Chapter 6

　　Damian

　　"You're leaving again," I said in furrowed brows. "Without saying anything?"

　　She turned too quickly upon hearing my voice, her eyes were wide at the broken pieces of my antique vase on the floor.

　　Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. "I-I should... right?"

　　Something sharp twisted in my chest.

　　The first time, she had disappeared before sunrise after crawling into my bed and turning my night upside down. Now she was standing at my door looking ready to do the exact same thing.

　　Most women spent their time trying to get closer. Some wanted attention. Some wanted status. Others wanted the security that came with my name, my money, or the future they imagined I could give them. I usually found all of it equally uninteresting.

　　Elara seemed determined to want nothing from me at all.

　　It shouldn't have bothered me.

　　Instead, it was doing a remarkable job of bruising my ego.

　　"You're good at escaping," I said, raising an eyebrow. "But you're also so clumsy that you destroyed my property."

　　Her lips pressed together as her gaze lowered to the broken pieces of my vase. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice tight. "I didn't mean to—I'll pay for it. I swear. I'll replace it."

　　Her words came out rushed, defensive, like she was bracing for punishment.

　　I looked at the broken vase for exactly one second before losing interest in it completely.

　　I stepped closer, not enough to crowd her, but enough to stop her from pretending I wasn't there.

　　"Say it again," I asked. "Do you think this is just another stupid mistake?"

　　She hesitated, her grip tightening on her bag strap. "Yes... I think this shouldn't have happened."

　　I stared at her for a moment, letting the silence sit between us long enough for her to feel it. "You know," I said slowly, "I was under the impression I was at least a moderately good mistake."

　　Despite herself, her lips twitched for half a second before she caught it and looked away.

　　That small reaction irritated me more than it should have. She was trying too hard to detach, as if what had happened could be filed away like an inconvenience.

　　"Didn't I satisfy you?" I asked, tone even, almost curious.

　　Her head snapped back toward me. "That's not—why are you even asking that?"

　　I didn't move. "Because you're standing at my door acting like I offended you personally."

　　She exhaled sharply. "You didn't offend me. I just... I shouldn't be here."

　　I let that hang in the air. She didn't answer immediately, which was answer enough.

　　The logical thing would have been to let her leave. The mature thing would have been to wish her well and close the door.

　　Instead, I found myself irrationally annoyed by the idea of her walking away without a second glance.

　　"You have a fascinating habit," I said.

　　"What habit?"

　　"You keep doing things that suggest very poor judgment, then acting shocked afterward."

　　Her eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

　　"You walked into my house and now you're trying to convince yourself that none of it happened."

　　"That's not what I'm doing."

　　"No?" I asked dryly. "Then help me understand. You spend the night with a man twice, and your conclusion is that he's a mistake. That's a surprisingly ruthless performance review."

　　She glared at me. "What do you want me to do?"

　　"Pay for my vase," I said, not taking my eyes off her.

　　Her expression shifted immediately. "I told you I would pay for it."

　　I crossed my arms lightly, leaning back against the wall beside the broken vase, as if this entire situation was nothing more than an inconvenience I was willing to tolerate.

　　"The vase is expensive," I said.

　　Her shoulders stiffened. "How expensive?"

　　I paused just long enough to make her uncomfortable. Then I gave her a number that was deliberately higher than it needed to be.

　　Her face fell immediately. "...I don't have that kind of money," she admitted quietly.

　　Of course she didn't. I already knew that.

　　"Okay," she said finally. "Installments. I'll pay you back."

　　"Good," I said simply.

　　She nodded once, then adjusted her bag again, clearly trying to regain the momentum she had lost.

　　But now I had it and that was enough.

　　**

　　That night, I met Marcus for dinner.

　　He was already seated when I arrived, leaning back in his chair with the kind of relaxed confidence that came from knowing he would always find my behavior entertaining.

　　"You look unusually satisfied," he said immediately.

　　"I am," I replied.

　　That alone made him sit up slightly. "That's already alarming," he said. "You're never satisfied."

　　I ignored that. "I met someone," I casually said.

　　Marcus blinked. Then slowly set his glass down. "...Excuse me?"

　　"I met someone," I repeated.

　　He stared at me for a moment longer before laughing. "No," he said flatly. "You don't 'meet someone.' You operate in professional environments and then leave."

　　"I met her outside work," I corrected.

　　Marcus leaned forward, clearly entertained now. "And this is the same Damian Blackwood who once told me emotional attachment was inefficient?"

　　"I'm going to pursue her," I replied.

　　That shut him up for a moment. Then he laughed again, louder this time. "You're serious about a girl?"

　　"Yes."

　　Marcus looked genuinely stunned now. "I need to see her. Who is she? Where did she come from? Did she fall from the sky into your sterile little universe?"

　　"She's not yours to analyze," I said.

　　"That sounds possessive," he noted immediately. "Come on, let me see this special girl."

　　I exhaled and casually searched Elara's socials. When I found it, I immediately scroll on her timeline and found a recent post.

　　Two movie tickets held between her fingers for a weekend date.

　　Caption beneath it: "Finally, he's coming back."

　　My eyes stayed on the screen longer than I intended. The world around me didn't change. But something in it did.

　　I was not the only one who wanted her.