Damian stirred awake as the first rays of sunlight filtered into the bedroom. He stretched, feeling the silk sheets slide off his sculpted chest, watching Chloe stand before a gold-framed mirror. Her delicate fingers traced the curve of her belly, and her brows furrowed in thought.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Damian stared at her. The lace nightgown from Singapore clung to her changing body, highlighting the soft swell of her belly. The sight of her—vulnerable yet resilient—stirred protectiveness and raw desire within him.

"You're up early," he murmured.

Chloe didn't respond, her focus still on the reflection of her growing belly. The small bump, just starting to show, reminded him of the life they'd created. A life that, until yesterday, she guarded as a secret.

Slipping out of bed, Damian approached her, the cool floor grounding him. His hand found the small of her back as his fingers pressed possessively.

"Talk to me," he coaxed, his lips brushing the curve of her neck.

She leaned into him with a sigh, her body softening against his. "Everything's changing, Dami. I'm changing. The nausea, the mood swings, the sore breasts... it's a lot. And when I do have energy..." Her voice trailed off, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

"When you have energy, what?" Damian asked. His hand rested on her abdomen, and he felt the warmth of life growing within her.

Chloe's warm, brown eyes met his in the mirror. "When I have energy, all I want is you. I hunger for you, and sometimes it's overwhelming."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Damian's face. "You think I don't feel the same? Every time I look at you, I want you. Need you. Every inch of you."

He turned her to face him, his hands caressing her curves. "This—" he said, his hand resting on her belly, "—is the most beautiful thing in the world. Our baby."

Chloe's breath hitched as his thumb brushed under her breast, teasing. "When should we tell our families?" she asked, her body responding to his touch.

"Whenever you're ready. But soon. I want them to know how proud I am of you... of us," he answered.

"I'm scared, Dami," she admitted, her voice trembling. "The last time... I lost the baby at ten weeks. I don't know if I can go through that again."

Damian wrapped his arms around her, his gaze intense as it met hers in the mirror. "We're not going to lose this baby," he said, each word a vow. His lips found her earlobe, trailing down to her neck in a series of tender kisses. "This one is ours to keep."

Slowly, he peeled the nightgown from her body, letting it fall to the floor. His hands roamed over her, worshipping every curve, every soft line of her new shape. "You're beautiful, Chloe. And more mine than ever."

He knelt before her, his hands cradling her foot like a treasure. He kissed her ankle, then her heel, each touch worshipping. "You remind me of a delicate porcelain doll, but you're strong like marble. Stronger than anyone knows."

As his hands slid back up her legs, pausing at her growing abdomen, Damian felt an overwhelming surge of protectiveness and desire.

"You're carrying my child," he whispered, his lips brushing her skin. "And that makes you the most precious thing in my world."

She was his. To love and to protect.

***

Later that day, Damian surveyed the volleyball court. The overhead lights cast a stark glow on his fitted black T-shirt, which clung to his sculpted frame. His movements were precise and controlled, the easy confidence of a man who commanded attention.

Mina's shoulder-length chestnut hair brushed her cheeks as she adjusted her grip on the ball he'd thrown her.

"Focus, and don't overthink it," he instructed.

Mina bit her lip, nodding as she tossed the ball into the air. Her serve barely grazed the net. She winced, bracing for disappointment, but Damian was there, catching the ball effortlessly before it could bounce away.

"It's all right," he said, throwing the ball back to her. "You're learning faster than most. When I started, I couldn't even hit the ball straight."

A lean man with reddish-blond curls jogged over, clapping Damian on the back with the easy familiarity of old friends. "If it isn't the guy who carried us through that state championship," he greeted.

Damian chuckled, shaking his friend's hand. "Come on, Joe, you know it was a team effort. We all played our parts."

"Sure," Joe replied with a playful shrug. "But it was your spike that clinched the win. The girls here could learn a thing or two from you."

Mina tightened her grip on her plain white T-shirt, her gaze flicking nervously to the whistle around Joe's neck. She felt small under their attention, but something was reassuring in Damian's presence—something steady.

"This is Mina," Damian introduced, gently nudging her forward. "She's new to the game, but she's got potential."

"Joe Ramos," the man said, shaking her hand. "I coach the girls' team here. We're short a player today—want to give it a shot?"

Mina's cheeks flushed under the attention, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. "I'm not very good..."

"Yet," Damian corrected. "You're not good yet. But you're learning fast."

Joe nodded. "Everyone starts somewhere. Let's see what you can do."

The next hour flew by as Mina joined the other girls, her small frame darting back and forth on the court, her movements hesitant but growing confident under Damian's watchful eye. He coached her through each serve, each volley.

"Still got that killer spike?" Joe called out, launching a ball at Damian with a grin.

"Let's find out," he replied, positioning himself with practiced ease. He jumped, the muscles in his legs coiling and releasing like a spring, and slammed the ball over the net with a force that made the girls on the other side scramble.

"Damn," Joe whistled. "Could've used you last week when these girls ran circles around me."

Damian laughed, a sound that was more habit than humor. "Maybe next time. But it looks like you've got a good team here. Mina's quick; she needs confidence."

Mina tried to imitate Damian's spike, only to send the ball careening sideways. Damian caught it quickly, his reflexes sharp, and walked over to her.

"Follow through with your arms," he advised, moving to her side to demonstrate. His visage bore a steely determination as he guided her through the motion. "Like this."

She tried again, and the ball sailed over the net this time. Mina beamed, the small victory warming her cheeks.

"See? You're getting it," Damian said, his voice softer now, almost...proud.

Practice ended, and Damian and Mina parted ways to shower in the gender-segregated facilities. He let the hot water pound against his back, washing away the sweat and the tension, but it did little to clear his mind.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Chloe. He clenched his jaw, a familiar knot of worry tightening in his chest. Chloe was stronger than anyone he'd ever known, but even she had limits.

When he met Mina outside the locker rooms, she wore jeans and a white hoodie, her face glowing from the exertion. Damian swapped his athletic gear for a crisp white shirt and tailored charcoal pants, his hair still damp, curling slightly at the nape of his neck.

"Feel like some lunch?" he asked, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. "There's a nearby place I used to visit with my grandmother."

Mina hesitated, then nodded. "Sounds good."

They walked to the car park, Damian taking her gray backpack—one she borrowed from Chloe—without asking. As they drove, the sleek lines of his Lamborghini cutting through the afternoon traffic, Mina glanced at him, her elbow resting on the leather armrest.

"How's Chloe?" she asked. "She didn't look so good this morning... Is she okay?"

Damian's grip tightened on the steering wheel for a fraction of a second before he forced a smile. "Chloe's fine. She's tired. It's been a long week."

Mina peered at him and nodded. "You care about her."

"Chloe's... she's everything to me," Damian replied, his smile fleeting as he refocused on the road ahead.

***

The restaurant was a masterpiece of old money—crystal and gold chandeliers, plush seating, and an ambiance that whispered of wealth and secrets. The gentle strains of French music played in the background. Damian watched as Mina's eyes, a blend of brown and green, reflected the chandelier's light.

"This place is amazing." Mina gasped as she took in the decadent surroundings.

Damian nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'm glad you like it. The food's even better. You'll see."

They made small talk while waiting for their meals, but Damian couldn't ignore how Mina's shoulders tensed when his questions steered to personal territory.

"You're a volleyball champ. Did you always want to play sport?" she asked.

Damian chuckled, his gaze dropping to the glass of water in his hand. "Honestly, no. I didn't think I'd be any good at it. But once I started, I got hooked. The adrenaline, the competition, the way the world narrowed down to you, the ball, and the net—it was a kind of escape."

Mina's eyes sparkled with interest. "It sounds incredible. I wish I had something like that."

"You can," Damian said, his tone gentle but firm. "You've got the drive. You need to find your passion and go after it."

When their meals arrived, they ate as unspoken thoughts hung between them like a third presence at the table. Damian broke the silence, opening up about his family.

"I have a half-sister about your age. Her name's Hope. She's at boarding school, but she visits on weekends sometimes. I think you'd get along."

Mina looked up, curiosity flickering in her stare. "What's she like?"

"Sheltered, mostly. But she has a good heart. Smart, too. I think she'd appreciate someone like you—a friend who's been through more than the average teenager."

Mina's lips curled into a small smile. "A friend? I'd like that."

Damian noticed how her face brightened at the idea. It was a small step, but it felt like progress—hope in a world that had given them too little.

She tilted her head before stuffing another ravioli in her mouth. "So, what's it like, being rich and all?"

Damian chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "It has its perks, but it's not the answer to everything. Money can't fix the things that matter."

Mina's smile faltered as she searched his face, trying to gauge the sincerity of his words. "But you've got it all set, right? A good life, a family who cares."

Damian's smile faded. "I'm lucky now, but it wasn't always like this. My mother made a lot of bad choices. Drugs, men, illicit sex parties—you name it. My dad wasn't around much until Vera—my stepmom—came along. She saved me."

Mina's eyes softened. "I know what you mean. I've been in foster care since I was five. My mom's in jail for drugs and prostitution. I don't even know who my father is."

Damian scowled at the painful familiarity resonating from the girl's words. "Mothers who've been in prison—that's something we have in common."

Mina hesitated, then questioned, "Where's your mom now?"

"Dead," Damian replied, his tone flat, devoid of emotion.

"I'm sorry," Mina whispered.

"No need to be. She made her choices. I've made mine."

Mina bit her lip. "Maybe my mom knew her. They must've been in the same prison. What was your mom's name?"

"Saira Quinn."

Mina's fork slipped from her hand, clattering against the plate. Her jaw dropped, fear flashing in her eyes. "You're her son? She... she was evil. The other girls who've been there longer told me about her. She started it all. P-please don't take me back. Please."

Damian reached across the table, taking her trembling hand. "I'm not like my mother, Mina. The people she worked with—the ones who did this to you—I'm their enemy, not their ally. I'm here to help, not hurt."

Mina swallowed hard. "Why are you helping me?"

Damian took a deep breath, the memories of his childhood flashing back. "Because I know what it's like to be trapped in hell. My mother ruined my childhood. I don't want anyone else to suffer at the hands of her people."

A lone tear ran down Mina's left cheek. "I'm scared of them."

Damian looked her in the eye. "I promise you two things. First, you're safe. Second, the people who hurt you—who my mother was involved with—won't escape what's coming. I'm curious, though. How did you hear about my club?"

Mina hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her napkin. "One of the girls I was held captive with mentioned it. She said if I ever got a chance to run, I should head straight for The Church. She said it's a gentlemen's club, but the people who work there save lives. They give us food and shelter."

"The other girls—do you know where they are now?" Damian's heart twisted, and a familiar surge of anger rose within him.

"No. We were told we were being moved to new foster homes, but instead, we were blindfolded and taken to this big house. We were prisoners, locked up in hidden rooms, waiting to be... sold." Mina faltered.

Damian's jaw tightened, his fury barely contained. The image of those girls, trapped, helpless, and terrified, torched a fire within him. He leaned in closer, his voice a low growl. "Can you describe the people who did this to you?"

Mina flinched as if she were reliving the nightmare. "I... I don't want to talk about it."

Damian forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to control the rage that clawed at him. He knew he couldn't push her too hard. Not now. She was fragile, and one wrong move could shatter the tentative trust she'd placed in him.

"I want to help you, but I need to know who these people are. The more I know, the better I can protect you," he said, almost pleading.

She shook her head, her hands trembling in her lap. "Nobody trusts child protective services. They sell us to men like... like The Piranha."

"Mike Marino," Damian muttered through clenched teeth, the name sour on his tongue. That predator—one of his mother's allies—turned against Damian when he refused to become a puppet in their twisted, profitable schemes.

Dirty business.

"Son of a... Mina, the night you escaped—what happened?"

Mina's face paled, each word dredging up memories she wanted to bury. "They made us dress up like we were older. I was introduced to a man in a hotel downtown... When it was over, when we were... finished with their clients, a driver came to take us back. He stopped at a gas station on the way. When he went inside to pay, I saw my chance. I ran."

Damian's brows knitted together as the memory of that night surged back with brutal clarity. He remembered everything—how Mina cowered behind Valentina, her face masked in thick makeup, her clothes torn and disturbingly provocative for someone so young. The driver had tried to assault Val just as Damian and Angelo stormed the club's entrance.

He felt no remorse for smashing his fist into the man's face, nor for the sharp crack of Angelo's gunshot, the thud of the driver's body hitting the ground, and the swift efficiency with which Angelo's men handled the aftermath. "Waste management," they called it.

Damian's fists clenched under the table, every muscle in his body coiled with the need for vengeance. But he couldn't let hate control him. He pushed his plate of pasta away, his appetite long gone, and looked around the restaurant. The elegance of the place, the polished surfaces, the soft music—it all felt wrong, too clean, too detached from the world's harsh reality.

"Mina," Damian urged, "I need your help to bring these people to justice. I have the best prosecutors but can't do it without you. We can't let them keep doing this."

Mina's lips trembled. Slowly, she nodded. "Okay. I'll help you."

Damian's heart scorched with the flames of fury. He wanted to make those bastards pay for what they did. He faced demons before, and he would face them again.

He hoped to be strong enough to win.

***

A/N: How do you feel about the mess Saira left for Damian?

Will Chloe lose her baby again, like in the last story?

What do you think will happen next?

Image source: Freepik.com