CHAPTER 184
**WINTER**
Damien leaned in close, that same smug curl of his lip stretched across his face, eyes flicking lazily toward Zion like this was just a game to him.
“You want to keep her to yourself, fine…”
His sneer deepens as he speaks, and every word feels like a blow, each syllable sharp and deliberate, aimed to cut deeper than the last.
“But now you’ve got me interested. I want to see what the fuss is about. I want her.”
The words hang in the air, making my blood boil. I want to laugh, but it’s more of a bitter, sarcastic laugh.
Seriously!
"He's interested” I mutter under my breath, my voice tight with fury.
“Well, congratulations, Damien. You’re officially as predictable as you are disgusting.”
And.
Want her? Like I’m some kind of book he’s curious to borrow and skim through.
My stomach churns, and I feel an unsettling heat rise in my cheeks. I want to scream at him, tell him exactly what I think, but I can't.
My feet are frozen to the ground, my eyes glued to the chaos that’s unfolding in front of me.
"And when I want something—I get it. So what the hell are you gonna do about that, Zion?"
My breath catches in my throat at his words.
The audacity.
The arrogance.
I feel my fists clench at my sides, my nails digging into my palms, but I can't tear my eyes away from Damien.
Every part of me wants to lash out, to tell him exactly where he can shove his arrogance, but I hold it in, swallowing the growing anger threatening to explode.
“No wonder you’re so goddamn possessive. Can’t stand the idea of someone else getting a taste.”
The nerve of him.
He’s disgusting.
How dare he!
I see Zion’s hands ball into fists, the tension in his shoulders growing with each of Damien’s words.
“That’s fucking enough,” Harry snarls, and I flinch at the sound of movement.
“You run your mouth one more fucking time, and I swear to God, Zion won’t have to lay a finger on you—I’ll put you through the fucking floor myself.”
The quiet threat in Harry’s voice is terrifying. I’ve never heard him like this before.
The calm, collected Harry I’ve always known is gone, replaced by something far darker, far more dangerous. It makes my breath catch in my throat.
I watch as Damien turns his face slightly, and for the first time, I see the full extent of his busted lip. It’s swollen, a deep red hue already setting in, and a slight trickle of blood stains the corner.
Did someone punch him?
My gaze flicks from his face to Zion, and my breath catches in my throat when I notice his hand.
There’s a bruise forming on his knuckles, a small patch of purple and blue already beginning to spread.
Did he hit him?
The thought slams into me, my heart skipping a beat.
Did he hit Damien for me?
The realization sends a rush of warmth through my chest, mixed with something else—something I can’t quite place. Something... I don’t know how to handle it.
Zion’s always been unpredictable, but to think he would throw a punch like that, for me—
I lift my eyes, my focus shifting back to Damien.
His smile is still intact, that twisted, smug grin etched across his face like it’s never left.
It’s maddening, how unphased he is, even with his busted lip and the bruising that’s already beginning to show.
What kind of man is he?
The question hangs in my mind, unanswered. How can he smile through all of this? How can he still look at Zion with that same mocking arrogance after everything?
I can’t understand it.
I don’t want to understand it.
Damien doesn’t budge.
He stands there, completely unmoved, as if none of this even matters to him. His stillness is unnerving, almost as if he thrives on the tension, feeding off the chaos without a hint of hesitation or discomfort.
“Get the fuck out of here. Now!” Harry growls, his voice thick with fury as he steps between us.
Damien looks between Harry and Zion, and I can feel the tension hanging in the air, thick and heavy.
And then, just when I think Damien might push it further, Clark’s voice cuts through the charged atmosphere like a blade.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he says, the sarcasm thick in his tone, and I can just picture that lazy smirk of his.
“Now, I don’t know about you, but I’d take Harry’s advice if I were you. You don’t want to find out how much worse this can get. Trust me, it’s not pretty.”
There’s a brief pause, and Clark leans in just a little, the smirk gone from his face. His voice turns low, quieter now, but just as dangerous.
“Keep talking about Winter like that... and next time, we won’t hold Zion back.”
A strange, foreign feeling stirs in my chest. These four Royal morons, as Claire calls them, are united, standing together to defend me—my honour—and I can feel my heart beat in a way that unsettles me.
They’re all so different, yet here they are, backing me up. It feels surreal—unnatural even—but in some twisted way, I can’t deny the small, flickering warmth that spreads through me.
I can’t help but feel a twinge of something—pride, maybe?
At the same time, my eyes lock onto Damien, and a surge of anger rushes through me. I’m ready to march right up to him, give him a piece of my mind, and maybe even land a punch of my own.
Why should I miss out on the fun when he's been nothing but a disgusting asshole?
But before I can even take a step, Zion’s voice cuts through the chaos—calm, yet carrying a deadly edge that stops me in my tracks.
“You try to go near her, Damien,” Zion says, his voice steady, like a dark promise.
“And I swear to God—I’ll make you regret ever being born.”
It’s not the anger that gets to me. It’s the cold certainty in his voice.
No yelling.
No fighting.
A quiet, unwavering promise hangs in the air, making my heart freeze in my chest.
I hold my breath, every muscle in my body tense, my fingers curled so tightly it aches.
My mind is racing with a thousand thoughts, but there’s one thing I know for sure:
I was wrong.
Zion wasn’t being a possessive jerk.
He was being a friend.
A real friend—someone who actually cares.
And somewhere in the chaos of everything, that realization hits me harder than anything Damien could ever say.
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