Chapter 24: Lost Game

Weeks later they met again at a high class event. Sending glares each others way.

She had left his house in rage because of what happened at the last gala, and they were here again.

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Phoebe hadn't planned on seeing him tonight.

Hadn't planned on wanting to.

But when she stepped into the gala, her gaze found him instantly—like it always did. Like she couldn't help it.

And he wasn't alone.

Tall. Stunning. The kind of woman who looked like she belonged on a magazine cover.

And she was laughing.

At his joke.

Touching his arm.

Phoebe's stomach twisted.

She should have looked away. Should have ignored it.

But she didn't.

Because Damon—who always knew when she was watching—lifted his gaze and met hers across the room.

And he smirked.

Jealousy Cuts Both Ways

Phoebe's nails dug into her palm.

She didn't care. She didn't.

This was what they did—push and pull, test the limits. It didn't matter.

But her heart was racing anyway.

"Phoebe?"

She forced her attention to the man beside her—Daniel something. Rich, powerful, an investor she was supposed to be charming.

And yet, her mind was elsewhere.

She let out a breath, fixing a polite smile on her face. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

Daniel chuckled. "I was just saying how lovely you look tonight."

She let out a practiced laugh. "Flatterer."

The moment she said it, she felt it.

The heat of a stare.

His stare.

When she glanced up, Damon's expression had darkened.

Good.

Let him feel it.

Let him burn.

She turned back to Daniel, smiling sweetly. "Tell me more about your work."

She barely heard his answer because, out of the corner of her eye, Damon was moving.

Straight toward her.

And when he reached them, he didn't hesitate.

"Daniel," he greeted coolly.

Daniel looked surprised but extended a hand. "Damon. It's been a while."

Damon barely acknowledged the handshake before his gaze settled on Phoebe. "I need a word."

She arched a brow. "I'm in the middle of something."

Damon's jaw ticked. "Now, Phoebe."

Daniel chuckled awkwardly. "I don't mind waiting—"

"She won't be long," Damon said smoothly.

Before she could protest, he had her by the wrist, pulling her away.

The Breaking Point

The moment they were alone, she yanked her hand back. "What the hell was that?"

Damon stepped closer. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

Phoebe folded her arms. "Why do you care?"

His eyes darkened. "Because you're playing with fire."

She let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, I'm playing with fire? That's funny, considering you spent the night parading some model around like she was—"

"Like she was what?"

She clamped her mouth shut.

But Damon wasn't done.

He took another step, forcing her back against the wall.

"Go on," he murmured. "Say it."

Phoebe's breath hitched.

This was dangerous. Reckless.

And yet, she couldn't look away.

Couldn't stop herself from whispering, "Like she was me."

The air between them crackled.

Damon exhaled sharply, his hands bracing the wall on either side of her. "She wasn't."

Phoebe swallowed. "No?"

His voice was rough. "No."

She should have walked away.

She should have told him to go to hell.

Instead, she reached up—just slightly—and let her fingers graze his jaw.

Just enough to make him shudder.

Just enough to ruin them both.

And then, before she could do something really stupid, she stepped away.

Leaving him standing there.

Watching her go.

Like he was losing something.