Chapter 37: Sexual Urge

The lock on the changing room door clicked open. Damon stepped back into the hallway of the boutique.

Eleanor stood near the end of the corridor. Her tablet was tucked under her arm, her fingers resting lightly against her skirt.

Her face was a smooth, professional mask, but her eyes immediately dropped to the empty space behind him. Lily hadn’t come out.

He walked up to her and stopped right beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating through his jacket.

"Do you feel jealous?"He asked flatly.

She caught her breath. The question was sudden. She didn’t flinch, nor did her eyes waver, though a subtle, tight breath expanded her chest.

"Why would I be?" She replied softly. Her voice was steady, holding a quiet, restrained pitch. "I know who I am, Damon. And I know what we have."

He looked at her for a second. He didn’t push her. He didn’t need to.

He knew what she wanted.

More affection. More of his attention. Maybe, eventually, something closer to what ordinary women expected from a man.

But Damon had never promised her that.

Eleanor knew better than to demand what had never been offered.

She knew the terms of her freedom. He had saved her from Julian, handed her an empire, and taken her as his own.

She wasn’t going to destroy that foundation over a young girl in a fitting room.

"Good," He said, turning his gaze toward the main display floor. "How are the Sterling transfers moving?"

Eleanor adjusted her posture. "The legal team cleared the second regional fleet this morning.

The vice chairman tried to flag the accounts, but Vance handed his tax records straight to the district prosecutor. He signed the asset release before noon to avoid an arrest warrant."

"And the boutique?"

"Velour is clean," she said smoothly. "Our weekly gross margin hit sixty percent after clearing the blocked inventory. Everything is under control."

He nodded once. "Go to the fitting room."

Eleanor blinked, her professional mask slipping for a fraction of a second. "What?"

"Pick something decent from the new collection and give it to her," He said, nodding toward the closed fitting room door.

"She’s going to need something to wear when she walks out of here."

She looked at the door, then back at Damon. A dry smile touched her lips before she brought it back under control. "Understood."

Damon turned and walked toward the front of the boutique, leaving her alone in the corridor.

Eleanor stepped over to the stock rack, pulled down a dark navy silk wrap dress with clean, elegant lines, and pushed open the fitting room door without knocking.

Lily was sitting on the plush velvet bench inside, her back resting against the mirror.

Her hair was loose around her neck, her skin flushed, her breathing still coming in short, uneven beats.

She looked up as Eleanor entered, her eyes flashing with a quick spark before a shameless smirk spread across her face.

Eleanor studied her for a moment, then simply held out the dress.

"Put the dress on. Damon doesn’t like waiting, and we have to clear the floor before the afternoon delivery arrives."

Lily giggled, reaching out to touch the soft silk of the navy dress. She looked up at Eleanor through her lashes, her eyes glinting with playful mischief. "He really doesn’t go easy on anyone, does he?"

"No," Eleanor said, her voice dropping . "He doesn’t. Put it on."

She turned and stepped out, closing the door behind her with a final click, refusing to give Lily the dramatic reaction the girl was fishing for.

Twenty minutes later, Damon sat behind the wheel of the black Lamborghini Revuelto as it roared along the wide asphalt lanes of the North District bypass.

Beside him, Lily was curled sideways in the low bucket seat, fast asleep, the navy silk dress draped softly over her shoulders.

He held the leather wheel with one hand, his eyes fixed on the empty road ahead.

Now that the noise of the boutique had cleared, a sensation began to churn beneath his ribs. It was a heat - the pulse of his demonic essence.

With every intimate encounter, every time he claimed a woman , the core of his Lust Demon heritage expanded. The sheer physical strength in his arms, the sharpness of his senses- all of it was growing stronger by the day.

The strength is useful, He thought, his grip tightening slightly on the wheel. The craving isn’t.

He felt the hunger lingering at the back of his mind like a persistent fire.

It wasn’t just physical desire anymore. It was a demonic instinct - stronger than ordinary hunger, persistent enough to become dangerous if he let it dictate his actions.

Damon had no intention of letting that happen.

He controlled his power; his power did not control him.

He needed management, and he needed a structured outlet.

His eyes narrowed as he looked out at the towering glass skyscrapers of the central district gleaming under the afternoon sun.

A few days ago, he was living in a damp, single-room apartment in the lower district, carefully counting his remaining cash.

Now, he held over fifty million dollars liquid in a private account.

The financial barriers were completely gone. The social friction that held ordinary men back didn’t exist for him anymore.

Finding women with exceptional talent, beauty, or system potential wasn’t going to be a struggle. With the resources he now commanded, doors would open before he even reached the handle.

He leaned back against the headrest, a satisfied smile touching his lips.

It will be much easier from here.

BRRR-BRRR.

The sudden vibration of his phone shattered the silence inside the cabin.

Damon glanced down at the central screen. The incoming call display showed a single name: Thomas.

He pressed the answer button on the steering wheel control. "Speak."

"Young Master," Thomas’s voice came through the car’s speakers.

The old butler didn’t sound panicked, but the formal rhythm of his tone was noticeably tighter than usual. There was a faint silence on the line before he continued.

"I apologize for disturbing your afternoon, Young Master Damon," Thomas said carefully.

Damon’s eyes shifted toward the digital clock on the dash. "What happened?"

"Something has arrived at the Blackstone estate," Thomas reported.

"What is it?"

"A letter, sir," Thomas replied softly. He paused, picking his words with extreme precision. "It carries the wax seal of the Central District Judicial Oversight Committee. And... it is addressed directly to the late Master Thorne. I believe you should review it personally immediately."

Damon’s eyes narrowed into icy slits as he listened to the old man’s words.

"I’m ten minutes away," He said flatly.

He ended the call and hit the throttle.

The V12 roared as the black Lamborghini tore toward Blackstone Manor.

Whatever had been waiting for the Thorne family had found its way back to him.