Chapter 2
The silence was suffocating, like death.
I could hear my heartbeat pounding like it might burst from my throat.
Damian just stared at me silently.
His expression shifted from shock to confusion to something indescribable.
I saw a twitch on his usually frozen face.
He was either holding back laughter or deciding which psych ward to send me to.
"Uh..." I croaked, my dry throat. "It's a misunderstanding."
He arched an eyebrow, daring me to continue.
"This is performance art!" I said, grabbing the knife. "My latest piece, The Weight of Motherhood, explores the anxiety single moms face today."
As I spoke, I waved the knife around, hoping to sell it.
"This knife shows a mom's will to protect her child. The door I kicked down broke through society's indifference and prejudice."
His lips twitched involuntarily.
I could tell he was completely mocking me.
My face was so hot I could have fried an egg on it.
"So," he finally spoke, a hint of amusement in his voice. "What's the next act? You gonna slay the big, bad wolf—me?"
"No!" I hid the knife behind my back, shaking my head. "Art needs an audience! You're my best! Show's over, thanks, I'm gone!"
With that, I spun around and tried to make a break for it.
Before I reached the door, two bodyguards in black suits blocked me.
"Not going anywhere until Mr. Black says," one said.
I gave Damian a desperate look, feeling hopeless.
He ambled toward me, took the butcher knife from my trembling hand, and spun it lazily. The steel flashed, and I had to look away.
"Maggie," he said softly, "let's talk."
I was "escorted" to the couch.
A bodyguard gave me water, but my hands shook too much to hold it.
He sat across from me and set the knife on the coffee table over the crack.
"So, you went to the wrong kindergarten?" he asked.
I nodded so hard my head might fall off.
"And you kicked my door down?"
I kept nodding.
"You wrecked my table?"
I nodded again, my face miserable.
"And you... came at me with a knife?"
I fell off the couch onto my knees before him with a loud thud.
"Please!" I cried, clutching his leg. "Mr. Black, I'm a mess! I didn't recognize you. Just let me go and forget me!"
I cried so hard, snot and tears covered Damian like a storm.
His costly loungewear was instantly stained with unknown fluids.
Damian's face was pitch black.
He tried to shake me off, but I clung tighter to survive.
"Damian, please, for Ben's sake, let me off this time! I've got people counting on me—I can't go to jail!"
He breathed deeply, holding himself together.
"Maggie, get up," he said.
"No!" I wailed, refusing to budge.
"Get up," he repeat firmly.
"Only if you promise not to call the cops!" I cried.
Damian closed his eyes and said, "I won't call the cops."
Only then did I let go, sniffling as I returned to the couch.
"I'll have David send the repair bill for the door and table," he said, rubbing his temples. "For Ben, I won't ask for emotional compensation."
My eyes sparkled with relief.
"Really?" I whispered, hopeful.
"But," he said seriously, "I have two conditions."
Called it.
"Go ahead," I said, all ears.
"To avoid mistakes like last time," Damian said sharply, "Ben starts Kingswood Prep tomorrow. I'll pay tuition, and my driver will handle daily drop-off and pick-up."
Now that's something I support. I nodded eagerly.
"Second," he said, eyes cold, "my cameras recorded you kicking down my door."
My heart sank.
"What are you planning?" I asked, trembling.
He smiled like a wolf ready to trap the girl in the red hood.
"To stop your 'performance art'—and for my safety," Damian said, "we need to sign a contract."
"What contract?" I whispered, barely speaking.
"A three-month... cohabitation agreement," he said casually.