Chapter 6

Claire's POV

Hillside Villa.

This place was once the future Damien and I had fantasized about.

Back then we'd huddled in our tiny rental room, pointing at mansions in magazines. He said when he made money, he'd definitely buy one with floor-to-ceiling windows so I could draw while basking in the sun every day.

Now he'd actually bought one.

But it had become a cage to imprison me.

At eight o'clock sharp, I rang the doorbell.

Damien himself opened the door.

He'd just showered, wearing only a bathrobe. Water droplets slid down his sculpted chest muscles and disappeared into his trim V-line.

His black hair hung damply over his forehead, less sharp than usual, more wildly attractive in a way that made hearts race and faces flush.

But I only felt cold.

"Come in." He stepped aside, his expression dark and unreadable.

I changed my shoes and stood awkwardly in the entryway. The living room was cavernously large, decorated in minimalist black, white, and gray, emanating a forbidding coldness.

"Go shower."

Damien sat on the sofa, lit a cigarette, and pointed upstairs. "The master bedroom is on the left. Clean yourself thoroughly."

That tone-like he was instructing someone on how to handle a newly purchased pet.

I bit my lower lip, my nails digging into my palms. "Mr. Barrett, I've already cashed the check. I paid my grandmother's surgery fees."

"So?" He raised an eyebrow. Through the cigarette smoke, those eyes were sharp as a hawk's.

"So... I'll fulfill my promise."

I took a deep breath and turned to go upstairs, as if marching to my execution.

The bathroom was large. In the mirror, I looked deathly pale, like a fragile porcelain doll.

I turned on the shower. Hot water poured down, but it couldn't warm my body.

When I came out after bathing, a silk slip nightgown lay on the bed.

Extremely short. Extremely sheer.

Even that damn color was the light purple I used to love most.

He did it on purpose.

He was reminding me that I used to wear similar things in front of him too-back then for romance, now for transaction.

I changed into the nightgown and hugged my arms, curling up at the foot of the bed.

The door opened.

Damien walked in.

He stubbed out his cigarette, his gaze traveling over my body inch by inch-that kind of look burning enough to make one panic.

"Come here." He patted the space beside him.

I stiffly moved over.

The moment I got close, he yanked me into his arms. The strong scent of tobacco mixed with body wash instantly enveloped me.

"Why are you shaking?"

He gripped my chin, his thumb rough as it rubbed across my lips. "Four years ago when you demanded your breakup fee, weren't you pretty tough?"

"Damien..."

"Call me Mr. Barrett."

He coldly corrected me, then lowered his head and kissed me brutally.

This wasn't a kiss.

It was biting, punishment, venting.

That night, rain fell outside the entire time.

And I died the entire time.