Chapter 2

Even though the shot was taken from a distance, his gentlemanly care practically radiated off the screen.

There was a second photo—a selfie. Natalie was holding up two fingers in a playful heart shape right in front of Damian’s famously stoic face.

Those two pictures hit me like a punch to the gut.

They came from an unknown number. I didn't bother digging into who sent them.

There was no denying it worked.

I kept telling myself in my head: *Remember your place. Don't cross the line.* Eventually, I slipped down into his private wine cellar, cracked open two bottles of his vintage red wine, and drank until my mind went fuzzy.

In the haze, my mind wandered back to a warm summer night when I was twenty-three. We had just worn each other out in bed. On a whim, I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture of his sleeping face, staring at it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

I didn't even notice him wake up. Damian glanced at my screen, his voice deep and raspy in the dark: "I'm right here beside you. Why are you staring at a screen?"

I was too spoiled by his touch back then to hear the underlying warning.

He left quietly before I woke up the next morning. For the entire following month, he vanished from my life.

I eventually called his executive assistant and dropped subtle hints. Wearing him down, the assistant finally sighed over the line. "Miss Taylor, Mr. Vance dislikes having his picture kept without his permission. You shouldn't have done that."

The moment the realization hit me, my face burned with shame, and I hurried out of his office tower.

The next day, for the first time ever, I called Damian directly and put on a soft, sweet voice:

"Could you bring me the new pink smartphone when you come back? Mine slipped and fell into the bathtub. It's completely ruined."

The silence on the other end lasted so long that I thought he had hung up.

Finally, he gave a quiet, low grunt: "Alright."

Relief washed over me. I handed the house phone back to the housekeeper.

She looked at the perfectly good phone sitting at the bottom of the filled tub and shook her head in pity. "Miss, why throw away such a nice phone? Let me fish it out; maybe it can still be fixed."

I raised a hand to stop her.

"It's just a phone," I said softly. "It's not worth losing everything else over."

***

On a night of pouring rain, Damian walked through the front door at precisely nine-thirty.

I was sitting on the couch with a cigarette between my fingers, sipping a cold beer, watching some mindless TV drama.

Hearing his footsteps, my instinct kicked in. I hurriedly stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and waved the smoke away with my hand.

He hated it when women around him smoked.

The first time he ever caught me with a cigarette was at Club Mirage, an upscale private lounge in the city.

I was out with a few friends trying to unwind when a handsome young guy cornered me, asking for my number.

I blew a lazy plume of smoke right into his pretty face. Seeing his cheeks turn red, I teased, "Do you have deep pockets, pretty boy?"

He nodded eagerly. "Loads of cash."

Before I could say anything else, Logan Foster’s amused voice drifted over from the side: "Looks like Damian isn't giving you enough pocket money, huh?"

My entire body went rigid. In that split second, my mind raced through my bank balance, the downtown condo, and the retail property Damian had signed over to me.

I slowly turned around, scanning the dimly lit lounge. Before I could catch my breath, Logan pointed a smug thumb toward the dark VIP booth in the corner. "Stop looking. He's right there."

His teasing tone irritated me, but I had no time to snap at him.

Damian’s face was as dark as storm clouds.

Back then, I genuinely thought I was about to be kicked to the curb. Damian had zero tolerance for his playthings flirting with other men. I was terrified he would strip away everything he gave me before kicking me out.

After all, when Damian agreed to keep me, the very first question he asked was whether I had been with other guys.

If any other man had asked that, I would have spat on the floor and walked away.

But this was Damian Vance—a man standing at the very top of the corporate ladder. He had the looks, the endless wealth, and was insatiable in bed. Putting up with his rules was easy enough.

He didn't kick me out that night. Instead, he made me sit on his lap, ordering me to light a cigarette and immediately put it out, over and over again. Once I obeyed, he strictly told me to quit smoking entirely.

As a sugar daddy, Damian was practically flawless.

He was rich, generous, and could wipe away life-altering problems with a single phone call—except for his rough, possessive habits behind closed doors.

This was the third time he had caught me smoking. But tonight, he seemed exhausted. He just stood there, staring at me with cold, quiet eyes.

Then it hit me. My request to break things off hadn't been forgotten over the weeks. He had simply set it aside until now.