The Fire Beneath

Isabella’s POV

Cleo moved. Fast.

She stood so quickly her chair screeched back on the marble floor, making me flinch despite myself.

She leaned over the table, bracing her manicured hands on the surface, her face inches from mine.

"You think you’ve won something, don’t you?" she hissed, her voice low and trembling with fury.

I leaned back leisurely in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, meeting her glare head-on.

"You’re nothing special," she spat. "Damien's just... using you. He’ll get bored. He always gets bored. And when he does, he’ll come crawling back to me."

I smiled sweetly, tipping my head slightly like I was considering her words.

Then, with a voice as sweet as poisoned honey, I said, "If you were so special, he wouldn’t have left you in the first place."

Cleo blinked.

I saw the blow hit her like a slap across the face. Her perfectly glossed lips parted in shock before twisting into an ugly snarl.

Gosh she’s so infuriating.

"You think you're better than me?" she said, her voice rising dangerously.

I shrugged. "You look like a woman who isn’t worth wasting time on."

The words were like gasoline on a fire.

Cleo’s eyes flared, wild with rage. She opened her mouth, probably ready to unleash hell.

But before she could say anything—

Footsteps echoed on the stairs.

Damien.

Her jaw snapped shut so fast I almost heard her teeth click.

I rose slowly to my feet, smoothing my hands over my short, refusing to give her one more second of power.

Damien rounded the corner, a leather folder in one hand, his phone in the other. He glanced between us, something sharp and assessing flashing across his face.

Cleo quickly pasted on a saccharine smile.

Fake.

I didn’t bother pretending.

He walked straight to my side and slid his hand to the small of my back possessively, guiding me further away from the dining table without a word.

I allowed it. Allowed him to lead me, feeling Cleo’s furious stare drilling into my spine the whole way.

As the door slid closed, trapping us in the polished glass of the room where he pulled me into, I caught one last look at her face.

She was smiling.

But her eyes were promising murder.

And I knew, right then and there—

I’m gonna have fun playing the fake fiancée.

Once we were alone, he pulled me closer, his grip tightening around my waist.

"Don’t engage her again," he said quietly,  looking straight over my shoulder.

My chest tightened. "She started it."

He turned his head then, pinning me with a look that was all hard angles and razor-sharp warning.

"I don't care who started it," he said, voice soft but lethal. "You will not engage her again. Your role is to play my fiancée. Just do that.”

“So you mean I should let her walk all over me?” I spat angrily. “I don’t even want to do this. You’re holding me here against my will, Mr Damien.”

I clenched my fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms.

I hated the way he spoke to me, like I was a misbehaving child.

I hated that part of me still wanted his approval despite my situation. Despite me being a captive.

But more than anything, I hated Cleo.

She acts like an overfed peacock and I want to pluck her feathers so badly.

“Just…try your best to avoid her. Please?”

I forced myself to nod, even though the anger coiled tight in my stomach.

"If I’m going to play your fiancée," I muttered, still sulking as he kept his hands firmly on my waist, "at least I need to keep up the image. I need clothes, supplies… even a phone. Your men left my hand luggage at the airport and I don't know if I'll ever get it back."

Damien tucked a stray hair out of my face with a tenderness that made my chest ache. His thumb lingered against my cheek before he dropped his hand.

"I’ll get you everything you need on my way back from work," he said softly. "And I'll send some people to check for your bag at the airport."

He paused, his forehead lightly resting against mine for a breath before he sighed out heavily.

"I promise," he said, voice low. "After two months, if you still want to leave... I'll let you walk away freely. But can you try not to escape before then?"

Something about the way he said it—so broken, so vulnerable—made my head nod before I could even think.

I hated how easily I gave in. Hated that my heart squeezed painfully in my chest at the sadness in his eyes.

He pressed me even closer against him, his scent wrapping around me, and kissed my forehead—just a brush of lips, but it melted me inside.

"I’ll try and come home earlier, okay?" he said, and I nodded again, like some kind of puppet on strings.

What is wrong with me?!

Without giving me a chance to collect myself, Damien pulled me out of the room, his hand never leaving my body.

As we stepped into the hallway, we caught Cleo perched right by the door, clearly eavesdropping.

She straightened too quickly, her eyes wide and guilty for a split second before she smoothed her face into an innocent mask.

Damien’s whole body went rigid. His arm tightened protectively around me as he pinned her with a cold, unforgiving stare.

"You’re a guest here, Cleo," he said icily. "While you’re under my roof, you will respect Ariana. Stay out of her way."

The sharpness in his tone was enough to make even me flinch—and it sent Cleo reeling.

But she covered it up with a brittle, fake smile.

She opened her mouth to say something—

Before she could, Damien turned to me, cupped the side of my face, and dropped a soft kiss on my lips.

It wasn’t heated.

It wasn’t rushed.

It was careful. Deliberate.

Possessive.

A clear message to the woman still standing there, watching us with murder in her eyes.

When he pulled away, Damien gave a rough grunt and turned toward the elevator, his hand sliding away from me only reluctantly.

Cleo, ever the desperate little street rat, scurried after him, her heels clacking obnoxiously on the marble.

"Can you give me a ride, Damie?" she called out, her voice syrupy sweet, dripping with false innocence. "We’re heading the same direction..."

She tilted her head coyly, flipping her hair over her shoulder in a way that was supposed to be seductive.

Damien didn’t even spare her a glance.

Didn’t break stride.

Didn’t answer.

But Cleo still wedged herself into the elevator with him before the doors slid closed.

Just before they shut completely, she turned her head to look at me.

That look—

That smug, triumphant little smirk—

It made my blood boil.

It was a challenge.

A warning.

I clenched my fists at my sides, the anger burning hot beneath my skin.

Oh, Cleo.

You have no idea who you're messing with.