𝐌𝐨𝐛 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥

08

I woke up to the sensation of someone shaking my shoulder. Groggily, I opened my eyes and blinked, my vision adjusting to the dim light. Standing before me, like a shadowy figure looming over my bed, was Damian—his presence unmistakable, as cold and commanding as ever.

I instinctively pulled the blanket closer to me, trying to create a barrier between us. "What are you doing here?" I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep.

"This is my room," he replied, his tone indifferent. "I can do whatever I want."

I sat up, still holding the blanket tightly against my chest. "So, what do you want?"

"Dinner's ready. Come downstairs and eat, then you can go back to sleep," he ordered, not giving me a chance to argue. I nodded silently, knowing there wasn't any use in resisting.

Without another word, he turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my eyes as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. That's when I noticed the boxes. A lot of boxes, stacked neatly around the room. My heart skipped a beat.

How did I not see these before?

Curious, I knelt down and ripped open the tape on one of the boxes. My eyes widened. It's my stuff. Clothes, shoes, personal items—all packed away in these boxes. Xander and Christopher must've done all this while I was asleep.

I ran my fingers over my belongings, a strange mix of comfort and unease washing over me. Even in this strange place, pieces of my life are here.

After a moment, I pushed the box aside and stood up, making my way downstairs to the kitchen. When I arrived, everyone was already seated, chatting quietly amongst themselves. The only available seat was next to Damian, naturally, with Christopher on his other side. I hesitated but forced myself to walk over and sit down.

Damian tapped the table lightly as soon as I got settled. Within seconds, maids emerged from the kitchen, each carrying plates of food—steak, seasoned potatoes, and grilled asparagus. They placed the dishes in front of us with practiced grace, and the room soon filled with the scent of a perfectly cooked meal.

Everyone immediately began to dig in, but I found myself staring at the food. I wasn't used to eating large meals like this. My mother's voice echoed in my head, a nagging reminder of the ridiculous expectations she had instilled in me growing up: "Don't eat too much. Men don't like girls who get too big."

I absently poked at the asparagus, my appetite evaporating with each passing second.

"Eat." Damian's voice was low but authoritative.

I flinched slightly, glancing up at him. His eyes were already on me, dark and unreadable. I quickly looked away, my cheeks burning, and pushed the food around my plate to look like I was eating.