Chapter 3

Damien

At two in the morning, I sat alone in my office, a glass of whiskey in my hand.

Manhattan's night skyline projected through the floor-to-ceiling windows, countless lights twinkling like stars, but my world remained shrouded in darkness.

Damn it, what the hell was I doing?

I drained my glass in one gulp, trying to numb myself with alcohol, but the image of tears in Scarlett's eyes refused to leave my mind. When she stood in the middle of the dance floor and confessed to me, my heart nearly stopped beating.

Not from shock, but because that voice deep inside me—the one I'd been desperately suppressing—had finally found its echo.

"Damn it!" I slammed the glass down on the desk.

I knew what kind of monster I was. Even though she was legally an adult, I had raised her... why would I develop these feelings for her?

The burning whiskey scorched my chest, but it couldn't compare to the torment within. I closed my eyes, and memories flooded in unbidden.

Scarlett at ten, still that innocent little princess.

It was when I had just become her guardian. In the study of the Roswell mansion, afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds onto the carpet. I was handling the estate documents her father had left behind, and she sat beside me, fiddling with my fountain pen.

"Damien, why are these numbers so important?" she asked, tilting her head, her voice clear as a silver bell.

"Because they determine your future, princess," I said gently, reaching out to stroke her hair.

"I don't want to learn this stuff. I want to watch a movie with you," she pouted, leaning against my arm.

Back then, she was still a little girl... at least that's what I told myself. Her dependence made me feel like a proper guardian, like a father. I thought she just needed a father figure.

I thought...

But by sixteen, everything started to change.

I remembered that winter night, the fireplace burning in the living room, orange-red flames dancing across her face. I had a high fever, and the housekeeper and other staff had gone home, but she insisted on staying to take care of me.

"You have a fever. I'm going to look after you. No one else is home," she said with concern, carrying a basin of lukewarm water.

"Scarlett, you should go back to your room. The housekeeper can handle this," I struggled to sit up, but my body was terribly weak.

"No, I want to stay with you. You look so vulnerable when you're sick," she stubbornly shook her head and began cooling my forehead with a damp cloth.

When she leaned over to wipe my brow, I caught the faint scent of her perfume. She was no longer that little girl; her body had developed into that of a young woman. Her movements were so gentle, her gaze so focused, as if I were the center of her world.

That tenderness... damn it, she wasn't a little girl anymore.

I began to realize her attention toward me had surpassed mere dependence on a guardian, and I... I had started to develop feelings I shouldn't have.

At seventeen, she became my unbearable torment.

She began deliberately dressing up, twirling in front of me in newly purchased dresses.

"Damien, do I look good in this dress?" Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

"You look... nice. You should go do your homework now," I nervously avoided her gaze.

Disappointment flashed across her face: "Don't you like being around me anymore?"

I started to understand her feelings for me... and realized my own feelings were no longer purely protective. I began deliberately avoiding her, reducing our time alone together, but she always found ways to get close to me.

Every time she looked at me with disappointment, my heart felt like it was being torn apart.

What kind of sick pervert was I? She trusted me, and yet I...

I snapped my eyes open and poured myself another drink.

Seeing her kiss that boy... I wanted to tear him apart!!!

When she confessed to me in the middle of the dance floor, my first reaction wasn't shock—it was elation. But that was immediately followed by profound fear and self-loathing.

I could only reject her in the coldest way possible, to make her give up completely. Even if doing so hurt her, even if my own heart was bleeding.

"Darling?" The office door opened gently as Victoria walked in.

"Why are you still here?" I asked mechanically.

"I was worried about you," she came to my side, gently stroking my shoulder. "She's just too young to understand her own heart. Don't take it too seriously."

I nodded, letting her sit on my lap, embracing her mechanically. But in my mind, all I could see was Scarlett—her tearful eyes, her wounded expression.

"Maybe sending her to a boarding school would be better," Victoria continued. "Away from these temptations. Distance will help her forget these unrealistic ideas."

"Perhaps," I replied with outward calm.

Maybe she really was just caught up in the moment, and some time apart would be better for both of us...

But when I imagined Scarlett leaving this home, imagined her hating me, imagined her disappearing from my life completely, an excruciating pain swept through me.

Victoria whispered something in my arms, but I couldn't hear a single word. In my world, only one voice echoed repeatedly: "Damien, I love you."

The words I most wanted to hear, and the words I should never have heard.

I closed my eyes and buried my face in Victoria's shoulder, trying to escape the pain inside. But I knew that no matter how I tried to run, some things could never go back to the way they were.

Scarlett was no longer the little girl who needed my protection.

And I was no longer the pure-hearted guardian.

Between us lay an insurmountable chasm, yet also an unbreakable connection. This painful contradiction would torment me for the rest of my life.

Perhaps separation truly was the best choice.