4.

Chapter 4: The Wounds We Hide

The mansion was eerily quiet except the sounds of background noises coming from the TikTok  videos she was watching online as Brielle wandered down the long marble hallway that evening.

She couldn’t shake the image of Damian’s bruised body from earlier in the day.

The cuts on his knuckles and the blood smeared near his ribs haunted her thoughts. What kind of life was he living outside this house?

For someone who acted like he had everything—money, power, and women—he sure looked like he’d been through hell.

Her curiosity nagged at her, pushing her toward places she hadn’t dared go before. As she passed by the open door to the living room, she noticed the faint flicker of light inside.

She hesitated for a moment, then peeked inside.

Damian was sitting on the couch, his head bowed, a towel pressed to his ribs. He looked exhausted, his usually confident posture slouched in pain.

The sight made her heart lurch, and she hated herself for feeling any sympathy for him. He’s still an asshole, she reminded herself. He’s just an asshole with secrets.

Before she could back away, his voice cut through the room. “You going to stand there spying all night, or do you plan on saying something?”

Brielle froze, caught in the act. She straightened her posture and stepped into the room, her arms crossed.

“I wasn’t spying,” she said defensively. “I just… I heard something.”

Damian chuckled softly, though it lacked his usual arrogance. “Right. You just happened to hear something from halfway across the house.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped. Her gaze dropped to the blood-stained towel in his hand. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“Really? Because it looks like you got into a fight with a pack of wolves.” She walked closer, ignoring the warning glare he gave her. “You know, for someone who acts like life is all parties and power trips, you sure seem to have a lot of bruises. Let me guess—bar fight? Or did someone finally punch that smug grin off your face?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned back against the couch, wincing slightly. “It’s none of your business.”

“Wow. Shocking,” she said sarcastically. “You can dish out all the insults in the world, but the moment someone asks you a real question, you shut down. Typical.”

Damian’s eyes darkened, his gaze piercing. “You think you know me?”

“I think I know your type,” Brielle shot back.

“You pretend you don’t care about anything because it’s easier than dealing with your shit.”

His expression shifted slightly, a flash of vulnerability breaking through the mask of arrogance. It was gone in an instant, replaced by a cold smirk. “You’ve got it all figured out, huh?”

“Pretty much,” she replied, refusing to back down. “But you’re not as mysterious as you think.”

Damian chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “Trust me, princess, you don’t want to know what’s underneath all of this.”

“Maybe not,” she said softly. Her voice surprised even herself with its gentleness. “But I can tell it’s eating you alive.”

The room fell into silence, the tension between them thick and suffocating. Brielle didn’t know why she was pushing so hard. Maybe it was the fact that for once, Damian wasn’t lashing out or smirking like a devil. He looked… human. Broken in a way she recognized all too well.

Finally, Damian broke the silence. “I fight,” he said quietly.

“Fight?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Like, boxing?”

“Underground matches,” he clarified, his tone clipped. “No rules. No limits. You get in the ring and do whatever it takes to win.”

Brielle stared at him, her mind struggling to process the information. She’d heard rumors about illegal fighting rings before, but she never imagined someone like Damian would be involved. “Why?” she asked after a moment. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

His jaw clenched again, his gaze distant. “It’s not about the fighting. It’s about control. For a few minutes, everything else disappears. The pain, the expectations, the bullshit… it all fades away.”

She frowned. “That’s… really fucked up.”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “But it works.”

Brielle sank into the armchair across from him, her anger softening into confusion. She didn’t know how to respond to that. For all his bravado and arrogance, Damian was clearly carrying a weight he couldn’t share with anyone. And now, for some reason, he was sharing a piece of it with her.

“So that’s your big secret?” she asked after a long pause. “Illegal fighting?”

“Part of it,” he said cryptically. “There’s more, but like I said—you don’t want to get involved.”

Brielle bit her lip, torn between her instincts to protect herself and her curiosity to know more. She hated him… or at least she wanted to. But seeing him like this, vulnerable and bruised, made it harder to hold onto that hate.

“I’m not scared of you, you know,” she finally said. “Or whatever dark shit you’re hiding.”

Damian’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “You should be.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve dealt with worse,” she muttered. She stood up, brushing her hands on her shorts. “Anyway, maybe you should take care of those wounds before you bleed all over the couch.”

He chuckled softly. “Thanks for the advice, doctor.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She turned to leave but paused at the doorway. “And Damian?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to get yourself killed.”

He met her gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “No promises.”

Brielle sighed and walked out, her mind racing with questions she didn’t want answers to. Damian Anderson was trouble—dangerous, unpredictable trouble. And yet, she couldn’t help feeling drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.

This is going to get messy, she thought grimly as she headed to her room.