Page 4 of Claimed By Him
“Clean up the coffee,” he said softly, his footsteps moving toward his desk. “Then get out.”
Without a word, I reached for the rag on the floor. Then my skirt.
I didn’t even bother to get dressed as I mopped up the the last of the coffee, then left the room to fetch the vacuum, so fucking shocked, it felt like I was floating. I pulled my skirt on in the hallway, fingers brushing against the cum dripping down my thighs.
What the fuck just happened? My hands shook so badly, I dropped the rag, and when I glanced down, all I could focus on was how the fabric was stained from his coffee.
I felt like that. Stained. Used.
Damian didn’t even look at me when I returned with the vacuum. He didn’t watch as I finished, didn’t need to. His indifference was more suffocating than anything else.
“Anything else?” I asked, my voice hollow, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
“Nope.” He hummed, a quiet acknowledgment before turning his attention back to whatever held his interest.
***
Hours later, it still bothered me.
I left his penthouse without looking back, my body moving on autopilot. The elevator doors closed, and the weight of what happened settled heavily over me. What the fuck?
The whole world was a blur. I took a taxi home, not bothering to chat with the driver like I normally did. My thighs were still wet. I kept forgetting to clean them.
It was dark when I finally blinked, finding myself staring at my apartment door, at the gap signifying that it had been left open. Why the fuck was it open?
Snapping back to reality, I pushed the thought of Damian from my mind and pulled out my phone to call my roommate. Lila didn’t answer.
Cold sank into my gut, my instincts screamed at me to run, but I didn’t. Not when Lila could be hurt.
So I stepped forward, holding my breath as I opened the door and went inside.
The apartment was empty. Cold.
But I swore I could smell Evan’s cologne in the air around me. Maybe it was just my imagination. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, there was no fucking way I was staying around to find out.
I pulled out my phone and messaged Lila, warning her. Then I put it aside and started packing, my hands shaking as I snatched up the suitcase I left under the bed.
It was already open and filled with my emergency clothes. So I grabbed the rest of my things and shoved them in, one after the other. It didn’t take long, and there was an envelope of cash hiding inside the flap of the suitcase. My savings. Everything I had, to the last coin.
My breath came in short, ragged bursts, the panic creeping in faster than I could outrun it. The windows were dark, but I kept glancing out, half-expecting to see Evan outside or in the shadows.
A faint sound made me pause, and a sob crept into my chest.
Footsteps.
No, no, no, no, no.
I froze, my heart slamming against my ribcage. No. Not again. Not him.
My pulse raced, and I instinctively stepped back, clutching the suitcase tighter. My mind was spinning, thoughts ricocheting between escape and suffocation. I couldn’t go through this again—this helplessness, this overwhelming vulnerability.
“I can’t do this again,” I whispered to myself, my voice cracking as I tried to control the panic. “I can’t go with him.” Because if it was Evan, then he’d fucking kill me.
Tears streamed down my face. I was an idiot. I was such a fucking idiot. There were small signs that I noticed and didn’t pay too much attention to. Something out of place, scratches on the doorknob that weren’t there before. I should’ve run then. I shouldn’t have stayed.
The footsteps grew louder—closer, and my breath hitched. A sob escaped my lips before I could stop it. I was alone, isolated, and terrified. Just when I thought I couldn’t feel more trapped, the door slowly creaked open and a familiar set of blue eyes caught mine.
I sank onto my knees, inhaling quickly as I was filled with so much sudden relief that black spots dotted my vision.
