Damian stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. The walls felt like they were closing in as he paced back and forth, the weight of his conflicting emotions pressing down on him. He had never felt so out of control, so unsure of himself. Elara—his contract wife, the woman who was supposed to be a simple business arrangement—had somehow become his weakness.
He tried to shake off the thought, but it lingered like a persistent shadow. His heart raced at the thought of her being in danger, of Charles having his hands on her. His fists clenched involuntarily, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.
“Why am I like this?” Damian muttered, looking out of the window at the city lights. “Why do I care this much?”
He had been telling himself for months that Elara was just
