Through Damian's eyes:

As I watch Ruby leave the hall with Alex, a surge of jealousy claws at my chest, hot and unwelcome. I shouldn't indulge in such weaknesses—I can't afford to. 

But the monster within me doesn't care for the rules I've lived by. It doesn't care about control or decorum. It feels, it desires, and above all, it protects—especially when it comes to Ruby.

She's like a fire—blazing, untouchable. The monster was the first to recognize it, drawn to her defiance, her tenacity, her warmth. But now, that same fire fuels my jealousy, stoking it into a mask of anger that I wear far too well. 

I'm not angry at her. 

Never her. 

It's Alex and his father—their smooth words, hidden agendas, and veiled threats—that spark my fury. They're a danger to her, and the monster doesn't tolerate threats to what it considers its own.

The hall feels suffocating. The clamor of laughter and conversation grates on my nerves, the sharp clinking of glasses jarring against my heightened senses. The air is heavy with the musk of wealth and the sickly sweetness of perfumes that mask the truth behind the facades. 

Every breath I take feels like a chain tightening around my spirit, binding me to a performance I have no interest in playing.

I long for solitude. My room, a haven away from this charade, calls to me. There, I can finalize the details of my plan, focus on what truly matters. But just as I turn to leave, a familiar figure steps into my path.

"Damian."

Her voice is smooth, practiced. Isis stands before me, her beauty striking even in this room full of glittering masks. But tonight, her allure stirs nothing in me. Not admiration, not desire—only irritation.

The monster recoils. It doesn't snarl or rage. It simply sneers, a quiet disdain that ripples through me. Her scent, once a signal of fleeting pleasures, now feels cloying, almost repellent. It's not her fault, I remind myself. She hasn't changed. I have.

"Fancy meeting you here," she says, her tone laced with playful accusation.

"Isis," I reply, my voice flat. "Now's not the time."

Her eyes narrow, searching mine for something—familiarity, perhaps. But the man she once knew, the one who played the game alongside her, is gone. Or maybe he never truly existed. The man who shared her bed was a façade, a strategy to win her father's favor and gain a foothold in his company. 

The guilt of using her lingers, a shadow I've carried for too long. But guilt has no place in my life. It's a weakness I can't afford.

"I didn't expect you to ignore me so completely," she says, her voice sharper now.

I steel my expression, unyielding. "I'm not ignoring you. I'm prioritizing."

Her lips part as though to argue, but I don't give her the chance. I step past her, the monster's distaste mirroring my own. It doesn't tolerate distractions—least of all her.

"Excuse me," I murmur as I leave her standing amidst the laughter and light.

The distance between us grows with every step I take, but my mind is far from clear. It's on Ruby. 

The way she laughed earlier, her voice warm and unguarded, lingers in my thoughts. The way she moved through the crowd, drawing people to her like moths to a flame, is achingly familiar. She doesn't even realize the effect she has—the power she wields over me.

And yet, a chasm stretches between us, carved by time, secrets, and my own foolish decisions.

I reach my room, but the sanctuary I sought feels cold and empty. The monster stirs restlessly, its focus singular and unwavering. Ruby. Always Ruby.

She's the only one who matters now.

💋💋

The pool below sprawls like an oasis, its crystalline waters reflecting the sun's golden rays in a dance of light and shadow.

From my vantage point on the balcony, the scene unfolds in layers: loungers lined in careful rows, guests in their leisure soaking in the morning's warmth, and conversations blending into a muted symphony against the occasional clinking of glasses.

I stand at the edge of the railing, a silent observer to the life teeming below. The distance is soothing, allowing me to scan the crowd with a detachment I don't truly feel. My gaze flits over the sea of unfamiliar faces, searching for the one I can't stop thinking about—Ruby.

And there she is.

Her laughter carries faintly to me, a melody mingling with Frida's, both of them too far for me to discern the words, but close enough for their mirth to pierce through the noise. Ruby's dress is sunshine personified, a vibrant yellow that clings to her curves like the sun clings to the sky.

It shouldn't matter that it hugs her body in all the right places, drawing every eye in her direction, but it does. It shouldn't matter that I feel the faintest pang of jealousy knowing how magnetic she is, but it cuts deep anyway.

I pull away from the railing, retreating into the cooler confines of my room, desperate to shake the thoughts threatening to root too deeply. She isn't mine, and I have no claim to her—not yet.

The monster bristles at that truth, pacing restlessly inside me, its irritation a low hum in my mind. It doesn't care for rules or reason, only instinct.

Mine, it growls.

And the echo of it pulses through me like a siren song.

I cross the room in measured strides, the creak of the wooden floor and the rustle of my movements breaking the heavy silence. The air-conditioning hums softly, cooling the heat that seems to radiate from my skin, but it doesn't reach the fire she's lit in me.

I brace my hands against the cool marble of the desk, head bowed, forcing myself to breathe through the rising tide of want and frustration.

She's more than this.

More than her beauty. More than the desire that's so easy to focus on.

With Ruby, I feel...free. Free of the masks, free of the weight of expectation, free to be something raw and real. And it terrifies me.

A knock at the door cuts through my thoughts, startling me.

"Room service, sir," comes the crisp voice from the other side.

I straighten, pulling myself together with a practiced calm, and cross to the door. When I open it, the attendant is already maneuvering a cart into the room.

It's laden with food—a feast meant for more than one. The aroma of fresh coffee wafts through the air, rich and inviting, blending with the scent of eggs, bacon, and warm pastries.

"Good morning, sir." The attendant offers a polite smile as he sets up the spread with practiced efficiency.

"Thank you," I say, dismissing him with a nod. The door clicks shut behind him, and I stand there for a moment, staring at the overindulgent spread.

The mistake in the order isn't worth bothering about; it's an inconsequential thing. Still, the sight of it, so meticulously arranged and perfect, draws a wry smile to my lips.

I pour myself a cup of coffee, letting the heat of the porcelain seep into my palms, and take a slow, grounding breath.

The first sip is bitter and bold, a small reprieve from the tangle of my thoughts. I settle into the chair near the window, letting the early sunlight streak across the polished surface of the table.

The monster is quiet for now, contented by the simplicity of the moment—the sizzle of bacon, the sweetness of pastries, the tactile comfort of morning rituals.

But she's still there.

In the back of my mind.

Her laughter, her dress, the warmth of her presence like an afterimage I can't shake.

It's maddening.

And yet, I can't imagine it any other way.

🌹🌹

As the evening settles over the island, my room is cast in shadows, save for the soft glow of amber light from the vials and bottles arranged before me. Daphne's craftsmanship gleams in each vessel—potent brews that cater to the resilience of my kind.

I pick up a particular bottle, its liquid swirling with a deep golden hue, thick like honey, but its potency is far from sweet. It's infused with Ambrosia, a rare and revered element that shifts alcohol from a fleeting pleasure to a weapon against our regenerative abilities.

The monster inside me regards the potion with quiet disdain—it has never needed the crutch of alchemy to dull its edges.

But I do.

Tonight, especially.

Pouring a measure into a glass, I watch the liquid catch the dim light, as if it holds fire within. The scent rises—earthy and spiced, a promise of warmth and a fleeting escape. I tip the glass back, letting the liquid burn a path down my throat.

The effect is immediate, a muted hum coursing through my veins. The edge softens—not gone, but dulled enough to navigate the night with purpose.

My attire reflects the mood: a black button-up shirt tucked into dark pants, the leather of my brown boots polished to a subtle sheen.

It's understated but deliberate, a quiet statement of power and control. I secure the remaining vials in the safe beneath the bed, tucking away Daphne's meticulous work for another day.

The whiskey in hand, I descend to the casino.

The casino is alive with chaos, a symphony of clinking chips, muted laughter, and the low hum of excitement. Servers dart between tables, balancing gilded buckets brimming with winnings, their polished movements effortless. Overhead, a massive screen broadcasts the night's progress, the numbers climbing steadily, feeding the guests' hunger for competition.

The air buzzes with energy, a sharp contrast to the calm I forcefully maintain. My purpose tonight is singular: to unravel Alex.

From the corner of my eye, I spot him at a blackjack table. His golden hair catches the light, but it's not his presence alone that draws my gaze—it's Ruby, seated beside him.

The monster stirs.

I keep my expression neutral, the glass in my hand steady as I drink in the sight of her. She leans closer to Alex, her cheeks tinged pink under his gaze. The dress she wears—a deep, rich red—flows like water over her frame, accentuating her curves and drawing every man's attention.

Including mine.

She laughs softly, her voice carrying faintly over the din. My grip tightens around the glass, the monster snarling at the sound of her joy shared with someone else.

Not someone else. Him.

Forcing my focus elsewhere, I choose a poker table just behind theirs, close enough to keep them within view but far enough to remain unnoticed. The scent hits me first—sharp and familiar.

Ambrosia.

Alex has a flask on the table, its faint aroma betraying its contents. But his blend is weak, diluted—a novice's brew. It pales in comparison to the concentrated doses Daphne prepares for me.

The monster smirks, its disdain evident. I suppress the urge to respond to its taunts. Alex's unguarded demeanor is the luxury of a man who has never known true danger. He's reckless, drinking Ambrosia openly, unaware of its subtler effects.

I raise a hand to signal a server, ordering a glass to pair with my whiskey as I take my seat. The other players regard me with the curiosity reserved for strangers who exude quiet confidence.

One of them—a woman with auburn hair cascading in soft waves—catches my attention. Her sharp cheekbones and intelligent eyes suggest she's as much a predator as she is prey. She regards me with a sly smile as I settle into the game.

"You must be quite the confident man, bringing your own drink to the table," she says, her tone teasing but edged with challenge.

A faint smile tugs at the corner of my lips.

"Confidence has its perks," I reply smoothly, lifting my glass in a mock toast before taking a measured sip. The warmth of the whiskey spreads through me, settling the monster's restlessness, if only slightly.

The game begins, cards shuffled with practiced precision. My gaze flicks between my opponents and Alex, his carefree laughter grating against my nerves.

The poker table fades into memory as I fold, conceding to the elegant lady who's undoubtedly enjoying her triumph. My focus shifts entirely to the blackjack table across the room, where Alex and Ruby sit, their easy camaraderie creating a tableau of light-hearted joy.

The lively hum of the casino provides the perfect cover as I approach, whiskey in hand.

"Mind if I join?" I ask, my voice carrying the smooth confidence that turns heads without demanding attention.

Alex glances up, grinning. "By all means," he gestures to the empty seat across from him. Ruby's gaze flickers to me, her expression unreadable.

As I settle in, I let my presence fill the space between us, the weight of it deliberate but not oppressive. I take a sip from my glass, the amber liquid a steadying warmth against the intensity of Ruby's silent observation.

"People need a proper incentive to play, especially when the winnings are for charity," I comment, my tone light, almost conversational.

Alex leans back, intrigued. "And what kind of incentive are you suggesting?"

"A challenge," I reply, the corner of my mouth lifting in a half-smile. "It makes the stakes more engaging."

Ruby raises a brow, her skepticism veiled behind the gentle lift of her glass.

"A challenge, or just an excuse to show off?" she asks, her voice tinged with humor.

"Perhaps both," I admit, my eyes meeting hers briefly. The flicker of amusement in her gaze is enough to stoke the embers of the monster's restless energy.

Alex claps his hands together, already on board. "I'm all for it. What's the game?"

"A drinking game," I suggest, my tone casual but laced with purpose.

Ruby, ever the voice of reason, interjects immediately.

"Absolutely not," she says, her tone firm. "Not in a setting like this."

Alex's carefree grin remains unshaken, his flask already in hand.

"Come on, Ruby, live a little."

It's then that Alex's attention sharpens, his curiosity piqued.

"Wait, do you two know each other?"

Ruby's response is measured.

"He used to be my client," she says, the words spoken with an air of finality.

"Ah," Alex replies, drawing out the syllable as he studies me.

"A client, huh? What kind of work do you do, Damian?"

I deflect smoothly.

"A bit of everything, really. Investor, Contractor, the occasional rescue from a tight spot," I say, the last part a subtle nod to Ruby's presence in my life.

As the game begins, I find myself pulled into conversation with Alex. The younger Sterling is a fascinating contradiction—ambitious, genuine, yet tethered to his father's shadow.

"I didn't realize you were behind the funding for the Zara project," he says, his voice carrying a note of gratitude.

I nod, taking a sip of my drink.

"It was an impressive design. It deserved to be built."

His face lights up with a mix of pride and humility.

"That project was a turning point for me. My father wasn't fully on board, but your investment turned things around."

Ruby listens intently, her gaze darting between us, her expression softening.

"I know what it's like to navigate a father's legacy," I offer, the words a quiet admission.

Alex raises his glass, a toast to shared struggles.

"To making our own marks, then," he says, his grin infectious.

The whiskey continues to flow, and Alex, emboldened by the ambiance and the alcohol, shares a drink from my bottle. Ruby's disapproval is subtle but unmistakable—a tightness in her jaw, the quick glance she shoots me.

Her concern is endearing, even if unwarranted.

As the evening deepens, the game falls by the wayside, replaced by laughter and stories. Ruby, ever the caretaker, steps in, her voice soft but authoritative.

"Let's move to a quieter table," she suggests, waving over a member of security.

Her efficiency is mesmerizing, and as we relocate, I can't help but marvel at the way she manages the situation with such grace.

At the private table, I find myself watching her more closely.

Her laughter, her gestures, the way her eyes light up—it's all so disarmingly genuine.

She's not just a balm to the monster's restlessness; she's a revelation, a reminder of something I thought I'd lost.

As Alex becomes engrossed in his phone, I seize the moment to observe her without distraction. Her energy, her warmth—it's magnetic.

The monster stirs, but this time, it's not with hunger or rage. It's something deeper, a recognition of her as more than a fleeting fascination.

Ruby catches my eye, her expression a mix of curiosity and something unspoken.

For a moment, the noise of the casino fades, and it's just the two of us, suspended in a silent exchange.

And in that fleeting connection, I feel the weight of my resolve strengthen. Whatever the cost, whatever the risk, I will keep her safe—even from herself.

As Alex and I continue to share the whiskey, his laughter grows louder, more unrestrained, the sound filling the room like a burst of light. He's lost in the moment, oblivious to the world around him, but I can feel the warmth of the alcohol spreading through my veins, clouding my senses, leaving me teetering on the edge of something I can't name.

The world spins, a dizzying carousel of fragmented faces and distant, muffled voices. Time seems to lose its grip on reality, slipping like sand through my fingers. But then Ruby's voice cuts through the haze—a whisper at first, soft, distorted, like she's speaking from under water.

It's not her words I focus on, though, but the command that pulses in my mind, breaking through the fog of intoxication.

'Plan.'

The monster within me stirs, its presence sharpening, more demanding than before. It's not just the alcohol now—this is something else pushing me forward, guiding me, its voice growing louder as if it's alive, tethering me to my purpose.

Hands steady me, pulling me back to the present, Alex, is also equally unbalanced, being supported by Ruby and another. Their grip is firm, but fleeting, as my mind snaps into focus. I remember the plan—the reason I've allowed myself to slip so far, to give up control for just a little while.

A surge of adrenaline slices through the drunken stupor. The haze begins to lift, replaced by an icy clarity that sharpens my senses.

The moment is here. I push past the guard's offered help, and though the world around me tilts and spins, I find my way to the elevator. I hear the guard's voice, but it's far away, like a whisper in the wind.

I wave him off, fingers fumbling for the keycard buried in my back pocket. The elevator doors slide open, the darkness of the hall swallowing me as I navigate to my room.

When I finally locate my keycard, I swipe it with a sharpness that surprises me. My room is a void, the shadows clinging to the edges of my vision, matching the swirling blackness in my mind.

I fumble for the light switch, and when the soft yellow glow fills the room, I'm hit with a sudden shock—the sight of Isis. She's standing there, dressed in nothing but her underwear, her presence almost too much. The way she looks at me, the way her voice purrs, telling me she's been waiting—it's enough to stir something primal, something instinctual.

But it's not her touch I feel right now. It's the word 'Bed'—the monster's command ringing in my head, like a bell tolling for my soul.

I move toward the bed, my legs heavy, but the drive to follow through is stronger. Isis follows, slow, deliberate, her movements predatory. The way she straddles me, the heat of her skin, the scent of her perfume—it all fades away as my mind snaps back into focus.

For a moment, I'm lost in the sensation, responding to her kiss with a hunger I can't deny. But then, my hand brushes against something hidden beneath the sheets—a cold, hard box.

The touch sends a jolt of clarity through me, sharp and sudden, piercing the fog of intoxication. I flip us over, pretending to take control, but my real goal is the safe box. I can't let go of it—can't ignore the monster's voice now, louder than ever.

'Clear'

I find the vial, its weight almost comforting in my hand, its contents a promise of relief. My fingers shake with anticipation as I prepare to drink it, but then, the monster's voice shifts. The word 'Water' cuts through the growing tension, an order I can't ignore.

Isis is still talking, unaware of the storm raging inside me. I manage to croak out a request for water, my voice thick with the effort to stay in control. She heads to the mini-fridge, and as I watch her move, the realization hits me like a punch to the gut—I'm losing myself.

She returns with the water, the liquid cool and clear in the glass, but it feels like ice in my veins. I pour the contents of the vial into it, the mixture turning clear, almost pristine. Each sip I take, each drop that slides down my throat, feels like a thread pulling me back from the brink.