003 Price For A Shower

The ointment is on top of the first aid kit. With skilled moves, Damian dissolves it between his hands before he cups her ankle.

Catherine can’t help but shiver. The expected pain doesn’t come though. It’s the hot palms of the man and his gentle touches that tickle her heart.

“Does it hurt?” The man frowns, looking up to search for her eyes, “It would get worse if the clot doesn’t dissolve. Bear it with me, kitten.”

His bass luring and his touch gentle. Catherine darts her eyes away. How she wishes blushing was a function the body could control.

Damian Moore, the most distinguished bachelor in the city, the playboy who always has women around but never tainted with a shred of sour rumor.

This is why.

He is more deadly than other predator. You can escape harm, but not when you lose your heart.

Catherine just pray he rescued her tonight out of pure kindness, and not--

“Go take a warm shower,” Damian puts away the kit, holding out a hand in front of her, “you don’t want to wrap up the cut on your arm before the shower.”

His voice is gentle and his eyes soulful with warm smile, but his dominant aura shouts authority, one that’s hard to disobey. Catherine doesn’t like feeling submitted by taking that hand. Fear grows inside her.

“It’s just a minor graze. I can shower when I get home,” Catherine refuses implicitly.

The man holds his hand right where it was, waiting.

“Thanks for taking me back to the city, Mr. Moore,” Catherine looks directly into the man’s eyes, “I really appreciate it. I don’t want to bother you for too long.”

Damian lowers his hand slowly. The smile doesn’t fade, but his aura comes off dangerous now.

He bends down a little, putting their eyes on the same level: “I thought you showered in the storm for your ex-boyfriend in the middle of the night because you really needed money. Or was it just an excuse to reunion with the man who dumped you?”

His eyes smile gently. His words freezing cold.

A cold chill runs down her spine at the icy words, and Catherine’s heart drops. Of course. As if “pure kindness” exists in this world.

She stares at the man, struggling between slapping the king of the city and making her life much worse, or accepting that she really has no other option but to sell her body.

The man looks right back at her, leisurely with a shade of mock.

“One million,” Catherine puts on a cold mask.

Damian chuckles. If Catherine didn’t misinterpret, his mood just turned brighter.

“That’s not the price I heard. Should I take that as you saying I’m worth twenty that useless ex of yours?”

Even for a woman of a physical deal, the man gets competitive??

“A loan is different from a purchase,” Catherine doesn’t want to dip into the childish topic.

The man nods, still with his perfect smile: “Then, go shower.”

Realizing the man is not backing off, Catherine puts the untouched glass of milk on the table and goes for the bathroom, making up her mind: “It’s a deal then.”

She needs money, and he is in the market for a woman.

Just a simple quid pro quo, nothing more.

***

As soon as the bathroom door closes, the smile fades from the man’s face. Coldness replaces the soulful light in his eyes, and as if to hide this secret from the world, the man closes the windows to his soul.

The phone’s ringtone breaks the silence. The man stares at the “Mom” on the screen for long.

“You won’t stay even during a storm, fine! But you can’t call me at least to let me know you got home safe?!” A woman’s shout bursts out of the phone, and Damian moves it further from his ear.

When he opens his mouth, the icy vibe washes off him as if he has been in a sunny mood this whole time.

“Hello to you, too. Mother.”

“Ohhhh, so it’s ‘mother’ now, huh?!” Daisy snorts coldly with a wronged tone, “You started a war with your dad, and now I’m your enemy, too?!”

Damian lets out a laugh at the childish woman.

“Of course you are not,” Damian sits up straight, rubbing his nose bridge as he comforts the woman gently, “I didn’t mean it that way, MOM.”

“Hmph!”

Damian: “...”

Soothed by her tamed son, Daisy softens her voice: “Your father doesn’t mean ill. You knew mentioning her would start a war.”

Ava Knight. It’s a forbidden name now. Somehow one name left scars on both the men Daisy loved. Her husband, and her son.

“He mentioned marriage first,”

“Because he cares about you,” Daisy says gently, “he wants you to have someone who cares about you, who can accompany you.”

“He wants another girl for him to throw out of his distinguished door?” Damian laughs, but this time, even Daisy hears the coldness in his voice.