Shadows and Promises

Many things come and go.

His hand on my arm anchored me, even as my chest heaved and my lungs refused to fill.

"Isla." His voice was low, urgent, but not harsh. "Breathe. You're okay."

I shook my head, staring down at the sidewalk, the blur of the streetlight burning the corner of my vision. "No... I can't—"

"You can." He shifted closer, his hand sliding from my arm to my shoulder, steady, grounding. "Look at me."

Against every instinct screaming at me to run, I did.

His eyes caught mine, dark and relentless. For a second, I hated how much calmer I felt with him standing there.

"You think you know what you saw," Damien said softly, "but you don't."

The image of her slammed into me — his jersey hanging off her shoulders, bare legs, that smug little smile. My chest tightened all over again. "I saw enough."

He swore under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "That was my ex. We dated on and off for years. She... knows how to push her way in, even when I don't want her to."

I scoffed, bitterness clawing up my throat. "Right. And she just happened to end up half-naked in your apartment?"

His jaw tightened, his voice rougher now. "She showed up drunk that night, Isla. She knew I wouldn't throw her out in that state, so I let her crash on the couch. That's all it was."

My heart pounded, doubt twisting inside me. "Then why was she in your clothes?"

His eyes softened, the fight slipping from his voice. "Because she knew it would hurt you if you saw. Because she wanted you to think the worst." He shook his head, frustration clear in every line of him. "And it worked."

I froze, my breath catching. His words made too much sense, and that terrified me even more.

"She doesn't matter to me," Damien said firmly, stepping closer. "Not anymore. But you—" His voice cracked just slightly. "I can't stand you thinking I'd throw you aside like that."

Every warning Marissa had given me echoed in my head. He's manipulating you. You don't know him. He'll break you.

And still, when his hand brushed mine, my resolve faltered.

"Damien..." I whispered, my voice trembling.

The look in his eyes undid me. Raw. Desperate. Real — or at least real enough for me to want to believe it.

When his lips crashed into mine, the world disappeared.

The kiss was frantic, messy, all teeth and desperation. His hands gripped my waist like he was afraid I'd vanish, and mine clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space left between us.

We stumbled together through the streets, into the shadows, into the heat of his apartment again. Clothes fell away in a trail we didn't care about, replaced by the press of skin, the sharp inhale of need.

This wasn't soft. It wasn't careful. It was raw, heavy, a storm breaking open after weeks of silence. Every touch was a question, every kiss an answer neither of us could admit out loud.

By the time we collapsed into his bed, tangled and breathless, I hated myself for how much I wanted him.

And yet, as his arm draped across me, his lips brushing the curve of my shoulder, I didn't move.

I stayed.

Even though I knew I shouldn't.