Chapter 57: Concern

Damien had ordered her to sleep, and no matter how much she didn’t want to, she knew she had to obey.

Slowly, she climbed down from the bed and made her way to the long couch, curling up on it and using her arms as a pillow. She felt a small sting from the injury due to how uncomfortable the couch was.

Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes, forcing herself to sleep so she wouldn’t make Damien angry.

​Sofia was almost asleep when she felt a presence standing before her, watching her. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see Damien staring at her with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his body dripping with water.

​”Go lie on the bed. This couch is too uncomfortable.”

​Those words from him made Sofia’s eyes widen. She blinked rapidly, wondering if she was dreaming or imagining things.

Damien quickly realized she wasn’t going to move. He frowned, his green eyes studying her tired face and the way she was curled up on the small, hard couch. His jaw tightened when he saw her flinch; even sitting there was hurting her shoulder.

​”I told you to move, Sofia,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t make me say it again.”

​”I… I can’t,” she whispered sleepily. “The bed is yours. I’m just a—”

​”Don’t finish that sentence,” he snapped.

​Before she could say anything else, Damien stepped forward. He bent down, and Sofia sucked in a sharp breath when his arms slid under her. One hand held her back, careful of her bandaged shoulder, while the other supported her legs. He lifted her with ease, as if she weighed nothing at all. Sofia gasped and grabbed his shoulders to steady herself. Her body pressed against his warm chest, and the heat from him made her dizzy.

​”Damien, put me down,” she pleaded softly.

​”Be quiet,” he said firmly.

​He carried her to the bed and gently laid her down on the soft sheets. He pulled the blanket up to her chin and tucked her in with careful hands. For a long moment, he stood there, water dripping from his hair. He looked at her closely. There was no anger in his eyes now—only deep, painful regret.

​”Sleep,” he said quietly. “The bed is big enough. I’m not letting you stay on that couch and hurt yourself more.”

​He moved to the other side of the bed and sat down. He didn’t lie down right away. He stayed there in the dark, replaying everything that had happened that night. Sofia had almost escaped. She had nearly run away—and if he hadn’t arrived when he did, if Zach had taken her instead, Damien couldn’t bring himself to imagine what that man would have done to her.

Then there was the shooting.

What if the bullet hadn’t grazed her shoulder? What if it had struck her heart?

Sofia would be dead.

The thought hit him so hard it stole his breath. Panic flooded his chest as he turned and stared at her sleeping form, her back facing him. His mind spiraled, replaying the night again and again—twisting it into darker endings. What if he had been seconds later? What if he had never come at all?

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head. His eyes never left her.

“I won’t let you die, Sofia. Never.” He whispered those words as vows he intended to keep with his life.

​The morning sun slipped through the heavy velvet curtains into the room. Damien stirred and reached across the wide bed without thinking, his hand searching for Sofia’s warmth. He touched nothing but cold silk. His eyes flew open, his heart jumping hard in his chest. Panic rushed through him. Was last night only a dream? Had she escaped again?

​He sat up quickly—then froze.

​Sofia was still there. She sat on the same stiff couch she had slept on before, already dressed in a fresh maid uniform. Her hair was pulled back neatly, and the white bandage on her shoulder showed through the thin sleeve. Her face was calm, empty, like a mask. She looked at him and lowered her head respectfully.

​”Good morning, Alpha Damien,” she said in a quiet, formal voice. “I have already asked the kitchen to prepare your breakfast. It will arrive shortly.”

​The words hit him harder than anger would have. Damien frowned. He studied her closely. She looked tired—too tired. Dark shadows rested under her eyes, and her skin was pale. A soft knock came at the door. A waiter entered, pushing a silver cart filled with food—steak, eggs, fruit, and hot coffee. The smell filled the room, but Damien felt no hunger.

​Once the waiter left, Damien stood and pulled on a pair of dark pants. He walked to the cart, then pushed it toward Sofia instead of sitting down.

​”Eat,” he said firmly.

​Sofia blinked. “I’m not hungry, Alpha. I’ll wait until you’re done and take the rest back—”

​”I said eat,” Damien cut in, his voice tight. “You lost a lot of blood. Your body needs food to heal. This is not a request.”

​She hesitated, then slowly picked up a piece of fruit and ate quietly. Damien watched her, his thoughts racing. The ambush had changed everything. Zach had crossed a line. Alexander had made his move. This hotel was no longer safe.

​”We’re leaving tomorrow,” Damien said suddenly.

​Sofia stopped mid-bite and nodded. She was going back home, going back to the people who see her as a murderer.

Damien watched her struggle. She had finished the fruit, but as she tried to reach for the coffee, she winced, her hand hovering uselessly in the air. The stiff fabric of the maid uniform was clearly rubbing against the raw skin of her wound, and the scent of dried blood still clung to her despite the fresh clothes.

​”You haven’t washed,” Damien observed, his voice cutting through the quiet.

​Sofia looked down at her lap, frowning. “I… I tried. I couldn’t reach the back, and the water made the bandages heavy. I didn’t want to bother the healer again.”

​Damien stood up, his presence suddenly looming large in the small seating area. “Get up.”

​Sofia’s heart hammered against her chest. “Alpha, is there a problem—”

​”I said get up, Sofia.”

​He didn’t wait for her to comply. He walked into the massive marble bathroom and turned the gold fixtures. The room quickly filled with steam, the scent of expensive sandalwood and sea salt rising in the warm air. Sofia stood in the doorway, her body trembling as she watched him test the temperature with a focused, almost clinical intensity.

​”Strip,” he commanded, not looking at her.

​

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