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The billionaire’s virgin surrogate - Chapter 29



Chapter 29


                     Damian’s POV

The storm had stopped sometime before dawn. Damian knew because he had heard the rain fade into silence, the steady beat on the roof reducing until only the occasional drip from the leaves remained. Now, at seven in the morning, the estate felt washed clean. The air carried a freshness he rarely noticed in New York, sharp and cool, sliding through the slightly open window of his bedroom.

He sat at the edge of his bed, tying the cuff of his shirt with deliberate precision. His movements were practiced, automatic, as though he could will order into himself by keeping his appearance flawless. It was a habit cultivated long ago, when Gregory’s eyes would run over him at breakfast and the smallest wrinkle in his shirt would earn a lecture on discipline.

But this morning, Damian’s concentration shifted. His thoughts drifted where he didn’t want them to.

Evelyn.

He had seen her last night, framed by the candlelight when the power went out, the flicker of the flame painting her face with shadows and gold. She had looked fragile in the darkness, yet steady in a way that unsettled him. She had stood her ground even as the storm howled outside. And when her eyes had lifted to his, searching, curious, he had felt something twist low in his chest.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He tugged the second cufflink into place with more force than necessary, jaw tightening. She was here to serve a purpose. To give him an heir. Nothing more. Gregory’s voice still echoed in his head, cold and commanding: An heir, Damian. That’s all that matters.

But every day she lived under his roof, Evelyn became harder to relegate to the role of “surrogate.” She was beginning to take up space in his thoughts, to leave fingerprints on the order of his carefully constructed life.

And he hated that.

He rose abruptly, shrugging on his jacket. The staff knew better than to knock on his door in the mornings, but he found himself listening for her footsteps instead, light, quick, distinct from the measured strides of the maids or the heavy boots of the guards.

By the time he reached the breakfast room, Evelyn was already there.

She sat near the long windows, sunlight spilling across her hair. She had tied it back in a loose knot, a few strands slipping free to brush her cheek. She wasn’t dressed to impress, just a simple blouse and skirt, modest, unassuming. Yet Damian’s gaze lingered longer than he intended, drawn to the soft curve of her neck, the way her fingers curled around the mug of coffee like she needed its warmth.

She looked up when he entered. Their eyes met briefly before she turned back to her plate, her movements stiff, guarded.

Damian’s expression didn’t change, though something shifted inside him. He crossed the room and took his seat at the head of the table, since his father wasn't present for breakfast. The staff moved silently around them, setting out dishes, pouring his black coffee exactly the way he liked it.

The silence stretched, broken only by the quiet clink of cutlery. Evelyn pushed scrambled eggs across her plate but barely ate. Her shoulders were tense, and he could see the way her gaze flicked occasionally toward him, as though she was bracing for something.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re not eating.”

She flinched slightly at the sound of his voice, then set her fork down. “I’m not hungry.”

“You’ll need your strength.” His tone was clipped, more businesslike than concerned. “This isn’t the time to neglect your health.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t have to remind me of my obligations every second.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “It isn’t an obligation, Evelyn. It’s a contract you willingly signed.”

That did it. She turned toward him fully, eyes flashing. “Yes, a contract. One that reduces me to a vessel for your heir. Don’t act like you care about my health when it’s really just about making sure I don’t jeopardize your precious legacy.”

The words landed sharper than he expected. Damian’s jaw clenched. He should have dismissed the comment, shut her down with the same icy detachment he used on everyone else. But something in her defiance struck too close.

He set his coffee down slowly, deliberately, and leaned back in his chair. “You think this is easy for me? That I wanted to involve a stranger in something as personal as this?”

Her laugh was short, bitter. “Personal? You don’t even see me as a person, Damian. Just a means to an end. A body to fulfill your father’s condition.”

His chest tightened, though his face betrayed nothing. “Careful,” he warned softly.

But Evelyn didn’t stop. She leaned forward, her voice low and fierce. “You walk around like you’re untouchable, but you’re just a man hiding behind money and walls. Maybe that works for the rest of the world, but I’m the one living here. I see you. And you’re not as untouchable as you want to believe.”

The room felt suddenly smaller, the air charged. Damian’s fingers curled against the armrest of his chair. No one spoke to him like this. No one dared.

But Evelyn had.

And instead of anger, what rose in him was something far more dangerous.

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. Evelyn’s breath caught as he crossed the space between them in two strides. He stopped inches from her chair, looking down at her with eyes that burned like steel under fire.

Her chin lifted stubbornly, but he saw the quick rise and fall of her chest, the tremor in her hands where they gripped the edge of the table. She was nervous. But she wasn’t backing down.

Something in him snapped.

Before he could think better of it, Damian reached for her, his hand sliding around the back of her neck, pulling her up to him. His mouth crashed onto hers.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t planned. It was fire meeting gasoline, all the tension that had been building between them igniting in an instant. Evelyn gasped against his lips, her hands bracing against his chest, but she didn’t push him away. If anything, the sound only willed him further.

Her lips were soft, yielding, and the taste of her hit him like a drug. He deepened the kiss, tilting his head, claiming her with a hunger he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. Her fingers clenched in his shirt, holding on as though caught in the same storm that had overtaken him.

For a moment, Damian let himself drown in it, the heat of her mouth, the soft moans that escaped her mouth, the way her body leaned into his despite the anger still sparking between them. He felt alive in a way that boardrooms and deals and hollow encounters with women like Vanessa had never managed.

But then the realization hit him like ice water.

This wasn’t control. This wasn’t measured. This was chaos.

And Damian Blackwood did not allow chaos.

He broke the kiss abruptly, pulling back as though burned. Evelyn’s eyes flew open, wide, lips parted in shock. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven. She looked both furious and shaken, as though she didn’t know whether to slap him or pull him back in.

Damian stepped away, dragging in a sharp breath. His expression hardened, mask slamming back into place.

“This,” he said, voice low and rough, “was a mistake.”

He turned on his heel and strode from the room before she could respond, his heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted to tear free.

Behind him, the silence was deafening.

But Damian knew, with a sinking certainty, that nothing about that kiss had been a mistake.

And that was exactly the problem.








            Chapter 30 – Aftershocks
        
                    Evelyn's POV 

Evelyn stood frozen long after Damian had gone, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as though the wood could steady her. Her lips tingled, hot and swollen, her heartbeat refusing to slow.

The dining room was quiet except for the ticking clock on the wall, every second reminding her of what had just happened. She had been kissed before, but never like that, never with such consuming force, never with the sense of being claimed, possessed. And never by a man like him.

Her breath shuddered out as she collapsed back into the chair, hands trembling on her lap.

“This is insane,” she whispered to herself, though the walls of the Blackwood estate swallowed the words.

She had hated him, weeks ago. She had told herself she hated him. His arrogance, his coldness, the way he reduced her to a contract. And then, God, then, he had kissed her and her body had betrayed her. Instead of pushing him away, she had leaned into him. She had clung to him. And she had enjoyed every bit of it. 

Her chest tightened. “What’s wrong with me?”

No answer came.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Damian did not return to the dining room. She did not see him in the halls, though she caught the low hum of his voice once, muffled through a closed office door. The staff moved around her carefully, as though they sensed the air in the mansion had shifted, as though they knew she was fragile glass that could shatter under the wrong touch.

By evening, she had returned to her room, curling beneath the covers though her body refused to sleep. The memory of his mouth on hers replayed again and again, refusing to let her go. She didn't like him, yes. But she craved the way he had made her feel alive, the way her heart had thundered like she had been standing at the edge of a cliff.

When she finally slept off, her dreams were restless. Damian’s eyes haunted her, gray and unreadable, burning with something that made her shiver.

Morning came too quickly.

Evelyn rose with the sun, though her body felt heavy with exhaustion. She dressed slowly, pulling on a pale sweater and dark jeans, clothes chosen not for style but for armor, and comfort. She needed distance. She needed control.

She stepped into the hallway, her bare feet making low sounds against the polished floor. The mansion felt alive in the mornings, staff moving briskly, voices hushed. She ignored their curious glances. No matter how discreet, she could feel them watching her, whispering behind her back.

Her stomach twisted. Were they already gossiping about her and Damian? Did they know?

She hurried toward the dining, desperate for a cup of coffee. As she settled on a seat at the dining table, she grabbed a cup of coffee served by one of the maids. 

Evelyn’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it free, relief washing over her when she saw Carmen's name. 

“Hey,” Carmen said as soon as she picked up. “You sound like you’ve been through hell.”

Evelyn let out a weak laugh. “That obvious, huh?”

“You’ve been off the radar for days. I was starting to think the Blackwoods had locked you in a dungeon or something.”

Evelyn’s gaze darted to the corners of the hallway, suddenly aware of the staff. She lowered her voice. “It feels like it sometimes.”

“Evelyn…” Carmen’s tone softened. “Are you okay?”

A lump rose in her throat. She wanted to spill everything, the kiss, the confusion, the way Damian was getting under her skin. But how could she explain it? How could she make someone like Carmen understand the push and pull of living in Damian’s world?

“I’m managing,” Evelyn said finally. “It’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“I can’t explain right now. Not over the phone.”

Carmen sighed. “Fine. But you’d better call me when you can talk. Don’t shut me out, okay?”

“I won’t,” Evelyn promised, though her voice cracked with the weight of the lie.

They said their goodbyes, and Evelyn slipped her phone back into her pocket. She wrapped her hands around the mug the maid had placed in front of her, inhaling the steam like it could clear her head.

But nothing could clear the memory of Damian’s mouth on hers.

She avoided him that day. Or perhaps he avoided her. Regardless, the hours passed without their paths crossing, and part of her was grateful. The other part, the reckless, curious part, ached with disappointment she couldn’t explain.

By late afternoon, she strolled into the gardens, needing air, needing space. The roses had begun to grow taller and fuller, pale pink and red against the green. She ran her fingertips lightly over the petals, delicate and soft.

“Miss Carter,” a voice said behind her.

Evelyn turned, startled, to see one of the guards. “Yes?”

“Mr. Blackwood wanted me to let you know he’ll be dining in the city tonight. You have the evening to yourself.”

Her heart thudded loudly. Alone. In the mansion. Without him.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice tight.

The guard nodded and walked off. Evelyn turned back to the roses, trying to quiet the restless flutter in her chest.

Why did the thought of him leaving make her feel both relieved and disappointed?

That night, the mansion was eerily silent. Evelyn curled on the sofa in her room with a book, though the words blurred on the page. She gave up eventually, setting it aside and pacing.

Her mind would not stop circling back to him. His coldness. His contradictions. That kiss.

She stopped by the window, pressing her palm against the glass. The city glittered in the distance, but here, in the Blackwood estate, it felt like another world entirely. A world where she didn’t belong.

A soft knock startled her.

Evelyn turned, her pulse leaping.

The door opened slowly.

Damian stood there.

His gray eyes were unreadable, his suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, his presence filling the room as though the air itself bent to make space for him.

“We need to talk,” he said. His voice was calm, too calm.

Evelyn’s heart pounded, her mouth suddenly dry. She opened her lips to respond, but no words came.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And in that instant, Evelyn knew her life inside this mansion was about to become even more complicated.







      Chapter 31 – Breaking Boundaries

                      Damian’s POV

Damian left the Blackwood's mansion to his penthouse, just to be able to clear his mind a bit. He skipped dinner, so he doesn't have to be around her. But, somehow, he finds himself on the way to her side of the mansion. 

He had told himself he was only going to her room because they needed clarity, because silence was dangerous in a house this charged. He needed control back, and control came through direct confrontation. At least, that was what he repeated as he crossed the long corridor and paused before her door.

His knuckles rapped once.

There was a pause, then a soft voice. “Come in.”

Damian pushed the door open.

The room was dim, lit by a single lamp on the nightstand. Evelyn stood near the window, her pale sweater catching the glow, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. She turned as the door clicked shut, her eyes wide, her lips parted in surprise.

“We need to talk,” Damian said.

The words were simple, steady, but his voice carried something harder underneath. He didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to admit that he’d kissed her that morning like a man losing his focus. And yet, he couldn’t stay away.

Evelyn folded her arms across her chest, as if she needed a shield. “About what?”

Damian stepped further into the room, his tall frame consuming the space. “About us. About what comes next.”

Her brows arched. “Us?”

“You signed a contract.” His tone was clipped, businesslike, but his heart betrayed him, pounding hard enough to feel in his throat. “That contract specified conception. Naturally.”

Her breath hitched. Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushing with color. She looked like she might crumble under the weight of the word.

“I know what it says,” she whispered.

“Then you understand.” His gaze sharpened. “It’s time.”

The silence that followed was thick enough for a knife to slice through. Evelyn’s hands clenched at her sides, her shoulders trembling. She turned away, moving toward the bed as though she needed distance.

Her voice came low, raw. “I’ve never done this before.”

Damian froze.

For a moment, he thought he had misheard. But she kept her back to him, her shoulders rigid. Her next words shattered any doubt.

“I’m a virgin.”

The air left his lungs in a slow, sharp exhale. Damian steadied himself on control, on predicting every possible outcome before stepping into a deal. But nothing could have prepared him for this.

He stared at her back, his jaw tight. “You, what?”

She turned then, eyes shining with a mix of fear and defiance. “I’ve never been with anyone. Ever. And now you expect me to” She broke off, shaking her head. “This isn’t just some clinical arrangement. It’s, it’s my first time.”

Her words pierced deeper than he expected. He had envisioned this as transactional. Physical. A means to an end. But now, now it was tangled with something far heavier.

“Evelyn,” he said slowly, his voice low, almost hoarse, “you should have told me.”

“And what difference would it have made?” she snapped, though her voice trembled. “You would have still insisted. You would have still reminded me of the contract. You don’t see me, Damian. You only see what you need.”

Her defiance sparked something sharp inside him. She wasn’t wrong, and that unsettled him more than anger could.

He crossed the space between them, his movements deliberate, controlled, but his pulse hammered in his ears. When he stopped in front of her, their closeness set fire to the air.

Her chin lifted, though her breath came fast. “What now?” she whispered.

Damian’s hand rose, his knuckles brushing against her cheek. She flinched but didn’t pull away. Her skin was warm, soft, trembling under his touch.

“This doesn’t have to be like a contract,” he said quietly. “Not tonight.”

Evelyn blinked, her lashes damp, her lips trembling. “Then what is it?”

He didn’t answer with words.

His mouth found hers, slower this time than that morning, but no less consuming. The kiss deepened as she gasped softly, her fingers catching his shirt like she needed him to steady her. Damian tilted his head, pressing closer, his hand sliding to the nape of her neck.

This time, she didn’t fight it.

When he lifted her gently and laid her on the bed, she stared up at him with wide eyes, vulnerable and uncertain. He paused, his chest heaving, giving her space to push him away.

But Evelyn didn’t.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t want this to feel like business.”

Damian’s throat tightened. “Neither do I.”

He lowered himself over her, every movement careful. When their bodies finally met, she gasped, clinging to him, her innocence and nerves raw in every breath. Damian tempered his own urgency, slowing himself, guiding her through the pain, through the trembling, until the tension melted into something softer, something that pulled a low moan from her lips.

It was nothing like the detached encounters of his past. This was uncharted, consuming. Each moment stuck itself into him, the feel of her nails biting into his shoulders, the sound of his name breaking from her lips, the way she trembled not just from fear but from something deeper.

When she finally relaxed beneath him, her body yielding, Damian lost the last of his restraint. The rhythm built, heat and fire and hunger colliding until they both broke apart in shuddering release.

The room was quiet again, save for their ragged breathing. Damian rested his forehead against hers, his chest rising and falling against her.

Evelyn’s lashes fluttered, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen. She looked utterly undone, and something inside him shifted at the sight.

He pulled back slowly, standing before he could give in again. He adjusted his shirt with hands that weren’t steady, his mask already sliding back into place.

“This changes nothing,” he said, though the words scraped his throat.

Evelyn’s eyes widened, hurt flashing across her face.

Before she could speak, Damian turned and walked out, his footsteps heavy, his pulse still hammering in his chest.

He didn’t look back.

But even as he closed the door behind him, he knew he was lying, to her, and to himself.

Because everything had just changed.








         Chapter 32 – The Morning After

                       Evelyn’s POV

Evelyn rolled over to the other side of the bed, her hand rubbing against the place where Damian had been hours ago. The linen still carried his heat, faint but fading, and the scent of him lingered, clean, sharp, expensive cologne with a hint of something darker beneath. She closed her eyes, breathing it in despite herself.

Then the realization struck.

He was gone. And she could remember the words he said last. 

She pushed herself up slowly, the covers slipping down her bare shoulders. The morning light entered through the curtains, catching dust motes in its glow. The room felt larger, emptier, and she hated the way her chest ached at the sight of it.

Her body carried the evidence of last night, her muscles ached in an unfamiliar way, her lips still tender from his mouth, her skin marked faintly by the press of his hands. She wrapped the sheet around herself as though she could hide from her own reflection.

What had she done?

Her fingers trembled as she gathered her clothes from the floor. Each piece told the story she wanted to deny. The clothes she had worn were now rumpled. The sweater, discarded carelessly near the bed. Her underwear, torn at the edge. She held them to her chest, her throat tight.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Yes, she had signed the contract. Yes, she had agreed to the natural clause. But she hadn’t expected it to feel like that.

Not tender. Not transactional. Something in between.

She pulled on her clothes with stiff movements, then crossed to the bathroom. The mirror didn’t lie. Her hair tangled, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. She looked like a woman who had been undone, claimed.

Her palms pressed against the cold marble sink. “Pull yourself together,” she whispered.

The faucet ran, and she splashed her face with icy water, trying to wash away the heat that clung to her. When she stepped back into the bedroom, the bed seemed like a reminder carved in a stone wall.

Damian hadn’t said goodbye. He hadn’t even looked back.

The mansion was already awake when Evelyn made her way downstairs. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, catching on polished floors and the glittering chandelier above the staircase. The staff moved with quiet efficiency, maids polishing silver, a butler arranging fresh flowers, a gardener visible through the glass doors trimming the hedges outside.

Everywhere she turned, whispers followed.

They weren’t loud, but she felt them, voices that hushed as she passed, eyes that lingered too long.

“…in his room, you think?”

“No, her room. They said he was seen leaving late at night yesterday.”

Evelyn gripped the banister tighter, forcing herself not to react. Her skin burned as though every whisper was a brand.

In the dining room, breakfast was laid out, crystal pitchers of juice, a spread of scrambled eggs, bread, fruit. Too much food for one person. Evelyn sank into a chair at the far end of the table, her appetite gone. She lifted her fork, pushed a piece of melon across the plate, then set it down again.

The butler entered with a tray. “Mr. Blackwood won’t be joining you this morning,” he said with practiced neutrality.

Her throat tightened. She managed a small nod. “Thank you.”

The butler bowed slightly and left.

Evelyn stared at the untouched food until her vision blurred. She forced herself to take a bite, then another, though each felt like she was chewing sand.

The day dragged on.

She tried to distract herself, wandered through the library, traced her fingers along the spines of books she didn’t open. Sat by the piano in the music room, though she didn’t play. Walked the gardens until the chill seeped through her sweater.

Everywhere, Damian’s absence pressed heavier than his presence ever had.

By late afternoon, Evelyn found herself back in her room, curled on the window seat. The city looked busy in the distance, glass towers glittering under a pale sun. From here, she could almost imagine she wasn’t trapped in this gilded cage.

Her phone buzzed. Carmen.

Evelyn’s hands shook as she answered. “Hey.”

“Hi, how are you doing?”,“What’s wrong? You sound exhausted,” Carmen said, her voice soft with concern.

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“You’ve been off for days. Evelyn, talk to me. What’s happening in that mansion?”

Evelyn’s eyes stung. She wanted to tell her everything, the kiss, life in the mansion, last night. But how could she? Carmen would never understand. Or worse, she would.

“It’s complicated,” Evelyn said finally, her voice breaking on the word.

“Then uncomplicate it,” Carmen pressed. “You don’t deserve to be miserable.”

Evelyn swallowed hard. Her gaze drifted to the bed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Promise me you’ll call if you need me,” Carmen said. “I don’t care if it’s three in the morning. Promise.”

“I promise.”

They talked about random things, then hung up, and Evelyn pressed the phone to her chest, her heartbeat uneven.

Evening came, and still no sign of Damian.

Dinner was served in silence, the staff polite but distant. Evelyn picked at her plate, then excused herself. The halls were dim, the dim light from the bulbs casting long shadows on the marble.

She climbed the staircase slowly, dragging her fingers along the polished wood rail. When she reached the landing, movement caught her eye through the tall windows overlooking the drive.

Headlights shone through the dusk.

A black car stopped near the front steps. Damian emerged, his tall frame unmistakable even in the fading light. He moved with his usual precision, his coat pulled tight against the evening chill.

Evelyn pressed her forehead to the glass, breath fogging the pane. She couldn’t look away.

The driver opened the door for him. Damian slid into the back seat without hesitation.

The car pulled away, taillights glowing red against the dark.

Evelyn’s heart thudded painfully. She knew where he was going. She didn’t need proof. Vanessa.

Her nails bit into her palms.

Last night, he had taken her innocence. Today, he was walking out to another woman.

She backed away from the window, her knees weak, her chest hurting. 

The sheet still tangled on her bed in her room felt less like a memory and more like a mistake carved into her brain. 

For the first time since she’d entered the Blackwood mansion, Evelyn wondered if she had made the worst decision of her life.








         Chapter 33 – Vanessa’s Claim

                     Vanessa's POV 

Vanessa Hart rested against the cold glass of her luxury apartment window, staring at the busy road as though it had betrayed her. New York glittered in the distance, taunting her with its promises of wealth and power,  promises she had worked and bled for. Promises she wasn’t about to lose to someone like her.

Her nails tapped rapidly against the wine glass in her hand. She hadn’t touched the drink since pouring it. The liquid caught the light in dark, blood-red swirls.

Blood. That was what it felt like Evelyn Carter was sucking, Vanessa’s blood, her future, her chance to finally claim what she deserved.

She turned sharply away from the view, pacing across her spotless apartment in bare feet. The white leather couch, the marble counters, the racks of designer clothes, all of it was hers now, proof of the life she had made out of nothing. But she knew too well how fragile it all was. One wrong move, one man turning his attention elsewhere, and it could all vanish. She’d lived that life before, the one of hunger, second-hand clothes, and men looking at her as if she were disposable.

Never again.

And certainly not because of Evelyn Carter.

Her phone sat on the counter, silent. Too silent. Damian hadn’t called. He hadn’t answered her messages either. For weeks now, nothing but silence.

Her jaw clenched. That was unlike him.

Sure, Damian wasn’t the romantic type , she knew better than anyone. But they had an understanding. A deal. Friends with benefits, without the messy strings of emotion. She had his attention, his bed, his time. Maybe not always when she wanted it, but enough to matter. Enough to feel like she belonged.

Until recently.

Now he was avoiding her. And she knew exactly why.

The surrogate. 

She’d shown up at his penthouse three times in the past week. Each time, the guards gave her the same stiff and boring response: “Mr. Blackwood is not available.” Not in a meeting. Not out of town. Just not available.

At first, she thought it was a coincidence. But then came the slip. The security guard who, under her sharp questioning and flirtatious tilt of her head, admitted that Damian hadn't been constant in the penthouse much at all lately. That he was spending most of his time at the Blackwood estate instead.

Vanessa had felt the world shift under her feet.

Because she knew who else was living in that mansion now.

Her lips curled, bitterness cutting through her as she muttered the name under her breath. “Evelyn.”

The little nobody from the diner. The surrogate. The replacement.

Vanessa’s stomach churned ed at the thought of her. She had seen photos, she had gotten information from those she paid and Vanessa knew how to dig. Evelyn was pretty in a quiet, unassuming way, the kind of pretty that made men think of home-cooked meals and soft laughter. Not like Vanessa’s fire, her curves, her bombshell presence. Evelyn’s appeal was dangerous in a different way, the illusion of purity. Innocence.

It made Vanessa want to scream.

She had given Damian excitement, beauty, confidence. She had been the woman on his arm when he needed one, the warm body in his bed when he demanded one. And yet this, this ordinary girl was suddenly the one in his mansion?

Vanessa gulped the glass of wine in one swallow, grimacing as the burn hit her throat. She slammed the empty glass onto the counter with a force hard enough that it cracked.

“Dammit!” she hissed.

Her chest heaved as she grabbed her phone. She scrolled through old messages, the ones where Damian had called her over without hesitation. Nights filled with passion, with the kind of intensity that only a man like Damian could deliver. Nights where he had taken her so roughly she could barely walk the next morning, and she loved it. Nights that proved he wanted her, needed her.

Her thumb hovered over the call button. But no. He wouldn’t answer. Not now.

She threw the phone aside and pressed both palms to her face, dragging her back down on the wall slowly. Her breathing steadied as her mind sharpened.

If Damian wouldn’t come to her, she would remind him why he needed her. Why he couldn’t just discard her like trash.

She walked into her bedroom, opened the drawer of her vanity, and pulled out the folder. The one she kept hidden under layers of lingerie.

Inside were the papers. Their arrangement.

She flipped through until she found the page that mattered most: the clause.

Her lips curved into a sharp smile as her eyes skimmed the words. Neither party shall engage in sexual relations with other individuals during the period of this agreement.

Vanessa traced the line with her nail, satisfaction curling in her chest. That clause was everything. Proof. A binding contract.

If she couldn’t have his attention with seduction, she would have it with the contract.

She would make him see that Evelyn was the one violating their agreement. That Evelyn was the intruder, and that Vanessa was the one who had obeyed him, stayed loyal to him, belonged to him.

And if that didn’t work?

She’d go further.

Because Vanessa wasn’t just going to let Evelyn steal Damian.

Her thoughts spiraled darker as she crossed the room and sat on the bed, clutching the folder against her chest.

She remembered the early days, the first time she and Damian hooked up. He had been all control and dominance, testing her boundaries, but she matched him move for move. He liked that. He liked that she wasn’t fragile, that she could take everything he gave.

That was what made her different from the rest. That was what made her special.

Her fingers dug into the folder.

Until Evelyn.

Vanessa’s mind raced with images. Evelyn walking through the grand halls of the mansion, wearing Damian’s gaze like a crown. Evelyn sitting at his table. Evelyn sharing his air, his silence, his attention.

No. No. No.

Vanessa stood up, pacing again, her heart racing.

She could hear her mother’s voice, sharp and bitter from years ago. Pretty fades, Vanessa. Men leave. If you don’t secure your future, you’ll end up like me, broke, used, forgotten.

That was what drove her. That was what she refused to become.

And Damian Blackwood was her ticket. Her insurance. Her destiny.

Her eyes flicked back to the contract on the bed. She picked it up again, clutching it tightly.

“This is my proof,” she whispered. “He belongs to me. He has to.”

Tears of anger burned her eyes as she sank to her knees, clutching the folder against her chest.

“He’s mine,” she hissed, voice breaking. “He’s mine, not hers.”

Her breathing grew ragged, hysteria clawing at the edges of her mind. She pressed her forehead to the cold floor, trembling.

Then slowly, slowly, her breathing steadied.

An idea formed, sharp and dangerous.

She lifted her head, eyes wild but focused.

If the world thought Evelyn was with Damian, then Vanessa needed to remind the world, and Damian himself, of the truth.

She would claim what was hers. Publicly, loudly, undeniably.

Her lips curved into a trembling smile.

“I’ll make him remember,” she whispered. “I’ll make them all remember.”

She rose, wiping the tears from her cheeks, her spine straightening. The trembling was gone. In its place was cold resolve, focus and determination.

Vanessa Hart wasn’t going to lose.

Not to Evelyn. Not to anyone.

She walked to the mirror, staring at her reflection, red eyes, flushed cheeks, hair falling in messy waves.

Not good enough.

She grabbed her makeup, applying it with studied precision. Dark liner, bold lipstick, flawless skin. She transformed herself into the woman Damian had always wanted, powerful, seductive, unforgettable.

When she was finished, she leaned closer to the mirror and whispered to her reflection:

“Evelyn Carter doesn’t know who she’s up against.”

Vanessa’s smile hardened.

“Time to remind Damian that I’m the only woman who belongs in his bed.”

She slipped into a purple dress that clung to her curves like a second skin, heels clicking against the floor as she walked.

Grabbing the folder one last time, she tucked it into her designer bag.

By the time she reached the door, her fear was gone.

Only fire remained.

Vanessa stepped out into the night, her mind made up, her path set.

Whatever it took, seduction, manipulation, or destruction, she would not be erased.

Damian Blackwood was hers.

And anyone who stood in her way would burn.


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