Bella stood outside the restaurant, her heart hammering in her chest.
She shouldn't be here.
After Damien's challenge earlier that day, she had told herself she would ignore it. She had no business entertaining this—whatever this was.
And yet… here she was.
Drawn to the fire, even knowing it could burn her alive.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside.
The restaurant was dimly lit, elegant, the kind of place reserved for power plays and whispered secrets. The maître d' barely glanced at her before leading her toward the back, where a secluded booth waited.
Damien was already there.
He leaned back in his chair, perfectly at ease, one hand wrapped around a crystal glass of whiskey. As she approached, he lifted his gaze—and a slow, knowing smirk curved his lips.
"You came."
Bella slid into the seat across from him, ignoring the way her pulse quickened. "Don't look so smug. It's just dinner."
Damien took a slow sip of his drink, watching her over the rim. "Nothing with me is ever just anything, Isabella."
She ignored the way his voice sent heat curling through her. Instead, she forced herself to meet his gaze, refusing to be the first to break eye contact.
"Why did you want me here?" she asked.
A small pause. Then Damien set his glass down, tilting his head slightly.
"You interest me."
Bella frowned. "Why?"
Damien studied her, his dark eyes filled with something unreadable. Then he leaned forward, closing the distance between them.
"Because you pretend you don't want this."
Bella's breath hitched.
His fingers ghosted over hers, barely touching, but it was enough to send a shiver down her spine.
"This," Damien continued, his voice a low murmur. "The way your pulse races when I touch you. The way you hold your breath when I lean in." His lips curled. "You can deny it, but your body doesn't lie."
Bella's throat went dry.
She should shut this down. She should remind herself why she was here—to get information, to protect herself.
Instead, she said, "And what if I do want it?"
For a second, something dark and satisfied flickered in Damien's gaze.
Then, he moved.
One hand slid beneath the table, resting on her knee, his thumb tracing small, lazy circles. Bella's breath hitched, but she didn't move away.
"Then you're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart."
Bella swallowed hard. "I can handle danger."
Damien's fingers pressed slightly, just enough to make her stomach tighten. "I don't think you understand." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "I don't do casual. I don't do half-measures. If you want this, Isabella…" His grip tightened. "You'll belong to me."
Bella's heart pounded.
Everything about this was wrong. He was the man she was supposed to be investigating, the man she had been warned about.
And yet, every nerve in her body was screaming for more.
Slowly, deliberately, she leaned in.
"I'm not a possession, Damien." Her voice was soft, but firm. "And I don't belong to anyone."
Damien's eyes darkened. "Then prove it."
Before she could ask what he meant, he was already moving.
He stood, pulling her up with him. The restaurant faded away as he led her outside, to where his sleek black car was parked.
And then—he kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't hesitant.
It was hard, deep, possessive.
A claiming. A challenge.
Bella gasped against his mouth, but her fingers curled into his jacket, pulling him closer. His hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back as he deepened the kiss, stealing the very breath from her lungs.
By the time he pulled away, they were both breathing hard.
Damien rested his forehead against hers, his fingers still tangled in her hair.
"You should walk away," he murmured. "Right now. Before this goes too far."
Bella swallowed. "And if I don't?"
A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips.
"Then you're mine."
Bella didn't move.
Didn't walk away.
Instead, she lifted her chin and whispered,
"Prove it.