Attached Strings

Damon handed a slim, leather-bound book across the elegant dining table toward me and said, "Here are the rules."

I gazed at it, his words weighing more than the object. "Rules?"

"Yes, Emma. Guidelines With his characteristic calm detachment, Damon studied my response as he leaned back with his fingers steepled in front of him. "I presume you were aware that this arrangement would have limitations."

The book felt smooth and opulent beneath my fingers when I took it up. I opened it and found clean pages with well-typed content. Each line in the list is cooler than the one before it.

With a hint of incredulity in my voice, I read out loud, "Rule one." "The penthouse is off-limits to unapproved guests. Rule 2: Be accessible for public appearances at all times. Rule three: Before attending formal gatherings, get advice from Damon Blackwell about outfit adjustments.

My chest constricted as I stared at him and closed the book. "You think I'll live this way? As if I were some kind of puppet?

His lips curled into the tiniest grin as he cocked his head. No, a puppet. However, I do expect you to fulfill your role. You accepted this deal, after all. Did you not sign the contract?

I tightened my jaw. "That does not imply that I consented to this kind of control."

"It's not control, Emma," Damon said in a calm and easygoing tone. It's organized. Our arrangement is a performance, and perfection is necessary for performances.

I crossed my arms and thumped the book down. "To me, Damon, this isn't a performance. It is my life.

He stiffened his blue eyes. "Emma, your life is now entwined with mine. It will be simpler for us both if you accept it sooner rather than later.

I detested his composure and the way his words pressed against my flesh like the edges of a sword. However, I refused to let him see my breakdown.

"All right," I answered, maintaining a steady tone despite the simmering wrath. "Are there any other conditions attached to this deal?"

He leaned forward slightly, his stare never leaving mine. "There is an additional rule. Possibly the most significant one.

The quiet between us was like a stretched wire as I waited.

His tone was so matter-of-fact that it made my stomach turn. "You don't fall in love with me," he added.

It was an unanticipated, harsh chuckle that sprang out of me. “Don’t worry, Damon. The last thing on my mind is falling in love with you.

I briefly believed I saw a glimpse of something raw, almost vulnerable, flickering in his face, but it vanished as fast as it emerged.

He stood up and straightened his outfit, saying, "Good." "Then there won't be any problems."

With my hands clinched at my sides, I watched him walk out of the room. I wanted to tear the book to bits and hurl them in his face, but I knew better. Fighting Damon Blackwell was not a reckless emotional outburst. I had to play smart if I wanted to make it through this.

A few hours later, I was curled up in the corner of the enormous sectional of the penthouse, with the floor-to-ceiling windows glowing faintly from the city lights. The rules were oppressive, even though they were sitting next to me unaltered.

The sound of Damon's voice reverberated down the corridor, breaking the silence.

He rushed into the living room with his phone clamped to his ear and stated forcefully, "No, that's not acceptable." "Repair it. Right now.

I saw his stiff stance and precise motions. He was usually forceful and in charge. However, I saw for the first time that there were rifts in the armor—a hint that the guy wasn't as invincible as he wanted the world to think.

His gaze fell on me as he hung up. "You're still conscious."

I gave a shrug. "I feel like a prisoner, so it's hard to sleep."

He raked a hand through his black hair and moaned. "Emma, this is not a prison."

"It seems like one," I replied.

He clenched his jaw. "In this case, I've granted you more freedom than most people would."

"Liberty?" I sneered. "Damon, you gave me a rulebook."

His presence was overpowering as he took a step closer. And those regulations are in place to keep us both safe. Do you think I like this? Do you believe I desired any of this?

I arose and confronted him. "Damon, nobody made you do this. You picked out this game, and now you're bringing me along.

His eyes became gloomy, and I briefly feared he could snap. Instead, he took me by surprise.

"You're right," he muttered.

I was taken aback and blinked. "What?"

He said, "You're right," in a quieter but no less forceful tone. "I decided on this. I now have an obligation to ensure that it doesn't ruin us both.

His statements were so vulnerable that I was temporarily stunned.

The sound of glass breaking interrupted the moment before I could react.

My heart pounding, we both looked toward the source. A person climbed the building, their face hidden, and a shadow moved just outside the window.

"Come back," Damon said, moving ahead of me.

"What—"

"Now, Emma!" His voice was filled with urgency as he yelled.

Damon pulled a sleek black gadget out of a drawer, a phone with a blinking red button, and I staggered back. Alarms sounded throughout the penthouse in a matter of seconds after he pushed it.

Outside, the person acted without hesitation. They broke through the glass, scattering fragments on the ground.

As the intruder entered the room and fixed their gaze on Damon, I let out a scream.

Damon, however, did not recoil. He took a stride forward with a more icy countenance than I had ever seen.

"Who sent you?" Damon insisted.

With a sly smile, the intruder took a knife from their belt. "Blackwell, you'll find out soon enough."

As Damon faced the invader, his body acting as a barrier between me and danger, my blood went cold.

And I became ac

utely aware of how deadly this environment was, and how enmeshed I was in it, for the first time.