The Art of Control

c13: The Other Women

Maya awoke slowly, the early morning light streaming through the curtains of Damian's penthouse. Her body was still heavy with exhaustion from the night before, every inch of her skin a reminder of the intensity Damian had pushed her through. But as her senses sharpened, she felt an unfamiliar emptiness in the bed beside her. Damian was gone.

This wasn't like him.

She shifted beneath the covers, her fingers brushing the cool sheets where he had slept, a frown tugging at her lips. Damian rarely left her alone after nights like the one they'd shared. He thrived on keeping her close, ensuring that his presence was felt even when he wasn't touching her. But now, the emptiness in the bed seemed unsettling, as though something had shifted.

Her eyes flickered to the pillow beside her, where a neatly folded piece of paper lay. A note.

Maya blinked in confusion, her fingers trembling as she reached for it. Damian wasn't the type to leave notes—his communication was always direct, his presence always looming. The idea of him writing something seemed so out of character that her heart quickened in anticipation.

Unfolding the note, she read the words written in Damian's controlled, elegant handwriting:

"Maya,
I had to leave early this morning. Something came up with my father that required my attention. I'll see you tonight.
You did well last night.
-- D"
Her stomach twisted as she read the last line. You did well last night. A strange compliment coming from him, considering how he had pushed her beyond her limits, how he had brought her to the brink only to reel her back in, again and again. But it wasn't the praise that troubled her—it was the mention of his father, Elijah Blackwood.

Damian never spoke about Elijah without hesitation. His father's name was always a dark cloud hanging over him, a shadow that shaped Damian's life and, in many ways, controlled him. Maya had sensed this from the beginning, but the more she learned about Damian, the more she realized how deep the influence of Elijah Blackwood ran.

She folded the note carefully, her heart racing. Damian's sudden departure left her unsettled, but more than that, it left her with a growing sense of urgency. She couldn't afford to wait any longer. If she wanted to understand who Damian truly was—and more importantly, if she wanted to survive this dark, twisted relationship—she needed to dig deeper.

And that started with Isabel.

By the time Maya arrived at the small café in a distant part of the city, her nerves were wound tight. The air outside was heavy with the scent of rain, the sky a thick, oppressive gray. The café was quiet, tucked away from the bustling city center, its dim lighting and worn furniture giving it an air of seclusion.

Maya scanned the room, her eyes settling on a woman seated in the farthest corner. Isabel.

She had found Isabel through old art circles and connections that had once spoken about the mysterious woman who had been part of Damian's world, only to vanish without a trace. Now, as Maya approached her, she saw the toll that the years and Damian's influence had taken. Isabel was beautiful but worn, her once-bright eyes now carrying a haunted look, her skin pale and drawn tight across her sharp features. Her dark hair was pulled back loosely, and she wore a simple jacket that did little to hide the tension in her posture.

Isabel's eyes flicked up as Maya approached, her expression a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

"You must be Maya," Isabel said quietly, her voice tinged with an accent that added to her exotic allure. But there was no warmth in her words, only a guarded wariness. "I thought you might come looking for me eventually."

Maya took a seat across from her, feeling the weight of Isabel's gaze settle over her like a judgment. "Thank you for meeting with me," Maya began, unsure of how to navigate the conversation that was about to unfold.