3

Slamming the faucet on, I splash cold water over my face, the icy shock a welcome reprieve from the inferno raging inside me. The guilt, the anger, the frustration—it’s all too much. It swirls in my chest, tight and suffocating, and for once, I can’t bury it beneath money, women, or power.

I glance at my reflection again, the face staring back at me almost unrecognizable. The perfectly tailored Damian Gunn, master of his universe, looks like he’s barely holding it together. My jaw ticks as I rake a hand through my hair, pushing the damp strands back.

How the hell did it come to this? A fake engagement, an impending marriage, and a woman who seems to hate me more with every passing second.

Daisy-Belle Laurent.

She’s always been a firecracker, all sass and stubbornness. But now, that fiery spark feels like a lit fuse, ready to blow up in my face at any given moment. And yet, for all her defiance, there’s something beneath it—something I caught a glimpse of when she talked about wanting to be a mother. A flicker of vulnerability, of longing.

It’s maddening.

She gets under my skin in a way no one else ever has. I’ve dealt with women who were demanding, manipulative, or emotionally draining. Daisy-Belle isn’t any of those things. No, she’s something far worse. She’s… real.

And that terrifies me.

With a growl, I turn off the tap and grab a towel, scrubbing my face dry. I can’t let her get to me. She’s a means to an end, nothing more. A way to keep my father off my back and secure my future.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

But even as I go through the motions—removing my shirt, unbuttoning my cuffs, and preparing for bed—I can’t shake the image of her walking away from me earlier today. The look on her face as she left Highwood Manor, her middle finger raised in the air like a flag of defiance.

A reluctant smirk tugs at my lips. She’s got guts, I’ll give her that.

But guts won’t make this marriage work.

Dropping onto the edge of the bed, I rest my elbows on my knees and rub the back of my neck. For all my bravado, for all my claims that I’ll make this arrangement tolerable, I’m not sure I can. Daisy-Belle doesn’t want me, and I sure as hell don’t want her.

Except…

Except for that kiss.

The memory hits me like a freight train, the heat of her lips against mine, the way her body softened for just a moment before she shoved me away. I’d acted on impulse, and it was reckless. I know that. But damn it, the taste of her still lingers on my tongue.

And that scares me more than anything.

Because if Daisy-Belle Laurent can make me lose control like that after one kiss, what happens when we’re living under the same roof? When we’re forced to play the perfect couple for the world to see?

I shake my head, trying to dispel the thought. None of that matters. This isn’t about passion or desire. It’s about survival.

With a sigh, I lean back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. The weight of the day presses down on me, heavy and unrelenting. But I can’t let it crush me.

Because in a week, Daisy-Belle will be my wife. And whether she likes it or not, I always win.

Always.

I pause, gripping my phone tightly, trying to rein in the frustration boiling inside me. “Dexter, I get that she’s upset, but I should be there. For her. For you. For all of them.”

“You don’t get it, Damian ,” Dexter replies firmly, his voice heavy with exhaustion and something I can’t quite place—maybe anger or disappointment. “Daisy-Belle doesn’t want you around right now. Let it go.”

Let it go? That’s easier said than done. The thought of Daisy-Belle being in that hospital, scared, rattled, and needing someone to comfort her, twists something deep inside me. But what can I say to Dexter? Push back and risk making the situation worse? No. Not now.

“Fine,” I grind out, my jaw clenched so tightly it aches. “But keep me updated. And if anything changes—”

“I will,” Dexter interrupts. “Look, I need to go. Take care of yourself, Damian .” And with that, he hangs up.

I stare at the phone in my hand, the call screen fading to black, and for a moment, I just stand there. The anger, the protectiveness, the helplessness—it all mixes together in a volatile cocktail of emotions I can barely contain. Daisy-Belle doesn’t want me there. The words echo in my mind, louder and louder, until I toss my phone onto the bed in frustration.

Why does it bother me so much? She’s my best friend’s sister. Nothing more. Yet, the thought of her not wanting me around cuts deeper than I’d like to admit.

I yank on the jeans I’d pulled from the wardrobe earlier and a plain T-shirt, pacing the room to shake off the restlessness building inside me. A part of me wants to ignore Dexter and drive to the hospital anyway. Screw what Daisy-Belle says—she doesn’t get to dictate how I show up for the people I care about. But then I hear Dexter’s voice in my head, stern and resolute: “It isn’t the right time.”