CHAPTER 6

A Dangerous Invitation

Naarah shut the door the moment Damien disappeared from sight, her heart racing.

She placed the wine bottle on her small kitchen counter, staring at it like it might explode.

Damien Carter.

The name alone sent a shiver down her spine.

She had seen him in magazines, standing beside Peter Alexander, always watching, always calculating. If Peter was ice, Damien was fire—a dangerous, consuming force that left nothing untouched.

Why had he come to her?

And more importantly—how did he know where she lived?

A sharp knock echoed again.

Naarah jumped, her breath catching in her throat.

He wouldn't have come back, would he?

Slowly, she approached the door, hesitating before unlocking it.

The moment she cracked it open, her breath left her lungs.

Peter.

His broad frame filled the doorway, his piercing blue eyes scanning her face with unsettling intensity. He wasn't wearing a suit this time—just a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong forearms.

But his presence was just as suffocating.

Naarah swallowed. "What are you doing here?"

Peter didn't answer immediately. His gaze flickered behind her, landing on the bottle of wine sitting on the counter. His expression darkened.

"Where did you get that?"

She hesitated. "Damien brought it."

Peter's jaw clenched. "He was here?"

Naarah nodded. "I don't know why. He just… showed up."

Peter's eyes turned glacial. "Did he touch you?"

The question caught her off guard. "What?"

Peter took a step closer, his body radiating an almost possessive energy. "Did he lay a hand on you, Naarah?"

Her breath hitched at the intensity in his voice.

"No," she whispered.

Peter exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

"Good," he muttered. Then, with one swift motion, he stepped inside, brushing past her like he belonged there.

"Hey—what are you doing?" she protested.

He ignored her, walking straight to the kitchen. Before she could stop him, he grabbed the bottle of wine, uncorked it, and poured the entire contents into her sink.

Naarah's jaw dropped. "What the hell? That wasn't yours!"

Peter turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "You shouldn't accept gifts from him."

She crossed her arms. "And why not?"

"Because Damien doesn't give gifts," Peter said coldly. "He gives traps."

Naarah frowned. "You think he's trying to manipulate me?"

"I know he is."

She bit her lip, processing his words.

She wasn't naïve. She had felt Damien's strange energy, the way he had studied her like she was a puzzle he wanted to solve.

But Peter's reaction was… intense.

"What's your problem with him?" she asked, watching him carefully.

Peter's eyes darkened. "My problem is that you're standing in the middle of a war, little dove."

She shivered at the nickname.

Peter stepped closer, closing the distance between them.

"You walked into my world, Naarah," he murmured. "And whether you like it or not—you caught my rival's attention."

Naarah's heart pounded. "So what?"

Peter's gaze burned into hers.

"So now, you belong to me."

A stunned silence filled the air.

Naarah's lips parted, but no words came out.

Did he just say… belong?

Peter watched her, his expression unreadable.

Then, as if sensing her shock, a small smirk played at his lips.

"Unless," he said, his voice low and teasing, "you'd rather belong to him?"

Something in her snapped.

"You're insane," she blurted out.

Peter chuckled. "You'll get used to it."

Before she could protest, he turned and walked toward the door.

"I'll have someone watching your place," he added casually. "Don't fight it."

Naarah's fists clenched. "I don't need protection!"

Peter glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

"That's cute," he mused. "But it's not up to you."

And with that, he was gone.

Naarah stood frozen, her pulse thundering in her ears.

What the hell had just happened?

One moment, she was worried about Damien. The next, Peter had barged into her home, poured out her wine, and declared her his.

She should be furious.

She should be terrified.

Instead—she was shaking.

Not from fear.

But from something else entirely.

Something far more dangerous.