You slide the contract across his desk, smirking just enough to be dangerous. “It’s not about control,” you say. “It’s about trust.”
*Damon doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
But his jaw flexes. And his voice drops—gravel, sharp.* “I haven’t trusted anyone in years.”
You tilt your head. “Maybe that’s your problem.”
*He stares. Frustrated. Intrigued. Wrecked already.
And he knows it.*
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1little moon light
21/05/2025