Chapter twelve

Damian pov

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, my voice laced with anger, as I stared at Arla, who stood in the partially open doorway, her fist clenched. "Can't you see the doorbell? It's a clear indication that everyone here values their privacy. Don't you get it?"

Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw set in determination. "Damian, you should regard me with respect, please.

I raised an eyebrow, my anger giving way to curiosity. "Respect?" I chuckled, my voice low and menacing. "You don't deserve any form of respect, Princess," I sneered, my words dripping with disdain. Arla's eyes widened in shock; her gaze fixed on me as if she couldn't believe my audacity. Her face reddened, her lips parting as if to retort, but she seemed to think better of it; her words stuck in her throat.

"Damian, I thought we shared everything together," she said, her voice trembling. "I... I thought..." She trailed off, giving me space to interject. "There's nothing going on between us, Arla. You're nothing but my mistress," I blurted out, clutching the duvet cover in my fist.

My heart raced with thoughts, and I gradually began to realize the parallels between my rejection of Laura and my current situation with Arla.

Arla's eyes flashed with hurt, and her face paled with shock. "Is that all I am to you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. I hesitated, my mind racing with excuses, but I couldn't bring myself to lie to her. I simply nodded, my heart heavy with guilt.


I adjusted on the mattress, giving her full space to lay her head and cry for years if that was possible. "I hate you, Damian!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the room, her light soprano voice soaked with pain and sorrow. I hissed under my breath, scrolling through my phone and smiling at fashion feeds that burst my bubble.

I felt a surge of adrenaline flowing through my veins as my eyes peeked at her state. "I hate you more, Arla," I muttered, my voice cold and detached.

Arla's body shook with sobs, her face buried in the pillow. I could feel her hatred and anger radiating towards me, but I was unfazed. I had transcended caring about her feelings. Instead, I was consumed by the thrill of hurting her and the rush of power it gave me. "Why are you being so dramatic, Arla?" I sneered, pulling her towards me with a rough tug. My brows furrowed in caution.


Arla's eyes flashed with anger, her face red and puffy from crying. She struggled against my grip, but I held her firm. "Let me go, Damian," she spat, her voice venomous. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? You're enjoying hurting me." Her words struck a chord.

"No, I'm not," I snarled, my anger boiling over. "You've caused this yourself. Laura never did anything to me, but she became the thorn in her flesh, didn't you?" I spat, my eyes blazing with fury and my fingers trembling as I grasped her arms tightly, my nails almost digging into her skin.


Area's eyes widened in fear; her face paled as she struggled against my grip. "Damian, please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You're hurting me." But I just laughed—a cold, mirthless sound. "You deserve it," I hissed, my anger and hatred consuming me. "You deserve all of it.”

"Hurting you shouldn't be the problem," I said, my voice low and husky. "You should be thinking of giving yourself to me right now." Arla's eyes widened in disbelief, her stare fixed on me as if I had just suggested the unthinkable.

Arla's mouth dropped open, and her lips parted in shock. "You can't be serious," she whispered, her voice trembling. "After everything you've done to me, you still expect me to just... give myself to you?" She shook her head, her eyes filled with disgust. "You're delusional, Damian. You're sick.”

"What do you even think of me, Damian?" Her question resonated within us, her voice quivering with every word that flowed through. I nodded, my gaze fixed on the askew bed, its sheets scattered and tangled in a chaotic mess, a reflection of the turmoil that brewed within me.

"I think you're a liar, Arla," I spat, my voice venomous. "I think you're a manipulator, a user. You used me for your own gain." My eyes narrowed, and my glare intensified. "But most of all, I think you're a coward." Before my words could fully escape my lips, she resounded with a slap across my face. My jaw clenched, conveying the sense of anger engrossing me like a roaring volcano's lava, threatening to erupt at any moment.

The slap stung, but I didn't flinch. I just stood there, my eyes blazing with fury and my heart racing with adrenaline. "You think a little slap will shut me up?" I sneered, my voice low and menacing. "You think it'll make me forget what you've done?" I took a shift closer to her, my fists clenched at my sides. "You're wrong, Arla. You're so wrong.”


My fist clenched around her arm as I aggressively thrust my tongue into her surprised open mouth, devouring every fiber that made her lips soft and wet. "Damian," she struggled to speak out, but I held tight, my grip unyielding.

What is wrong with you? She strongly pulled out, but I dragged Arla back to myself, shredding her dress into two. She tried closing up, and the unsaved attitude twirled my feelings that I had to slap back her senses to gain access.

Not again, Damian, this shouldn't be a habit for you. She cried out, sobbing softly. The colors of her lingerie were buzzing my gaze. Her nipples stood firm, staring and calling my attention. I plung my mouth to it, squeezing and sucking with the passion that enticed me.

Damian! You're such an asshole, she moaned slowly, caressing my hair in pleasure, her eyeballs rolling heavenward.

A sudden wave of irrationality washed over my mind, and I couldn't comprehend anything except the urge to push her away. My eyes blazed with a fierce, reddish intensity. “Get out!” I barked, hurling her clothes in her direction, the fabric slapping her face like a harsh rebuke.