chapter 3

It's precisely 11.27 pm when Damien pulls up into the gravel driveway.

The two-story house looks like something stolen from a dream. It's a modern and massive house with black walls and glass balcony railings.

Damien stops the engine and parks the jeep in the garage. The gigantic garage, packed with a collection of classy cars, is the epitome of the exclusive lifestyle that I would never be able to afford. Not even in my wildest dreams.

I don't know why I'm surprised by his luxurious living. He's Damien Fùcking Hunt. The Ceo of Camille Cosmetics. The company makes hundreds of billions annually, making it the most successful makeup company on the planet. Of course, he has a crazy collection of cars and a heavenly house. I guess I'm just in awe because I've never stepped into a billionaire's house.

Damien opens the door with a wide smile on his face. To my surprise, he carries me bridal-style to his house, claiming he doesn't want me setting my bare feet on the cold floor.

He sets me down on the cold marble floor when we enter the house. The interior is simpler than I imagined. Despite the sweeping staircase and high ceilings, the interior doesn't look extravagant or elegant. Big black couches. Black coffee table. A white rug near the grey fireplace. A massive TV mounted on the wall. And that's it. No paintings. No ornate hand-carved woodwork. No family frames. No books. No form of art. No form of life. Just a cold, colorless cave.

Damien glances at me as he runs upstairs.

"Make yourself at home." But this place doesn't feel like home. More like a lifeless hotel.

I drop down on the rug and crawl near the fireplace where the fire is crackling. I hold onto Damien's coat, sniffing his scent. A rich scent. For a swift strange moment, I get a flashback of Damien smiling down at me in the washrooms. Kissing me at the ballroom. Holding my hand in the cold. Giving me his coat. Carrying me to his car. This feels like a movie. Maybe this isn't real. Maybe my mind is making up these dreamy scenarios to avoid dealing with the brutal breakup. But then Damien comes running down the stairs, ruining the reverie. So yes, this is real.

Damien has changed into grey sweatpants and a black sweatshirt. He looks effortlessly hot in casual clothes. Even hotter than he looked in official wear.

"You should change." He smiles. "Follow me."

I follow him upstairs to a big bedroom. There's a big black bed with black pillows and black curtains falling from the ceiling to the floor. This man is obsessed with black. There's a big black T-shirt and baggy shorts.

"You can change into the clothes on the bed." He says. "Sorry the shorts are a little too big."

"I'm sure they are comfortable." I smile. "Can I have a shower?"

"Of course." Damien nods before leaving and closing the door behind him.

My eyes dart around the room as I take off my dress. The spacious bedroom is almost like a standalone apartment, offering everything the guests could need without even leaving their quarters. I step into the glass bathroom and stand in the shower for a couple of minutes.

The string of events that took place a few hours ago plays continuously in my head. When Brandon's brutal words start echoing in my head again, I turn off the shower and step out of the bathroom.

I don't want to start crying or feeling sorry for myself. I just want to enjoy the rest of this night. In the company of a stranger who has been an angel. Damien. This night would have turned out to be a nightmare if it wasn't for him.

After drying my hair, I toss it in a little bun. I slide into the black t-shirt which smells like Damien. The shorts are a little too big but beggars don't choose, right? Glancing at myself in the mirror, I huff at how ridiculous I look. The clothes are way too big.

Damien is standing at the door, talking to the delivery guy when I walk back to the living room. He closes the door and drops the bags of chicken on the table. Just the aroma of the chicken and fries makes my stomach grumble.

"When you said we're going to have chicken," I say. "I thought it was going to be homemade."

"Sorry to disappoint." He says. "I suck in the kitchen. I rarely cook. Most of the time, I just order food."

"You don't have a personal chef?"

"Nope."

"I don't know much about billionaires but I know they have people for everything. People to clean. People to cook. People to kiss their ass and lick their toes."

"Not this billionaire." He chuckles. "I live alone. No wife. No kids. I can manage most tasks on my own although I have someone who comes in weekly to clean."

When Damien disappears to the kitchen, I grab the bags of chicken from the table and place them on the rug. I sit on the floor next to the fireplace where it's warmer. He comes back with a big bottle of red wine and looks down at me with an impressed smile.

"I hope you don't mind eating from the floor, Sir."

He smiles warmly as he sits across from me. He tears the bags open and pours me a glass of wine. We toast cheerfully before digging into the scrumptious spicy chicken.

"Wanna play Truth Or Dare?" Damien suggests, mischief in his eyes.

"I thought it's a childish game that mature billionaires do NOT play."

He rolls his eyes, sipping wine.

"Truth or Dare, Dani."

"Truth."

"Why did you pick me to revenge on your boyfriend?"

"Because he hates you." I reply. "Also, I knew kissing you in front of all his friends would scar him for life. I'm sure his ego is bruised so badly."

"What if I didn't kiss you back?"

"My lips are irresistible." I pout. "You're not an exception, Sir."

He rolls his eyes again. It's the cutest thing to watch.

"Even if you didn't kiss me back, that would still be humiliating to Brandon." I grin. "Imagine your girlfriend trying to hit on your boss in front of all your friends. Whether she gets rejected or not, that would be humiliating to any man. Especially a man as self-obsessed as Brandon."

"You really thought this through."

"Yep." I sigh. "Brandon was always talking shìt about you when he came back home. So when I found out he was cheating on me, I knew you would be the perfect person for revenge."

I finish the glass of wine and pour myself some more. I set my eyes on him, feeling a little tipsy.

"Truth or Dare, Damien!"

"Truth."

"Why do you hate Brandon?"

"It's a funny story, actually." He says. "Brandon was one of my favorite employees. He's brilliant and driven and determined. One afternoon, I was in the washrooms when Brandon walked in with some colleagues. He was talking about my company being stupid. According to him, a Cosmetics company is too girly and out of his league. He called me a 'pùssy' for running such a girlish company. He said he only worked there to save enough money to start his own 'manly' company."

"Sounds like something Brandon would say."

"So I've been punishing him ever since." He smirks. "Promoting his friends. Giving them a raise. Overworking him. Promising him a promotion that will never happen. He smiles in my face but I know he hates me. Is that petty?"

"I love it."

"That's actually why I played along tonight and lied to be your boyfriend. The look on his face was priceless." He smiles. "Truth or Dare, Dani."

"Truth." I'm just in the mood to talk and talk and talk until morning with this man.

"What's the story behind the butterfly tattoo on your leg?"

For a second, I can't help but frown staring down at the tattoo. I sigh and look up at Damien.

"It was Brandon's idea," I mutter. "We got matching tattoos when we moved in together. He had the black one-wing butterfly on his left leg. I had it on my right leg. It meant that we would always be a team and fly together. Well, we've clearly collapsed. The tattoo is so cringe, right?"

"I think it's cute." He smiles a small smile.

"Truth or Dare, Damien?"

"Truth."

"Why is a hot and handsome billionaire like you single?" I ask. "G****e didn't show me any sign of your lucky lady. Is it because there's a secret man?"

That question seems to make Damien uncomfortable. He swallows hard and clears his throat, avoiding my eyes. He gulps his wine and finally faces me with a plastic smile.

"This lifestyle doesn't allow me some pretty pleasures." He says. "I'm too busy to be a boyfriend."

For some reason, I don't believe that statement. It sounds too staged. Like something he's said a couple of times in interviews to hide the truth. I wonder what the truth is. The truth he's hiding behind those mysterious dark eyes...

"Truth or Dare, Dani."

"Dare."

"I Dare you to dance like a stripper on top of the coffee table."

I burst into a laugh and finish the wine in the glass.

"You nasty nasty boy!" I get on top of the table and start dancing. "I know I suck at this. I'm a terrible dancer."

"Wish I could lie but you really are."

"No!" I laugh. "This is the part you disagree and tell me I'm doing a great job. Plus, these baggy clothes are not making this any easier for me. Maybe if I had something sexy, I would pull this off."

"Don't blame the poor clothes for your lack of talent." He chuckles.

"This is embarrassing." I get off the table and back on the floor. "Truth or Dare, Damien."

"Dare."

I'm chewing on chicken as he stares at me intently. Intensely. Almost as if he wishes I could give him a dangerous dare. He wants fun. And so do I.

"I dare you to strip naked."

A devilish grin curves on his lips as he stands tall in front of me and starts stripping. He doesn't even give it a second thought. He takes off his sweatpants. Then his sweatshirt. Mischief gleams in his eyes as he takes off his boxers. I have to look away when he unleashes his long erect manhood. When our electric gazes meet, I'm forced to look away.

"Truth or Dare, Dani."

"Dare." I finally gather the courage to look up at him and avoid the intruder standing between us.

"I Dare you to strip naked."

When I stand on my feet, my legs are wobbling. My hands are shaking as I take off the clothes. My heart is pounding hard in my chest when I stand naked in front of him with my small breasts and my little ass. I feel like an atom standing before this tower of a man with a massive manhood. Desire burns in his eyes as he scans me from head to toe.

I clear my throat and grin at him. I hate myself for what I'm about to do. But fùck it.

"Truth or Dare, Damien."

"Dare." His voice is husky.

"I dare you to fùck me."

***