CHAPTER THREE

Sophia's POV

Holy fuckity fuck. There was no way you could call the Black estate a house. It was a whole fortress made of glass and steel, the whole building reeled of intimidation.

Dominic’s driver took my cracked suitcase like it was a lump of dirt and disappeared into the shadows of the foyer. Dominic didn’t bother sticking around for a tour.

"A maid will show you to your room. Get some sleep. We start tomorrow," he said, already walking away while staring at his phone.

Typical. I was just another line on his to-do list.

I followed a silent woman in a crisp uniform up a staircase as I fought the urge to not stop and wow at every art piece I came across.

She showed me to a room bigger than my entire first apartment, muttered something about the bathroom, and left.

I sat on the edge of the bed, sinking deep into the plushness. The softness. Marcus's bed was a fucking rock compared to this. Perfection.

I needed water. Or a drink. Or just to feel like I wasn't suffocating.

I managed to find my way back downstairs, wandering through the dark halls until I smelled the faint scent of lemon and…..cake? Must be coming from the kitchen.

It was massive. Industrial-grade everything. I didn't even turn on the lights; the moonlight hitting the marble counters was enough.

I leaned against the island and finally, for the first time since my whole life came crashing down….. I let out a sob.

It was small, and pathetic, I'd admit that much. But my heart was shattering all over again and I couldn't help it. I gripped the edge of the counter until my knuckles turned white.

"You're getting salt on the Carrara marble. It stains."

I jumped, nearly knocking over a decorative vase. I spun around, my hand flying to my chest.

A guy was sitting in the shadows of the breakfast nook. He was wearing a black hoodie, his legs kicked out in front of him.

Damien Black. The youngest.

I’d seen him in the tabloids—the wildest Black. He looked younger than Dominic, but his eyes had that same sharp, dangerous edge that seemed to run in the family.

"I... I didn't see you there," I stuttered, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

"Clearly," he said. He stood up, moving with a fluid, lazy grace. He looked like trouble.

He walked over to a cabinet, pulled out a glass, and grabbed a bottle of amber liquid from the counter. He poured a heavy glass and slid it across the marble toward me.

"Drink it. You look like you're about to vibrate out of your skin," Damien said.

I stared at the glass. "I don't really drink whiskey."

"Start. It helps with the pathetic-ness," he countered, leaning back against the sink.

"I’m not being pathetic," I snapped, my temper flaring. "I’ve had a bad night."

"A bad night is losing your keys, Sophia. You got dumped at a bus stop by a guy who fucking wears loafers without socks," Damien said, his voice flat. "That’s what I call a Darwinian intervention."

I glared at him. "You don't know anything about it."

"True. But I know Marcus. He’s a coward with a trust fund. And I know you’re standing in my kitchen crying over him like he’s a loss."

He took a step closer. He was taller than he looked in photos. Intenser. If that adjective even works.

"Stop crying over a guy who belongs in the garbage. It’s embarrassing to watch," he added.

You have got to be kidding me…

"You're a real jerk, you know that?" I said, finally grabbing the glass and taking a swallow. It burned like hell, but it felt good.

"I’m a Black. 'Jerk' is the entry-level requirement," Damien shrugged. He was watching me, his gaze lingering on my lips as I pulled the glass away.

The air in the kitchen suddenly felt….hot.

"Dominic thinks he's going to use you to win a corporate war," Damien said, his voice dropping to a low, rough murmur.

"And what do you think?" I asked, my heart doing a weird, frantic dance.

"I think you're too pretty to be just a weapon," he said, stepping into my personal space. "But I also think you’re probably a lot more fun when you aren't leaking water from your eyes."

I should have stepped back. I should have told him to back off.

But I didn't. I stood there, trapped between the marble counter and a guy who looked like he wanted to devour me.

"Dominic told me I’m like a sister now," I whispered, the words sounding stupid even to me.

Damien let out a short, dry laugh. He reached out, his thumb catching a stray tear on my cheek. His skin felt warm.

"Dominic says a lot of things," Damien said, his thumb lingering near the corner of my mouth. "But I didn't get the 'brotherly' memo. Not for you anyway."

Okay, nope. Red flag alert because this was not what I signed up for.

I could feel the heat radiating off him. He was looking at me like he wanted to ruin me in a completely different way than Marcus had.

"Go to bed, Sophia," Damien said, his voice a low growl. He pulled his hand back, but he didn't move away.

"I... yeah. Okay," I breathed.

I turned and practically fled the kitchen, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I made it back to my room and slammed the door, leaning against it while I tried to catch my breath.

God, please. I was supposed to be hiding from the Vales. I was supposed to be safer here.

But as I stared at the dark ceiling, all I could think about was the way Damien looked at me in that kitchen.

The Blacks were definitely not the safer option I'd thought they were.

Trading Marcus for them was like trading a snake for a pack of wolves.

And Damien? From what I've seen so far, he was the one with the sharpest teeth.

There is no way…..that this is happening to me right now. We're still dreaming, right?