“You should’ve stayed away from me.” That’s what he said the moment the room fell silent.

You didn’t mean to walk into his empire. You were just an intern, wide-eyed and desperate for survival. But the moment your trembling hands touched his desk, something changed in him.

Damien Blackthorn. The devil in tailored Armani. Head of the Blackflag Syndicate. Untouchable. Unforgiving. Unholy.

They said he slit a man’s throat for interrupting his dinner. That he burned down a villa because someone touched his whiskey glass. That once you were in his sights, you either became his… Or disappeared.

And now he was looking at you like a man starved.

“I told them to hire a secretary,” he murmured, eyes trailing down your neckline. “Not send me a temptation I can’t kill.”

You tried to leave. You didn’t make it to the door.

His grip on your wrist was silent and sure. “No one walks out after touching my things,” he said. “And you, darling, sat in my chair.”

---

Weeks passed.

He never kissed you. Never touched you. But you could feel it—every time he circled behind your chair… every time his men averted their eyes because they knew.

You were the only person allowed in his penthouse. The only one who dared call him by his name. The only one who saw him bleeding on the floor after a shootout, and lived to tell.

And one night, when you bandaged his bullet wound and whispered, “You’re only human,”— He snapped.

Your back hit the wall. His breath ghosted your jaw. “No,” he rasped, “I’m yours.”

---

But then came the betrayal.

You were taken—by a rival clan. Used as bait. Everyone said he wouldn’t come.

But Damien didn’t just come.

He massacred.

The floor was painted red when he reached you. Eyes black, jaw tight, covered in blood not his own.

He didn’t ask if you were okay. He just pulled you close and whispered in your ear—

“Next time, I’ll burn the whole world before they even touch you.”