Chapter 14 Damien

Chapter 14 Damien
I woke up feeling refreshed. I decided to work from home today; most times, I don’t really need to be at the office.

“Camille is here,” Lucy called from downstairs.

I threw on a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants before heading down.

“Hey, big bro,” Camille greeted with a wide grin.

“Lil sis,” I said, pulling her into a hug.

“What’s the special occasion?” I asked, noticing her outfit , a short yellow floral dress paired with brown sandals. Her long black hair fell in soft curls down her shoulders. She looked so much like our mother when she was younger , the same honey-brown eyes, the same calm glow. I got our father’s blue eyes, which she always said wasn’t fair.

“I knew you’d notice,” she said, smiling proudly. “Luke’s taking me on a picnic.”

I should’ve known.

“So why’d you come here first?” I asked, suspicious.

“I came to rub it in your face,” she said with a laugh.

“So you basically drove to my house just to gloat?” I asked, amused but not surprised.

“Exactly. Plus, Mum told me you came around,” she said.

I nodded.

“You should see her more often , she misses you,” Camille added, her voice softening. She always knew how to hit where it hurt. She knew the guilt I felt towards our mother. She was our middle ground, the one who tried to keep everyone together.

“I will. I already promised her,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Good, because we’re having our spa day tomorrow, and of course—” she smirked, “we’re using your card.”

I raised a brow. “Don’t you have a job, Camille?”

She laughed. “Sure, but if I don’t spend your money, who else will aside Mum?”

“Fair point,” I said, surrendering with a sigh.

She smirked triumphantly.

“No one would guess you’re Elena Carter, the New York Times bestselling author of The Forgotten Summer series,” I teased.

She burst out laughing. Camille’s double life was impressive , not only was she an acclaimed author, but she also owned several fashion academies here and in Paris. Her students were top models and renowned designers, yet she chose to live quietly, out of the spotlight. I always suspected she did that for me, to protect our family’s privacy.

“I only see you being lazy and spending my money,” I continued. “Though, I’m not exactly complaining.”

She grinned. “See? You do love me.”

“Maybe,” I said, chuckling. “But aren’t you late for your date?”

Her eyes widened. “Crap! I totally forgot!” She bolted up from the couch. We said our goodbyes, and she dashed out, still adjusting her dress.

Watching her drive away made me smile. I was glad she was living carefree, happy, and unburdened. That’s all I wanted for her.

It was noon when I had lunch. Afterward, I went through some company proposals, sorting out the promising ones. By the time I was done, the sky had dimmed. I decided to clear my head, get some fresh air.

After a quick shower, I pulled on a black t-shirt tucked into black leather pants, threw on my leather jacket, and laced up my boots. The bike roared beneath me as I sped through town, the night air cutting across my face.

Then I saw her.

Ella.

Before my mind could process it, I’d already passed her. My hands moved on instinct, reversing the bike sharply. She looked smaller under the streetlights, her shoulders tense, her head down. I knew it was her immediately , something in me just knew.

But before I could slow down, she turned and started running.

“Ella! Ella!” I called out, my voice getting lost in the wind.

She didn’t stop. She wasn’t even looking where she was going until she collided straight into a trash can and went tumbling down.

I parked the bike and ran to her. I reached out to help, but she sprang up again, ready to bolt. I grabbed her by the waist — she bit me. Bit me.

“Ow— it’s Damien!” I hissed, and instantly her body went still.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she snapped, hitting me with her small, frantic hands. Her touch didn’t hurt , it just made my pulse race faster.

“You didn’t give me a chance. I was calling your name, but at the speed you were running, I doubt you heard me,” I said, rubbing the spot she bit.

“You’re more aggressive than you look,” I added with a small laugh.

“I thought you were a snatcher,” she said defensively.

I sighed. “Fair.” Then I looked at her again, her chest heaving, strands of hair clinging to her flushed face. She looked scared, fragile. My chest tightened.

“Why are you alone?” I asked, already annoyed that Sophia wasn’t with her.

“I had something to do,” she said quietly, and I could hear the sadness in her voice.

“Why isn’t Sophia with you? You know it’s dangerous to walk alone at night.” My voice came out sharper than I intended.

“Is that concern I hear in your tone?” she teased, a faint smile on her lips.

“I’m serious, Ella. You could get hurt,” I said, meaning every word. The thought of someone harming her twisted something inside me.

“I’m good. I’m not ready to head home,” she said, walking off.

I watched her go, frustration bubbling inside me. She looked so damn fragile, yet stubborn enough to walk away like nothing was wrong. I couldn’t leave her like that.

The idea hit me , ice cream. It always worked for Camille.

I revved my bike and caught up with her. “Do you ride?” I asked, smirking.

“I’ll pass. I don’t want to die early,” she said, quickening her steps.

“Or you’re just scared,” I taunted.

That stopped her for half a second. She ignored me and kept walking. I clenched my jaw. The more she resisted, the more I wanted her near me.

“Come on, live a little,” I said, laughing softly.

When she still didn’t answer, my patience snapped. I grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the bike, turning her to face me. She froze, her breath shaky.

“Just close your eyes,” I said as the engine roared to life.

“Put me down!” she screamed, gripping me tightly. Her arms clung around me, and I felt her head press against my chest. The sound of her heartbeat synced with mine. I could feel her as her body pressed on mine.

After a few moments, I felt her relax ,her breathing steadied. Good.

I stopped in front of a small ice cream shop lit with strings of golden lights. It was a quiet place the same one Camille and I had gone to as kids.

“Wait here,” I told her before heading inside. I had no clue what her favorite flavor was, so I went with vanilla and strawberry — Camille’s favorites. I got mint for myself.

“Vanilla or strawberry?” I asked when I came back.

“Either,” she said softly.

“Better , I got both,” I said, handing her the cup.

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“So…” she said after a moment.

“So…” I echoed, and we both laughed.

“What flavor did you pick?” she asked, eyeing my cup.

“Mint,” I said proudly.

She wrinkled her nose. “Why would you lick toothpaste and call it a treat?”

“You’re just biased,” I shot back, chuckling. The sound of her laugh made the night warmer somehow.

Then I noticed her expression dim. “Rough day?” I asked gently.

“I had it really rough today,” she whispered.

“I can tell. But don’t worry — whatever it is, I believe you can overcome it,” I said, meaning every word.

“I wish I had the same belief in myself,” she said, voice cracking. Then she broke. Tears streamed down her face, and I froze.

“Did I say something wrong?” I asked quickly, handing her my handkerchief.

She shook her head, and something in me loosened. Without thinking, I pulled her into my chest. She trembled against me, and I found myself rubbing her back, the way my mother used to comfort us.

“You can cry all you want,” I whispered near her ear. “I won’t ask why. I won’t judge.”

Her sobs came softer until they faded completely. I gave her another handkerchief, and she blew her nose, sniffling like a child.

“You can throw that away,” I said quietly.

She wiped her eyes. “I’m better now, but I really need to sleep.”

She climbed onto the bike behind me, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist. Her warmth seeped through my jacket. I didn’t say a word , I just rode.

When we reached her place, I felt her grip weaken. She’d fallen asleep.

I searched her bag for the keys, carried her inside, and gently placed her on the bed. I took off her shoes and covered her with a blanket.

Then, softly, she murmured in her sleep — “Antoine…”

I froze. The sound of that name sent jealousy ripping through my chest. My hands clenched into fists.

Who the hell is Antoine?