Dirty Little Secrets

Ch. 27: The Caged Bird

EMERY

I push Damon toward the balcony, the cool evening air hitting us as we step outside. My heart beats in my chest, rage burning hot like wildfire. How could he be so reckless? So careless? And in front of the paparazzi?

He stumbles and leans heavily against the balcony railing, his breathing ragged and uneven. I turn to face him, my hands shaking with a mixture of anger and concern. I want to scream at him, to reprimand him for his idiotic actions, but my voice catches in my throat.

He looks up at me, his eyes almost innocent, pure. "You lied to me," Damon whispers, residual anger lingering on the tip of his tongue as he glances down at the necklace. "You... lied to me."

I freeze as Damon's words register, his accusatory tone slicing through the tension-filled air. Is he blaming me for his actions? It's like he's reaching for any excuse to justify his behavior. But his words also sting with a hint of truth.

"The necklace?" I ask, shaking my head. "You punched him in the face in front of dozens of reporters because of a fucking necklace?! Damon, we are here as representatives of your company, a company that, based on public opinion and our stocks, is failing. What were you thinking?"

His lip twitches. "I wasn't thinking. That's the problem." He takes a purposeful step toward me, his eyes hooded and dark. "Why is it so fucking hard for you to listen to me? To obey me?"

"Obey you?" My scoff is laced with bitterness and hurt as I shake my head. "Maybe because I am not a damn dog."

"No?" His jaw ticks as he aggressively flicks the stem of the necklace. "Then why the fuck are you wearing a collar?"

I blink. "What?"

Damon runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "Jesus, Emery, do you not see what's happening? He's claiming you, and you, you're fucking allowing it."

I swallow, the weight of the diamonds almost unbearable under his pained gaze. "It's just a necklace."

"Maybe to you," Damon says, "but to him, it's an opening, an invitation. One that you've accepted." He pauses, face paling. "Are you... interested in him?"

I could lie. I could tell him that Quinton means nothing. I could say that he has nothing to worry about. But that would be a lie. I'm not interested in Quinton. I'm—

"He intrigues me," I answer honestly. "Quin... He intrigues me."

Damon winces as if I slapped him across the face. "And I do not?"

Two paths lay before me, each with a distinct allure. The first path is ablaze with passion and desire, a path that I have already walked. Will continue to walk. It burns with an intense heat that both consumes and strengthens me, like a sword tempered in the scorching pits of hell. It's chaotic and messy and oozing with toxic waste, and yet, I am powerless to resist its pull.

The second path remains untouched and untapped. But welcoming. So fucking welcoming. It's green and lush and glowing with intellectual ease. There's no intensity, no pain, no danger that I can sense, but there is depth. A depth in the words spoken, in the complexity of actions taken. It beckons to me with a siren's call, tempting me to step forth and explore.

The path of thunder shakes my core, the lightning illuminating the darkest corners of my mind.

But it cannot be dark forever.

"Can I not find two men intriguing?" I ask, placing a hand on his vibrating chest, the earth beneath his feet quaking at my response. I tilt my head, giving him a soft, manipulative smile. "Intrigue is just that, Damon. Don't you think you're overreacting?"