Chapter 12
1368 Words
In her room, Emery finally crawled into her bed, though sleep wouldn’t come. Her humiliation replayed endlessly, every word, every look from his mother, every smirk from Clara.
But beneath the pain, a fire flickered. If Damian thought she would crumble, if Clara believed she could push her aside, they were both wrong.
She might be out of place in their glittering world, but she had survived harder. She had protected Blake before, and she would again.
Her tears dried on her cheeks as resolve settled in her chest.
They could look down on her. They could mock her. But she wouldn’t let them destroy her.
---
By the time sleep finally dragged her under, Emery had made a silent vow.
She would endure. She would fight.
For Ethan. For herself.
Even if Damian never cared.
The mansion walls pressed in on her like a cage. Emery couldn’t bear it anymore. Damian’s mother’s cold eyes, Clara’s smirk, and Damian’s silence had left her stripped of dignity. For hours she held it together for Blake, smiling through the cracks. But when he finally drifted off to sleep, clutching his teddy, Emery slipped out.
The city lights blurred as she stumbled into a dim bar tucked on a quiet street corner. It smelled of alcohol and cigarette smoke, of escape. Emery ordered drink after drink, ignoring the curious looks of strangers who recognized the billionaire’s wife. Each swallow burned, but it numbed the ache clawing at her chest.
“Pathetic, aren’t I?” she muttered to her glass. “Married to the devil and still longing for heaven.”
Her laughter was soft, slurred, and full of pain.
---
Damian Cole’s phone buzzed at midnight.
“Sir… it’s your wife.” The hesitant voice belonged to one of his informants. “She’s at a bar downtown. Drinking. People are watching.”
His jaw clenched. He was already in his office, drink in hand, but the whiskey suddenly tasted bitter. Without a word, he grabbed his coat, keys, and stormed out.
The sight of Emery, slumped at the counter, shattered something in him. Her hair fell loose around her flushed cheeks, her lips wet from the rim of her glass. But it wasn’t the alcohol that unsettled him. It was the raw, broken girl beneath — the girl who had endured his silence tonight, his mother’s cruelty, Clara’s triumph.
“Emery.” His voice cut through the bar like steel.
Her head lifted slowly, a sloppy smile spreading across her face. “Ahhh… my cold husband has arrived.” She raised her glass like a toast. “Should I clap? Or bow?”
Damian bit back a curse, strode over, and caught her wrist before she could drink again. “Enough.”
“Enough?” Emery giggled, leaning close. Her breath carried sweetness and liquor. “That’s what you always say. Enough. Don’t speak. Don’t feel. Don’t breathe unless I say so.” She tapped his chest with her finger. “But here you are… chasing me.”
Eyes turned toward them, whispers buzzing. Damian didn’t care. He scooped her into his arms, her laugh echoing in the stunned silence of the bar.
“Put me down,” she teased, tugging at his collar. “People will think you care.”
“I don’t,” he growled, carrying her out. But his grip was too tight, his steps too fast. He cared more than he wanted to admit.
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The car ride was torture. Emery pressed her forehead to the window, humming a love song under her breath. Then she turned, studying him with heavy-lidded eyes.
“You’re handsome when you’re angry,” she whispered. “But I like you better when you’re… lost.”
His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “You’re drunk.”
“Maybe.” She smiled, dreamy. “But drunk girls tell the truth. And the truth is…” She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. “…your eyes follow me, Damian. Even when you pretend they don’t.”
Heat shot through him. He gritted his teeth, forcing his gaze ahead. She laughed softly, the sound curling into his chest like smoke.
---
Back at the mansion, he all but carried her inside. She wobbled, giggling when he steadied her against the wall. Her fingers slid over his chest, tracing the hard lines beneath his shirt.
“You’re so… solid,” she teased. “Like a statue. Except statues don’t breathe this fast.”
“Emery.” His voice was a warning.
But her eyes, wide and glimmering, held none of her usual restraint. She looked at him as if she finally saw the man behind the armor.
“Why do you hate me so much?” she whispered, fingertips grazing his jaw. “Is it because I don’t fit into your world? Or because… I make you feel something you swore you’d never feel again?”
The question pierced him deeper than he expected. His breath shuddered. He should’ve walked away. He should’ve left her to sober up.
Instead, he crushed his mouth against hers.
The kiss was fire and fury, rough at first — years of restraint breaking all at once. Emery gasped, her hands clutching his shoulders, before melting into him. Her taste was sweet and intoxicating, part liquor, part Emery.
Damian’s control snapped. His hands slid down, gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him. The thin silk of her dress offered no barrier. He pressed her to the wall, mouth devouring hers like he was starving.
She moaned into his kiss, arching against him. His palm cupped the curve of her breast, thumb brushing over the peak through fabric. Emery trembled, both shocked and desperate for more.
“Damian…” her voice broke on his name.
He groaned, lips trailing down her throat, biting gently at the tender skin. Her scent, her warmth, everything about her drowned him. His other hand slid lower, gripping her ass, kneading, lifting her onto her toes. She wrapped her arms around his neck, nails raking lightly across his skin.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be his contract, his obligation. But right now she was the only thing that felt real.
Her laughter bubbled again, breathless this time. “You kiss like you’re hypnotized.”
He pulled back just long enough to murmur against her lips, voice hoarse, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Their mouths clashed again, hungrier, wetter, her moans mixing with his growls. His hands roamed over her curves, down her thighs, up her back claiming every inch he had denied himself.
She kissed him back with equal desperation, her body surrendering, her soul screaming for more.
---
Finally, Damian tore his lips away, chest heaving, forehead pressed to hers. His hands still gripped her as though he couldn’t let go.
“If I don’t stop now…” His voice was ragged. “…I won’t stop at all.”
Emery, flushed and trembling, searched his eyes. For the first time she saw not just the ruthless billionaire — but the man breaking beneath the weight of his own walls.
“Then don’t,” she whispered.
For a heartbeat, he almost gave in. But Damian Cole was still a man at war with himself. With a guttural curse, he stepped back, dragging a hand over his face.
“Go to bed, Emery.” His voice was cold again, but his eyes burned like molten steel.
She swallowed hard, her lips swollen, her body aching. With a shaky laugh, she whispered, “Coward.” Then she walked past him, hips swaying, leaving him standing in the hallway, fists clenched, pulse raging.
Damian leaned against the wall, breath harsh, hands trembling. She was under his skin, in his blood, in his very soul.
And he hated her for it.
Emery barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt Damian’s mouth on hers, the weight of his hands gripping her body, the heat of his breath against her throat. She tossed, turned, and finally gave up, staring at the ceiling in mortified silence.
What had she done?
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Starlight ✍️
- Writer
