Chapter 242: Underwear

The atmosphere in the kitchen instantly grew thick and oppressive. Prickly goosebumps broke out across my skin like a warning of impending danger, and the air turned heavy.

"What, are you going to deduct this from my debt too?" Overcoming an internal shiver, I turned back to catch his dark, wicked smirk.

"Does your company at the dinner table cost money? Well, I’m willing to pay for such escort service, provided you eat wearing nothing but that apron on your bare skin." With every word he spoke, the heat of humiliation burned my cheeks even hotter, spreading like liquid fire down my neck.

"Then I won’t eat with you at all," I replied, stepping back from him and pressing my shoulder blades flat against the wall.

"And how long do you think you’ll last? It makes no difference to me; the slower you work and the more you drag out time, the longer you’ll stay here. Want to collapse from hunger and pass out? Be my guest."

Walking over to the fridge, he grabbed some milk and then switched on the espresso machine. "I didn’t think you were completely brainless since you scored high and got into university, but clearly, you lack common sense elsewhere."

Turning to the cupboards, I dragged a heavy chair over to the cabinets. Stepping up onto it, I flung the doors open wide, pulling out two plates and two mugs. That damned sadistic bastard was right, and I shouldn’t wear myself down or drain my energy out of spite toward a freak like him. The stronger I stayed, the faster I would put an end to all of this.

"Whoa, those shorts definitely weren’t included in the set," his low voice rumbled directly behind me, making me flinch.

Spinning around abruptly, I gasped as Damian unceremoniously flipped up the back hem of my dress, exposing my rear clad in the thick athletic fabric. Squeaking in shock and indignation, I lost my footing on the edge of the chair and tumbled backward through the air.

My whole body instantly braced for a painful impact with the floor, but it never came. The man caught me effortlessly, holding me in his arms like a feather and pulling me tight against his chest. My heart hammered so wildly against my ribs that it actually hurt.

Tilting my head back, I caught his gaze. For a fleeting second, it looked as though his pupils were blown wide—as if he were genuinely worried for my safety. But the next instant, that thought struck me as the sheer delusion of a frightened mind. The darkness in his eyes swallowed up any remaining glimmer of emotion.

"Tomorrow, lose the shorts. I didn’t give you permission to wear them," he stated, his gaze dropping to my lips.

"There was no deal saying I couldn’t wear them, either," I shot back stubbornly, flinging his own words from our earlier exchange right back at him.

I extended my legs in a clear hint for him to set me down immediately, but he did no such thing. Instead, he tossed me slightly higher into his arms, tightening his grip around my shoulders and behind my knees—squeezing me securely.

"No, little bird. You were supposed to put on only what was in the package," the young man purred with a wicked smirk, burning me with his gaze.

"But... there was no underwear in there..." I rasped, staring into his eyes with desperation, praying he was merely messing with me.

"Exactly, little bird. You weren’t supposed to be wearing any."

***

Stepping into the gymnasium, I dragged myself toward the nearest bench and sank down with a low groan, every muscle in my body burning with exhaustion. Unlacing my sneaker, I pulled it off and carefully hauled my right leg up onto my knee to inspect my sock. There was no fresh blood seeping through, but my foot throbbed with a fiery, searing pain—as if sharp, crushed glass had been forced beneath my skin.

"Hey, why are you slacking off from class?"

A deep voice boomed directly above my head. I flinched violently, nearly losing my balance on the bench.

Lifting my gaze from my foot, I found a tall man in a plain t-shirt and track pants standing over me, a white whistle resting against his chest. His sharp gaze lingered on me for a second before shifting toward the other students emerging from the locker rooms in their workout gear.

"I cut my foot... I won’t be able to participate today. I’m sorry," I murmured softly. To prove my point, I peeled down the rim of my sock to expose a large bandage, the cotton pad at its center stained with a dark, brownish blotch of dried blood.

The instructor frowned. Crouching down in front of me, he peered intently at the bandage as if trying to inspect the wound hidden beneath.

I had looked at it with that exact same disbelief this morning when I got out of bed and nearly collapsed onto the floor from the shooting pain. The bandage had already been applied before I even woke up, leaving me completely clueless as to how I had cut myself—or who had patched me up.

Given that I was living under the same roof as Damian, the answer felt almost obvious. He was the one who had treated it. But where had the injury come from in the first place? There hadn’t been a single drop of blood on the floor. The only anomaly I had noticed during my frantic morning search was a missing vase from the nook between the hallway cabinets. Shards, perhaps?

Had I been sleepwalking? I had never done anything like that before.

A sudden wave of dread chilled me to the bone, sending my heart hammering against my ribs in pure panic. I had been asleep. Completely vulnerable. And he had been right beside me—his predator’s hands touching my bare skin, washing the cut, carefully smoothing down the adhesive bandage.

The mere thought of his secret, midnight touches tightened my chest into an icy knot, robbing me of air.

Damian hadn’t uttered a single word to me all morning. After last night’s tense confrontation and his humiliating remarks about my underwear, I had stormed off to my room in a fury, praying I’d never have to look at his face again. But fate had never been kind to me.