𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 | SPINOFF

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

MARCELLA
CRIST

"Good," he said again, his voice a steady command. I heard him take a deliberate step back, the sound echoing in the silence. "Because you're going to listen to me from now on. No more arguing, no more running away. Do you understand?"

My body trembled, my breath hitching under the weight of his voice. I nodded, swallowing hard. "I understand," I whispered, the words barely audible.

A part of me was terrified we'd be caught—this was reckless, dangerous. But another part of me? It didn't care. I couldn't think straight. Not with him here, not with the blindfold over my eyes, and certainly not with Damon Lars between my legs, my body pinned to my father's desk.

"I know you're not inexperienced," he began, his voice low, teasing, "so what I'm about to do—"

"I've read some of Avery's books," I interrupted, my voice just above a whisper, daring and trembling at the same time. "I think I can handle you, Damon."

I could feel his smirk without seeing it, his rough hand gripping my jaw. His thumb brushed over my lips, a deliberate tease. "No one can handle me, angel," he said, his voice a growl against my skin. "Not even a strong girl like you who's been chasing me for years. I'll give you credit—you've won me over—but handling me?" He leaned closer, his breath hot on my neck. "That's a different game altogether."

"I... I can try," I murmured, unsure if I was challenging him or surrendering.

"I'll let you try," he conceded, the edge in his tone unmistakable.

"Or what?" I teased, my voice shaking. "You'll smash my head against this desk and kill me?"

He chuckled darkly. "I'd prefer my headboard, but the desk works too," he muttered.

I couldn't help but smile, though my pulse thundered in my ears. A wild, erratic beat that betrayed the calm façade I tried to maintain. I couldn't see his face through the thick darkness of the blindfold, couldn't read his expression or predict what he'd do next. But that was the thing about Damon Lars—he thrived on unpredictability. Every move, every word, was calculated chaos. It wasn't just control he sought; it was the power of keeping people off balance, ensuring they never saw him coming.

And me? I wasn't an exception to his rules. If anything, I was the perfect target.

I knew Damon Lars too well. I had studied him for years, watched from a distance, then stepped closer, only to get burned every time. His habits were like clockwork, predictable in their unpredictability. He'd ghost me after this. I knew it deep down, even as I craved his attention, his touch. It was his signature move—the disappearing act. That's how he kept control. He'd give you a taste of what it felt like to orbit his world, then rip it away, leaving you spinning in the dark.

And then there was Avery Raven—his twin in every way. The two of them were practically mirror images, living for the thrill of the chase, savoring the game but recoiling from anything that hinted at staying and not ghosting. It wasn't hard to understand why they were friends. They spoke the same language, played the same dangerous games. But even knowing all this, even knowing how this would likely end, I couldn't stop myself.

"What are you going to do to me?" The words slipped from my lips before I could stop them, my voice trembling with a mix of curiosity and something far more reckless. My smile lingered, faint and teasing, like I was daring him to answer.

For a moment, he said nothing. Silence stretched between us, thick with tension, and I almost thought he wouldn't respond. But then, I felt it—the sudden, sharp grip of his hand tangling in my hair. His fist closed around the strands, yanking my head back with a force that stole the air from my lungs. A sharp gasp escaped me, and pain radiated from my neck where the movement strained the muscles. It wasn't unbearable, though. If anything, it sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and exhilaration that left me dizzy.