Chapter 13 WANT.
\~~~DAMIEN HALE.
If only this woman knew what her presence does to me, she would keep her distance.
Or maybe she wouldn’t.
The scent of her lingered in the confined space of the car soft, warm, and unmistakably hers, and it tested a control I had spent decades perfecting.
I had mastered boardrooms, crushed men twice my size without lifting a finger, and bent empires to my will. But Serena Evans sat beside me like a quiet threat, looking out the window, unaware that every shallow breath she took tightened something dark and restless in my chest.
She was like trouble.
Not the loud, reckless kind but the dangerous kind that crept in slowly, disguising itself as innocence.
Too young, too soft, and too unguarded for my world.
And yet, I had pulled her into it anyway.
I watched the reflection of her in the tinted glass, the way her lips parted slightly when she exhaled, the faint tension in her shoulders, and the effort it took for her to pretend she wasn’t affected by me. She was trying to be brave. I could see it. I respected it more than I should have.
My hand clenched once on my thigh.
This was why I shouldn’t be near her. Why I shouldn’t touch her, and why I shouldn’t want her the way I did.
Want was dangerous.
Want makes men careless.
And I had not survived this long by being careless.
I had told myself this marriage was a strategy, control, and a calculated move that served my interests and destroyed my nephew’s illusions.
That was the lie I fed myself as easily as breathing.
But lies had a way of unraveling when a woman’s scent crawled under your skin and settled there.
She turned suddenly, as if sensing my gaze, and for half a second our eyes met. There was uncertainty in hers. Fear, curiosity, and something fragile that didn’t belong anywhere near a man like me.
I looked away first.
Not because I was weak, but because if I didn’t, I would reach for her. And when I claim something, I do not let it go.
“My mother…” she began softly.
I didn’t look at her. Not yet.
“She is a kind woman,” Serena continued, her voice careful, like she was choosing every word so I wouldn’t misunderstand. “But she can be… a lot. She might come off cranky at first. She doesn’t warm up easily to people who aren’t me.”
She paused, then added quickly, “She is not a bad person, I promise. She is just protective.”
That was when I turned.
Not because of what she said, but because of how she said it.
Her head was slightly bowed, lashes lowered, her pink and glossy lips moving slowly as she spoke. It was soft-looking in a way that made something violent stir beneath my skin. The kind of lips a man would ruin if he wasn’t careful. The kind that would beg without words.
And just like that, I stopped listening as all I could see was her mouth.
All I could think about was how easily I could close the distance between us. How effortless it would be to grab her, press her back against the seat, trap her there with my body, and kiss her until she forgot what she was saying. Until she forgot everything but me.
Until those lips were swollen, red, and claimed.
My jaw tightened.
Serena was still talking, still explaining, and still trying to make me comfortable. As if I needed such reassurance, or I was the one walking into unfamiliar territory.
She wasn’t wrong about one thing, though.
She was protective of her mother.
And that alone told me more about her than she realized.
She valued loyalty and the people she loved.
That was dangerous.
Serena Monroe was twenty-five.
Fuck.
The thought hit me hard, sharp, like a warning bell in my head.
What am I doing?
She was too young to be sitting beside me. Too untouched by the things that lived in my past. Too unprepared for the thoughts that crossed my mind when she spoke, when she breathed, and when she existed too close to me.
I should keep her far away from this part of me. From the dark, twisted places I’d buried and locked away long before she ever entered my world.
I should.
But my eyes stayed on her lips.
And my body didn’t agree with my conscience.
She finally noticed my silence and turned toward me fully. “You are not saying anything,” she murmured.
I forced myself to look into her brown honest eyes instead, completely unaware of the war she was causing inside me.
“That is because,” I said slowly, evenly, “you don’t need to explain your mother to me.”
Her brows knit together. “I don’t?”
“No.” My voice was calm, but my restraint was anything but. “She raised you. That tells me enough.”
Something flickered across her face, surprise, maybe relief.
I leaned back slightly, creating space before I did something I couldn’t take back.
But even as I did, one truth settled heavily in my chest.
Keeping Serena away from my darkness was already a losing battle.
Because she was sitting right beside it.
And I was starting to wonder how long I could pretend I didn’t want to pull her in.
The drive was quiet till we arrived at the small gate of a modest house. Serena slipped out first, her steps were light, and almost careful, like she didn’t want to disturb the memories embedded in every corner.
“I grew up here,” she said softly, a wistful smile tugging at her lips as she glanced around. Nostalgia softened her features, made her seem smaller, and more delicate.
I nodded, not needing to speak. I was content letting her carry the sentimentality alone. We walked together to the front door, our footsteps synchronized in a silent rhythm.
And then, the door swung open.
She stepped out of the room, and my eyes locked onto her immediately. Serena’s mother. The resemblance was uncanny and you'd need no one to tell you she was her mother. Her eyes were sharp, and careful like Serena’s.
Her hair was almost completely white, streaks of black hiding in the shadows, a proof of age, stress, and life’s relentless weight. Her face was taut, controlled, and unreadable, like a chess player studying her opponent.
I braced myself. Respect demanded it. She was Serena’s mother, and I would honor that.
But then she surprised me.
Without a word, without hesitation, she stepped closer. Her hands lifted and gently rested on my shoulders.
“Oh, you are welcome, my dear,” she said.
I froze for a moment, caught in the simplicity of it, and turned my gaze toward Serena. She blinked, taken aback by the warmth in her mother’s voice, and the softness of the gesture.
I allowed myself the smallest smirk, leaning back slightly in the shadows of the porch. Proud that I had gotten through this woman without even trying.