Chapter 3 3

Elise moved faster.

Her hand snatched the phone before Damian could crush it.

"Don't," Damian warned, his voice a low rumble of thunder. "If you answer that..."

Elise swiped the screen. She hit the speaker button.

"Baby!" Eddie's voice filled the luxury cabin. It was whiny and pitched too high. "Where are you? Did Donavan get you? The flight to Paris is booked, I'm waiting at the private terminal! Do you have the cash?"

Damian's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. His hands were fists on his knees, the leather of his gloves creaking. He looked ready to tear the car apart.

Elise held the phone up. She looked at it with bored detachment.

"We're finished, Eddie," she said. Her tone was flat. Clinical.

Silence on the other end. Then, a sputtered laugh. "What? Babe, stop joking. Put Donavan on. Did the Vincent prick hurt you?"

"Don't call me babe," Elise said. "And don't call this number again. I'm blocking you. I'm deleting you. You don't exist."

"You bitch!" Eddie's voice turned nasty instantly. "You think you can dump me? After everything I did for you? You're nothing without me! You're just a crazy-"

Splash.

Elise dropped the phone into the silver ice bucket sitting on the center console.

The device sizzled as it hit the ice and water. The screen flickered green, then went black. Eddie's voice was cut off mid-insult.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Elise looked at Damian. She shrugged. "I hate it when people yell."

Damian stared at the ice bucket. He stared at the submerged phone. He looked back at Elise, his gray eyes wide with genuine confusion. The monster in him receded, replaced by a wary curiosity.

"You... destroyed it," he said.

"It was trash," she replied.

The car pulled into the underground garage of the Vincent Tower. The ride up in the private elevator was silent. Damian stood in the corner, watching her reflection in the metal doors.

When they entered the penthouse, Elise didn't go to her room. She walked straight to the study.

Damian followed her, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet.

She went to the wall safe hidden behind a painting. She punched in the code. 06-15-08. The day they met as children.

She heard Damian's breath hitch behind her. He hadn't changed the code.

The heavy door swung open. Elise reached into the back and pulled out a small, dusty velvet box.

She turned around. Damian was standing right there, too close. He smelled of rain and expensive scotch.

"You kept this," she said.

Damian looked at the box. His expression darkened. "I confiscated it. You bought it for him."

"No," Elise said. "I bought it for you."

She opened the box. Inside, a pair of sapphire cufflinks glittered under the chandelier light. They were deep blue, almost black.

"I bought them three years ago," she said softly. "But we fought that day. You said I was wasting money on trash for Eddie. You didn't let me finish."

It was a lie. A partial one. In her past life, she had bought them for Eddie. But Eddie had wanted cash, not jewelry. Now, they were a prop in her new narrative.

She took the cufflinks out. She stepped closer to Damian, invading his personal space.

She reached for his wrist.

Damian flinched, his muscles jumping under his shirt. But he didn't pull away. He let her unbutton his cuff.

Elise worked the sapphire link through the fabric. Her fingers brushed the pulse point on his wrist. His heart was racing. Fast. Erratic.

"They match your eyes," she whispered, looking up at him through her lashes.

Damian looked down at her. He looked at the cufflinks. He looked at her hands touching him.

His chest heaved. He grabbed her wrists, his grip tight.

"What game is this, Elise?" he demanded, his voice rough. "What do you want?"

"I want to start over," she said. "I want to be your wife. A real one."

Damian's eyes searched hers. He leaned down. His face was inches from hers. His gaze dropped to her lips.

He was going to kiss her.

Then he stopped.

His eyes narrowed. He looked at her fingers. specifically, at her thumb. The black nail polish was chipped, revealing the jagged edge of her nail.

His nose wrinkled. A flicker of distress crossed his face.

OCD.

Elise suppressed a smile. Of course. He couldn't handle the imperfection. The dirt. The chaos of her current look.

She pulled her hands back. "I'm a mess."

Damian let out a breath that sounded like a groan. He turned away, running a hand through his hair. He pressed the intercom button on the wall.

"Sterling."

"Sir?"

"Get a manicurist here. Now. And call Valentina. Tell her to open the salon. We're coming in."

"Sir? It's 2 AM."

"Did I stutter?"

"No, sir."

Damian turned back to Elise. He looked at her torn fishnets, her smeared eyeliner.

"If you want to be my wife," he said, his voice regaining its usual arrogant composure, "you will look the part. I won't have you walking around looking like a raccoon."

Elise smiled. "Whatever you say, Dami."

Sterling appeared at the door, holding a cream envelope. "Sir, a courier just dropped this off. It's from the Nelson estate."

Damian took it. He ripped it open.

"Dinner. Friday night," he read. He looked at Elise. "Your father wants us there. Jill will be there."

"Good," Elise said. She walked over and took the invitation from his hand. Her eyes were cold. "I have a few things to say to my dear cousin."

"You're not going," Damian said. "You'll run."

"I'm going," Elise said. "And you're taking me. As your fiancée."

"Sterling goes with you to the salon," Damian countered instantly. "He doesn't leave your side."

"Deal."

Elise turned to walk to her room. As she turned, her smile vanished.

She needed to get to that salon. She needed a computer. And she needed to make sure Jill Hayes regretted ever being born.