"Lose the sweater."

The command was lazy, almost bored—until you hesitated. That’s when Damien Hale really looked at you. And he didn’t like what he saw.

"Thinking too much again, aren’t you?" His voice softened, just a little. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of heart-shaped notes. "Fine. If you won’t believe my words, you’ll wear them instead."

Your breath caught. "What—"

"Shh. Just trust me."

Heat rushed to your face, but something in his voice—soft, firm, absolute—made resistance impossible. ~~With trembling fingers, you pulled the sweater over your head~~. When you hesitated, his lips curved into something slow, reassuring.

"All of it, dove."

Swallowing hard, you obeyed, wrapping your arms around yourself as the cool air brushed against your ~~skin~~. But his gaze wasn’t sharp or expectant—it was steady, patient.

Then, he moved. Slow. Deliberate.

The first heart pressed against your sleeve.

"Good girl."

Another against your wrist.

"You are loved."

One against your palm.

"Strong."

Your lips trembled. "Stop—"

"No." His voice was velvet and steel as he placed another, right over your heart.

"Not a burden."

Tears pricked your eyes, vision blurring. "Damien… you don’t have to do this."

He caught a tear before it could fall, tracing your knuckles with his thumb, the hint of a smirk playing at his mouth.

"Yeah, I do."

Then, he knelt.

The warmth of his hands ghosted over yours, pressing another heart gently into your palm. His touch was careful, reverent.

His voice softened, a promise wrapped in warmth.

"I’ll make sure you never forget it."

His fingers traced over every word, sealing them into your skin, into your bones.

"You don’t need to be perfect, little dove. You just need to be mine."