The Illusion of Control..
Eve’s breath was uneven.
Her pulse roared, frantic against her ribs, but she forced herself to remain still, even as Damian’s grip burned against her skin.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
She wasn’t supposed to play this game.
Yet she had. And now, she had lost.
Damian studied her, amusement lingering in his expression, but his grip remained firm—unrelenting, final.
“You expected to win, didn’t you?”
His voice curled around her, low, rich, dangerous.
Eve inhaled sharply, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I expected to leave.”
Damian chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice, letting it brush against her skin like a slow poison sinking into her veins.
“You were never going to leave, Eve.”
The Breaking Point..
Eve’s body stiffened, every muscle locked with resistance, but Damian simply watched—waiting for the inevitable.
“You can’t do this,” she hissed.
Damian tilted his head slightly. “Do what?”
Her throat tightened. “Whatever this is—”
He smirked. “This is me giving you a choice.”
Eve swallowed hard.
Choice.
That word should have meant something. It should have given her power.
But here—with him—it was nothing but a carefully crafted illusion.
Damian released her wrists slowly, deliberately, as if testing whether she would run now that she was free.
She didn’t.
She couldn’t.
Because for some twisted, horrifying reason, she knew—
If she ran, he would catch her.
And worse than that—she wasn’t sure she wanted to escape.
Damian leaned back against the desk, watching her carefully.
“One more chance, Eve,” he murmured. “Choose wisely.”
She exhaled shakily, forcing herself to ignore the way her body betrayed her, the way something inside her twisted with the weight of his words.
Because deep down, she knew.
She had already chosen.
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