Chapter 7
Damien's POV
"Is everything okay, miss?" I asked, though the words didn't come out kind, they came out sharp, annoyed, like I had already wasted too much time watching her fumble with herself.
The girl... Lila...sat there on the damn chair, struggling with a pair of heels as if it was rocket science. A pair of heels. Jesus Christ.
I adjusted the cuffs of my suit jacket, car keys clinking in my hand. I should've been out the door ten minutes ago, but here she was... fussing with straps, biting her lip, pouting like some helpless thing that expected a knight in shining armor to swoop in and fix her shoe.
I leaned against the frame of the door, crossing my arms. "You plan on carrying those on your hand the whole night?"
She looked up at me, her lips curved in that pout again, and to be honest, it made my stomach twist. Not because it was cute. Because it was pathetic. "I can't wear them," she murmured, almost like she wanted pity.
I arched a brow, letting my eyes deliberately drag down her figure and back up. She was dressed like she thought she was walking into a royal ball, not a Blackwood 'tea party.' Too much skin, too much effort, too much of everything. She didn't fit. Not here, not in this house, and not in those shoes.
"You can't wear shoes?" I scoffed, shaking my head. "What does that even mean? You're seriously expecting me to bend down and lace them for you? No thanks. Walk barefoot if you must. It might suit the stray-dog vibe you've got going."
Her lips parted. She sucked in a sharp breath like I had slapped her with words, but she didn't argue. She dropped back onto the chair and started fumbling again, fingers tangling with the straps, her face flushed in frustration.
I almost walked out. I should have walked out.
But something in the way she muttered under her breath, some curse words about me, I'm sure....made me pause. And then she pulled her phone out, of all things, and began googling how to tie heels.
I stared. For a second, I didn't even feel disgust. I almost... laughed.
This was who Dad thought was fit to bring into our family? A local girl who needed YouTube tutorials for footwear? Not as a maid, no! as a sister.
Ridiculous.
I sighed, walked back over, and without a word grabbed her ankle. She yelped softly, her eyes wide as I pulled her leg up closer and crouched down. The strap was a mess. Of course it was.
"This is embarrassing," I muttered, more to myself than her.
Just as I tugged at the lace, the shoe jerked, and her entire body pitched forward. One second she was perched on the chair, the next she was sprawled half over me, palms braced against my chest.
Her scent hit me first. Rosé. Not cheap perfume, but something delicate, lingering. Then her eyes.... big, green, too damn earnest for someone I had already decided I hated. They sparkled, and for a split second, I wondered if they were even real.
And just like that, I hated myself for noticing.
I clenched my jaw, finished the damn shoe with a rough tug, and stood. "You always do this as a hobby? Falling on people? Or is it just me you save the clumsiness for?"
Her cheeks flushed. "I....I didn't mean to...."
"Don't," I cut her off, raising a hand. "It's giving 'pick me' energy, and honestly? You're too pretty for that. So stop."
She blinked at me, lips parted. For a moment, she didn't even look embarrassed anymore, she looked... stunned.
I grabbed my keys, shook my head, and walked out.
***
She followed, of course. I heard the soft tap of her heels behind me, too light, too uneven. I didn't have to look back to know she was struggling to walk in them.
By the time I reached my car, she was still a few paces behind, holding onto the wall like a toddler learning to walk.
I couldn't help it. A laugh escaped me, low and bitter.
"You can't even walk in medium heels?" I opened the door, slid inside, and revved the engine. She was still outside, just staring at the car like it was some alien spaceship.
I leaned on the horn. She flinched. Then she muttered something I couldn't hear... her lips moving furiously.
I got out again, exhaling like I was about to lose my patience. "Why the hell are you still standing there? What are you complaining about now?"
She crossed her arms. "I... I can't open it."
My brows lifted. "You can't open a car door?"
She tilted her head, lips pressed into a pout that looked almost intentional. "Ethan always opens it for me."
I barked out a laugh, bitter and disbelieving. "Of course he does."
I slid back inside, hit the button, and let the car door swing open automatically. Her eyes widened, and then she laughed...a bubbly, childish sound that didn't fit her supposed age at all.
I gripped the steering wheel harder. She slid into the seat, brushing down her dress, and for a moment, the car smelled like her perfume again.
***
"Why didn't Ethan show up?" she asked softly after a stretch of silence.
"Ask him," I muttered, eyes fixed on the road.
She shifted, her voice dipping even lower. "Sorry... for stressing you."
I didn't answer. Instead, I pressed harder on the accelerator, the hum of the engine filling the quiet.
"Tell me the location," I said flatly.
She blinked. "The location?"
"Yes. Where is this party?"
Her mouth opened, closed. "Um..."
I slammed the brakes. The tires screeched. She gasped, clutching her seatbelt.
"You don't even know where you're going?" My voice was sharper now, edged with disbelief.
She fumbled with her hands. "Ethan said it's a tea party..."
I stared at her. Then I laughed. A low, dangerous laugh.
"You dressed like a Barbie doll for a tea party?"
Her brows furrowed. "It... it fits the name."
I shook my head. "Tea party is sarcasm, bruh... It means a party filled with alcohol, drugs, chaos. Not Earl Grey and cupcakes."
Her face flushed red. "I didn't know...."
"Clearly." I rolled my eyes. "And you think Ethan's some innocent choir boy? He's the life of every reckless thing you can imagine."
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She just looked down, biting her lip.
Minutes later, I pulled into a street...only to curse under my breath. "Fuck. Fuck."
She lifted her head, alarmed. "What's wrong?"
"The police invaded. Party's over."
She sighed like the disappointment was hers to bear.
I swung the car into reverse, then pulled over to the side of the road.
"So?" she asked softly.
"So you're hopping out," I said.
Her head snapped toward me. "What?"
"You heard me." I put the gear in park. "Out. I've got somewhere else to be."
She sat there frozen. "But...how? Where do I go?"
I nodded toward the dim street ahead. "Straight. Then follow the painted region. You'll figure it out."
Her lips parted in disbelief, but she didn't argue. She stepped out, heels dangling from her fingers again.
I didn't wait. I didn't want to see the look on her face. I pressed down on the accelerator, leaving her standing there.
But the mirror betrayed me.
I saw her....small, fragile, shivering slightly under the streetlight. Heels in her hand, shoulders tight. Alone.
For a second, the memory of her first night in this house flickered.... the defiance, the way she stood in front of me even when I cut her down. And now? She looked... breakable.
"Fuck," I muttered.
Before I knew it, I was circling back. The car screeched as I pulled up beside her.
I lowered the window. "Get in."
She blinked at me, almost stunned. Then, slowly, she climbed back in, sinking into the seat.
"You... came back," she whispered.
"Don't flatter yourself." I kept my eyes on the road, jaw tight. "I can't go home now."
She looked at me cautiously. "Then... where are we going?"
I smirked, but it didn't reach my eyes. "Buckle up. We're going to my kind of party."
She swallowed hard, her hands fumbling with the seatbelt. And in that quiet moment, I saw it.... the flicker of fear. The way her pulse ticked at her neck. Social anxiety, written all over her.
And I thought to myself: good. Let her tremble. Let her break.
Because no matter how green her eyes shone or how sweet she smelled, she was still the daughter of a murderer, and I'd make sure she never got comfortable in my world.
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