𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 | 𝟏𝟖+

7

I tumble out of Mr Clarence's car, my head spinning from all the alcohol I've had tonight. I can barely keep myself upright as I struggle up the stairs to Damien's mansion. Mr. Clarence is right behind me, making sure I don't face-plant onto the marble.

We reach the front door and Mr. Clarence punches in the code. The lock clicks open and he ushers me inside. I mumble a "thank you" as he shuts the door behind me, leaving me alone in the cavernous foyer.

I've messed things up badly. Not just for myself, but for Penny too. Damien was my best shot at giving her a better life. But after tonight's jealous spectacle? I'll be lucky if he doesn't kick me to the curb before sunrise. I'm going to need a job now. But who's going to hire a homeschooled freak with no experience? I might have to resort to desperate measures, standing on street corners selling myself to strange men—

I clap a hand over my mouth and bolt for the nearest bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before the contents of my stomach make a violent reappearance. I vomit until there's nothing left, my throat burning and my eyes watering. I push myself up from the cold tile floor and rinse the acidic taste from my mouth. My reflection in the mirror is a hot mess - mascara smudged, hair all tangled.

I don't even have the energy to drag myself up the stairs and to the guest room. I stumble back out to the living room and collapse on the nearest couch, curling into a pathetic ball of regret and self-loathing. I squeeze my eyes shut and clasp my hands together.

"Heavenly Father," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "Please, make it stop. Please make the room stop spinning. Make the nausea go away. I know I don't deserve your mercy, not after everything I've done. But I'm begging you, just this once, to take pity on me."

I repeat the words like a mantra, hoping that if I say them enough times, God will hear me. That he'll see how desperate I am and grant me this one small relief.

I wake up in a room I don't recognize, my head pounding and my mouth feeling like it's stuffed with cotton. I rub my eyes groggily, trying to get my bearings. That's when I notice the strong arms wrapped around me from behind, holding me close. I turn slightly in those arms and come face to face with a sleeping Damien. I blink, wondering if I'm still dreaming. Why is he cuddling me in his bed instead of screaming at me to get out?

Sensing my movement, Damien starts to stir. His arms tighten around me, pulling me even closer to his warm, solid body. "Morning, sweetheart," he mumbles, his voice rough with sleep.

I twist around to face him fully, suddenly wide awake. The words start tumbling out of my mouth in a panicked rush. "Damien...I'm so sorry about last night. I was way out of line. I shouldn't have acted like that, I just--"

But Damien cuts me off with a low chuckle. "Oh Cat, I could tell you were jealous from a mile away. You're not exactly subtle when you're drunk."

I feel my face flush hot with embarrassment. I start glancing around the room, taking in the expensive furnishings and the rumpled silk sheets. Why did he bring me here, to his room? Why not just dump me in a guest room to sleep it off?

As if reading my mind, Damien tilts my chin up with his fingertips, forcing me to meet his amused gaze. "Don't overthink it, sweetheart. Maybe I just wanted some company after dealing with your drunk ass all night."

There's a teasing glint in his eye, and I get the sense that he's actually kind of enjoying this. Like seeing me get all worked up over him stroked his ego in just the right way.

I don't know what to make of that, of him, of any of this. My head is spinning again, but this time it's not from the hangover. It's from the realization that even at my absolute worst, Damien still wants me here, in his bed and in his arms.