EUPHORIA

food

The air outside the bathroom was colder than she expected, but the warmth of Damian’s clothes clung to her. The fabric was soft, lived-in, carrying the faintest traces of something grounding—like pine, steel, and something vaguely earthy.

Raven wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

She followed Damian through the quiet hall, keeping her steps light. He moved ahead of her, silent and controlled, his posture stiff but not aggressive. He didn’t seem to be in a rush, but he wasn’t hesitating either.

The house opened into a spacious living area. A fireplace crackled in the corner, casting flickering shadows against dark wooden walls. The kitchen was sleek and modern, separated by a long counter with two barstools. It was strange—this wasn’t the cold, stone fortress she had expected. It wasn’t a League base. It was a home.

She hovered near the entrance, unsure of where she was allowed to go.

Damian noticed. He gestured toward the counter. “Sit.”

Raven eyed him warily. She didn’t move.

His expression didn’t shift, but he exhaled through his nose and turned away, opening the fridge. “You haven’t eaten.”

She tensed.

“Not hungry.”

“Eat anyway,” he said, not unkindly.

She frowned, but before she could argue, he pulled something out—a bowl of rice, some roasted meat, vegetables. He set it on the counter and grabbed a pair of chopsticks, sliding them across to her.

Her stomach clenched. She hadn’t realized how long it had been since her last real meal.

Raven took a cautious step forward, then another. She sat slowly, eyes still locked on him as she reached for the food.

The first bite was hesitant. The second was faster. By the third, she wasn’t thinking about anything but eating.

Damian leaned against the counter across from her, arms crossed, watching. Not intrusively. Just… observing.

After a while, he spoke.

“Do you understand anything I’m saying?”

Raven hesitated. She had picked up fragments, but not enough to respond properly. Instead, she gave a slight nod, choosing another bite instead of answering.

Damian hummed. “We’ll work on that.”

She scowled. She didn’t want his help. She wanted to understand everything now.

He must have caught the look on her face because his lip twitched slightly—not a smile, but something close. He tilted his head toward the hallway. “There’s a bedroom down the hall. You’ll stay there.”

Raven tensed. Away from him?

Damian watched her reaction carefully. “Or you can stay out here. I don’t care. Just don’t stab me in my sleep.”

She blinked.

Something almost amused flickered across his expression before it disappeared. He turned and grabbed a glass of water, taking a slow sip before setting it down.

Silence stretched between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t entirely easy either.

Raven didn’t trust this yet. Didn’t trust him. But he was different. She had seen what he was capable of at the auction, how effortlessly he had cut through the competition to claim her. And yet, there was no cruelty in him now. No arrogance.

Just patience.

She hated that it made her feel safe.

Her fingers curled against the counter. She finished eating, pushed the bowl away, and met his eyes.

“What… now?” she asked, voice rough from disuse.

Damian studied her for a long moment. Then he exhaled and turned toward the hallway.

“Now you sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow, we talk.”

And with that, he left her there—alone, in the quiet warmth of a home that wasn’t hers.

For the first time in forever, no one was watching her. No one was forcing her.

And for the first time in sixteen hours… she wasn’t running.

She wasn’t sure what that meant yet.

But maybe, just maybe, she would find out