Chapter 63 - SIXTY THREE

Chapter 63: Chapter SIXTY THREE

ANGEL

I woke up to the color of cotton candy pink.

My eyes fluttered open to ceilings, and then the curtains. Pastel pink and white, designs from píninterest, I would know because I’d loved them once.

The bedding underneath me smelled like lavender, a scent I recognized too well.

This room. I knew this room. It hasn’t been a dream!

Memories hit me instantly, all of them attacking at once.

My breath came faster, panic crawling up my throat with clawed fingers. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t where I was supposed to be. I should be in Damien’s bed, wrapped in his sheets that smelled like sandalwood and possession.

I should be in his arms, safe in the cage he’d built just for me.

That was when I felt him.

A presence in the room, the hairs on my neck prickled.

I turned my head slowly, some primal instinct making me dread what I’d find.

I saw him.

His dark gaze stared back at me looking like the black hole itself.

My heart stopped. Those eyes watching me looked haunted in ways they’d never been before, hollow.

His face held the same features but they’d changed somehow. Sharper. Harsher.

Vincenzo.

For a second, neither of us spoke. We just stared at each other across the small distance that felt like an ocean.

This couldn’t be real. This had to be a nightmare, one of those dreams where everything felt wrong and distorted.

But my body knew better. My brain knew this was real.

A stinging sensation built behind my eyes, the pressure mounting until it hurt. Tears spilt down my cheeks, hot trails that burned my skin.

Vincenzo moved toward me, one hand reaching out in a gesture that might have been comfort.

I flinched so hard I slammed back against the headboard, every muscle in my body coiling tight with rejection.

"You killed him." The words came out broken, jagged pieces of sound that tore at my throat. My voice rose, climbing into something frantic and wild. "You killed him!"

The sobs erupted from my chest like they were being physically ripped out of me, leaving painful wounds behind that made it hard to breathe. "You killed him! You killed Daddy! You—"

"Angel—"

"NO!" My hands fisted in the sheets—those pink sheets that felt like a mockery of who I used to be. "You killed him! He was coming for me and you KILLED HIM!"

*

*

**Twelve Hours Ago**

I stood in the changing room, my heart hammering against my ribs. But the racing pulse came from anticipation, from the electric thrill of knowing what came next.

Damien would bid for me. He’d promised, he loved me, he’d whispered this to me as he nudged me into this room. He’d called me his brave little girl and I wanted to be courageous for him.

I could still feel his cum deep inside me, thick and warm, I could still taste him in my mouth. It made me feel full.

Owned.

His.

Those men out there would look at me and know that I was already taken. Already marked.

After tonight, I’d finally get to wear his collar.

The thought made heat pool low in my belly and made me giddy with excitement.

The collar he’d described in detail during my punishment—white gold etched with his initials, that would fit so perfectly that I’d never be able to remove it myself.

Damien had shown me the design after he’d finished with me that night, after he’d used every toy in his collection to remind me that pleasure without permission was theft. I’d deserved it for what I’d allowed Kayla do to me.

I could still remember the stretch of the plug he’d forced into my ass, the vibrator pressed against my clit set just low enough that I couldn’t come no matter how desperately I needed to.

He’d left me like that for hours, bound to his bed, feeling my own arousal drip down my thighs while his cum leaked from my pussy. Teaching me that my body’s responses belonged to him. Only him.

The memory made me clench around the slick of him still inside me, making me remember how thoroughly he’d marked me before we left the hotel.

We wouldn’t go back to that island either. Damien had promised me that too, his voice rough with possession as he’d thrust into me one final time this morning.

We’d have a house in the city. I’d sleep in his bed every night. I couldn’t wait for the auction to be over.

The woman in charge of the changing room approached me holding a makeup kit. She was dressed in severe black with a face that looked stern.

"Let me fix your face." Her tone suggested it wasn’t really a request.

"No." I stepped back, protective of the evidence painted across my skin. "I’m fine like this," I replied.

"But your mascara has run, and your lips—"

"I said no." My voice came out firmer this time, who the hell did she think she was?

I wanted those men to see me like this. They should know I’d just had Damien’s cock in my mouth and could taste the remnants of his load even now.

The woman’s expression pinched with obvious disapproval, her lips pressing into a thin line. But she stepped back, setting the makeup kit down.

I barely began to heave a sigh when two other women appeared.

They leaned close to the stern-faced woman, whispering something too low for me to hear. But their eyes kept darting to me—quick, glances that told me their conversation was every bit about me.

My stomach clenched, my instinct screaming that something was wrong.

"You need to change," the stern woman announced, her tone brooking no argument.

"What? No." I looked down at my white dress—wrinkled and stained from the car. "I’m supposed to wear this. He told me to wear this."

"You need to change into the robe. Now."

They moved before I could respond, all three of them attacking me at once. Firm hands grabbed my arms, my waist, their fingers digging in as they pulled at the fabric of my dress.

"Stop!" I thrashed against them, twisting and pulling, trying to break free from their grip. "Get off me! What are you doing?"

But there were three of them and only one of me, and they were stronger than their elegant appearances suggested. They stripped the dress from my body despite my struggling, the white fabric disappearing from my skin like they were erasing every trace of Damien’s claim.

I was still fighting even as they forced a silk robe onto me and tied it closed.

The door opened.

And suddenly, the women stepped back in perfect unison.

The air in the room thickened, became harder to pull into my lungs. I could already sense danger before I looked up. And when I did, my heart simply stopped beating.

Dark hair.

Eyes like midnight.

I was staring at the face of the man I’d loved with everything I had.

Once.

A lifetime ago.

Before I learned what real devotion felt like.

Vincenzo.

Time stretched between us, and it seemed my lungs forgot how to work because my chest felt too tight, starved of oxygen.

He looked different. Too different.

Those eyes had always been intense, burning with focus. But now they were darker, looking empty like I was staring into a void.

His features had been sharp before, commanding. But now there was something cruel lurking beneath the surface.

"Dadd—" The word formed automatically on my lips, but it died before it could come out.

Completely choked off by the awareness that Damien was the only one I could call that now. Damien was Daddy.

He owned every part of me. And if I gave it to someone else, if I betrayed him like that, he’d punish me.

Vincenzo moved toward me, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet despite his size.

"Angel," he said, and his voice was calm. Gentle. It sounded exactly the way I remembered it being. "We need to leave now."