Billionaire's Chase For His Thorned Rose

Damon's face fell when he saw my reaction, and the remorse in his eyes softened the sharp edges of my anger. “Amara,” he said, his voice low and thick with regret. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

I crossed my arms, still fuming, but his apology slowed the fire burning in my chest. He took a step closer, his hands reaching out like he wanted to touch me but wasn’t sure if he should. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he murmured. “I’ll be more thoughtful next time. I promise.”

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed on the counter. Damon glanced at the screen, his lips pressing into a tight line. Without a word, he turned away, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.

When he returned, he held the small paper bag of my medication. “Is this yours?” he asked, his tone neutral.

I nodded. “Yes, it’s mine.”

He shrugged casually and placed it on the table. He didn’t ask why I had them or even look at me longer than a few seconds. The weight of his indifference felt heavier than I expected.

“I need to leave,” he said, pulling his jacket over his broad shoulders. “Duty calls. Sorry, love.”

Before I could ask what was so important, he leaned in and pressed a quick peck to my temple. The gesture was warm, yet fleeting, like an afterthought. “I’ll order some nice food for you,” he added as he straightened, already halfway to the door. “You can have it when it gets here.”

I stood frozen, staring at his retreating figure. The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in the quiet room, leaving me alone with a whirlwind of thoughts. My eyes darted to the bag of drugs sitting idly on the table. It felt like a symbol of something more—a wedge, a reminder of how far apart we’d grown.

The warmth of his apology had barely settled before his swift departure left a hollow ache in its place. He didn’t even ask why I had the medication. No probing questions, no curiosity, no concern. I couldn’t tell if he genuinely trusted me or if he simply didn’t care enough to dig deeper.

I let out a heavy sigh and sank into the nearest chair. The crabs, the dismissive shrug, the fleeting kiss—all of it painted a picture I didn’t want to see but couldn’t ignore. Was this what love had become for us? A series of half-hearted gestures and unspoken disappointments?

The silence in the room wrapped around me, and I realized I wasn’t sure if I wanted the food he’d ordered or if I wanted to scream. Maybe both.

The next day, Damon came home from work earlier than usual. He walked in, loosened his tie, and looked at me with a strange mix of anticipation and nervousness. “Get ready,” he said as he sank into the couch.

“For what?” I asked, my voice laced with wariness.

“Miranda’s housewarming party is tonight,” he replied, leaning forward. “I want you to come with me. I want everyone to know you’re my woman.”

The words should have made me feel special, but they didn’t. Instead, I felt a gnawing reluctance. “I don’t know,” I muttered, avoiding his eyes. “Maybe I should just stay home.”

He stood, closing the space between us. “Come on, Amara,” he said softly, his hands lightly brushing my arms. “It’ll mean a lot to me.”

It took some convincing, but I finally agreed. Later, as I dressed, Damon walked into the room and came up behind me, his hands sliding around my waist. I froze, feeling the warmth of his breath against my neck.

“You look nice,” he whispered, his voice low and intimate.

I managed a small smile, my heart betraying me with a flutter I didn’t want to feel. Then he pulled something from his pocket and held it up—a pair of silver earrings with tiny teardrop crystals. They sparkled delicately under the light, though they weren’t quite my style.

“They’ll suit you perfectly,” he said, carefully helping me put them on. His fingers were gentle, his touch lingering just a moment too long. I didn’t have the heart to tell him they weren’t my preference, so I smiled faintly and accepted them. After all, he gave them with love.

We arrived at Miranda’s place, a sleek, modern house with perfectly manicured lawns and an air of opulence. Inside, the space was just as extravagant, filled with polished floors and a crowd of equally polished people. Damon led me through the room until we came across his friends, Sam and Jody.

“Amara,” Sam said with a tight-lipped smile that barely masked his disdain. “Nice to see you.”

Jody gave me a quick once-over before offering an insincere, “You look...nice.”

Their fake niceties grated on me, especially when they exchanged smirks the moment Damon turned his attention elsewhere.

Then Miranda strutted over, her newly dyed hair bouncing with every step. She threw her arms around me in an exaggerated hug. “Amara! You look lovely tonight,” she cooed.

I forced a smile. “Thanks.”

Sam, ever the charmer, practically drooled over her. “Miranda, that hair color is stunning on you. You’re glowing.”

Damon chuckled, nodding in agreement. “It suits her, doesn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Jody added, her voice tinged with a subtle jab. “Only someone with Miranda’s confidence could pull that off.”

Miranda tilted her head modestly. “Oh, stop it,” she giggled. “Damon, thank you again for coming over yesterday to help with the preparations. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

My stomach dropped. Yesterday? While I thought he had left for work?

“Duty calls,” Damon said smoothly, his face unreadable. Those were the same words he has said yesterday and I was foolish to have thought he was going to the company. She was the duty he could never give up on fulfilling.