Chapter 8. Regret
1045 Words
Gwen woke slowly, her body heavy and sore, every muscle reminding her of the morning she’d just lived through. Her lashes fluttered as she rolled against the pillows, reaching instinctively for warmth. But the space beside her was empty.
Her chest tightened. Damien was gone.
She sat up, brushing her tangled hair back, eyes darting around the vast bedroom. The clock on the wall made her heart skip, already past noon. She had slept away half the day.
Sliding off the bed, she winced faintly, stretching her limbs before slipping into the bathroom. The shower hissed to life, steam curling around her as she let the hot water soothe her aching skin. By the time she wrapped herself in a robe and descended the stairs, her stomach was growling so loudly she thought the guards outside might hear it.
The scent of warm bread drifted from the kitchen. One of the maids appeared, bowing her head slightly.
“Your meal is ready, ma’am. By Mr. Damien’s order.”
Something in Gwen’s chest squeezed. He had thought ahead… for her. She sat at the long polished table, the silverware gleaming, and let the maid serve her.
The first bite nearly undid her. Tender meat, perfectly seasoned. Vegetables cooked just enough to melt against her tongue. She closed her eyes, savoring the flavors, realizing just how starved she had been.
It felt too good. Too human. Too safe.
She didn’t hear him at first—the heavy tread, the quiet command of his presence until a voice brushed against her spine.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Her fork clattered against the plate. She twisted in her chair, heat rushing to her cheeks. Damien stood behind her, his dark gaze fixed on her like a predator amused by its prey.
“Y-yes,” she stammered, her face crimson.
He moved past her with unhurried steps, his body all controlled power, and sat across from her. A second plate was already waiting for him. He poured himself wine, drank, then began to eat with a grace that only made him seem more dangerous.
She tried to focus on her food, but his gaze never left her. The weight of it burned across her skin. Every time her hand trembled, every time she shifted in her seat, she felt him watching.
She swallowed wrong, nearly choking, and pressed her napkin to her lips.
Damien smirked faintly. He knew. He liked seeing her squirm.
When a drop of tea slipped down her mouth, trailing toward her chin, she reached for the napkin but he was faster.
His fingers brushed her skin, wiping the drop away. Before she could flinch, he lifted his finger to his lips, sucking the trace of liquid from it.
Gwen froze. Shocked. Embarrassed. A shiver raced down her spine so hard she thought her heart might stop.
He leaned back in his chair, satisfied with her reaction, his lips curved in the faintest smile.
“You’re too easy to read, wife,” he murmured.
Her face burned hotter. She dropped her gaze to the plate, suddenly desperate to hide from him but her pulse betrayed her, drumming loud enough she was sure he could hear it.
-----
Elsewhere, Liam paced the length of his office like a man losing his mind. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, his hands clenched tight enough to draw blood.
They had taken her. His treasure.
His fiancée.
The woman who was supposed to belong to him—his to touch, his to bed, his to break if he wished. And some bastard had snatched her from under his nose.
He slammed his hand against the desk. The vase nearby toppled and shattered into jagged shards across the floor.
“Who the f*ck dares—” he snarled.
The image of Gwen’s soft eyes, her innocent smile, haunted him. The thought of another man laying claim to her made bile rise in his throat. His skin crawled, his rage boiling higher.
This was Marcus’s fault. That coward of a brother.
Liam’s eyes narrowed. Marcus had better return Gwen to him, or he’d cut ties so deep not even blood could mend them.
He didn’t care what Marcus owed, what excuses he spun, he wanted Gwen back. Pure, untouched, exactly as she had been promised to him.
And if the devil who took her had so much as laid a hand on her… Liam’s chest heaved, fury exploding in his veins.
He would tear the man apart with his bare hands.
-----
And somewhere further still, Marcus gripped the handlebars of his bike, the engine’s growl doing nothing to drown out the storm in his head.
He had been running too long. Hiding. Watching his world fall apart piece by piece.
His sister. Sweet, quiet Gwen. Now caught in the middle of a war she didn’t deserve.
Liam was breathing down his neck, threatening to sever every deal, every coin, Marcus had clawed from the dirt. And worse—worse by far, was Damien.
Damien, who never forgave. Damien, whose wrath was legend. Damien, whose brother Marcus had killed.
The memory made bile rise in Marcus’s throat. He could still see the blood, the final gasp. And he knew, when Damien came for him, it would not be quick.
It would be brutal.
He yanked the throttle, the bike lurching forward into the night. His fingers raked through his hair, his mind clawing for answers.
How could he get Gwen back without Damien gutting him alive? How could he keep Liam from destroying everything?
There was no way out. No safety. No future.
Only the certainty that when Damien finally found him, there would be no mercy.
-----
Back at the mansion, Gwen’s breath hitched when Damien finally set down his glass, his gaze never breaking from hers.
“You’ll learn something soon, wife,” he said softly, dangerously. “Everything you do… I see. And everything you hide… I’ll uncover.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs, but she forced herself not to look away.
Because deep down, she already knew, no matter how far she ran, there was no escaping Damien.
Then he stood up and whispered in her ear “shall we continue from where we stop princess?”
- Writer
