through her.

Now!

In the gap before Damian could say his next sentence, Grace used every ounce of strength in her body and suddenly opened her mouth.

"Help me!"

A piercing cry for help that shattered the silence burst from her throat, clearly transmitted into the phone's microphone.

Time seemed to freeze in that moment.

The calm on Damian's face shattered instantly.

His pupils contracted sharply, and in those unfathomable eyes, a storm of fury erupted.

His reaction was incredibly fast.

The instant Grace shouted for help, his hand that had been stroking her cheek moved like lightning to her throat, his five fingers tightening violently!

The air was instantly cut off.

Grace's cry for help stopped abruptly, replaced by a pained groan. Her neck was gripped tightly by Damian's hand, and the tremendous force threw her backward onto the floor.

The back of her head hit the carpet hard, her vision went black, and her ears rang violently.

She could feel her life force draining away rapidly, her lungs feeling like they would explode.

But even so, she kept her eyes open, staring at Damian, who was choking her.

Damian's face held no trace of pretense now—only the fury of betrayal, the cold look of a hunter whose prey had tried to escape.

His chest heaved violently, his eyes so vicious it seemed he wanted to tear her apart.

Yet even as he lost control, his voice on the phone remained eerily steady.

"Mom," he spoke, his voice even softer than before, "I have some bad signal here, it seems like there's some noise. If there's nothing else, I'll hang up now and call you back later."

Without waiting for Rowan's response, he ended the call.

He casually tossed the phone onto the sofa.

The room returned to deathly silence, leaving only Grace's painful, struggling sounds from suffocation.

Damian knelt on one knee beside her, his hand on her throat not loosening at all. He leaned down, his strikingly handsome face half bright, half dark in the wall lamp's glow.

He looked at her face, flushed red from lack of oxygen, watched her painful struggle, and the destructive storm in his eyes grew denser.

"You want to leave?" He leaned close to her ear, his voice as low as a devil's whisper. "You want to leave me?"

The phone lay on the sofa, its screen dark.

The hand gripping Grace's throat didn't release after the call ended. Instead, those five fingers slowly tightened.

The air was completely cut off.

Grace's face turned purple-red from extreme oxygen deprivation.

Her hands weakly clawed at Damian's arm, her nails leaving futile marks on his expensive shirt fabric.

The dizziness and ringing from hitting her head hadn't faded when the pain of suffocation overwhelmed her like a tide.

The scene in her vision began to blur, the warm glow of the wall lamp fragmenting into countless scattered points of light, flickering behind him.

Grace thought she might die like this.

Die in this isolated cage, die at Damian's hands.

Just as her consciousness was about to fall into darkness, the deadly pressure on her throat suddenly released.