Chapter 4
Renée's POV
When I returned home, it was nearly midnight.
Only a dim floor lamp remained lit in the living room. Damien had just come out of the guest room, gently closing the door behind him.
When he saw me, his first words were:
"Did you sign the contract?"
I stood in the entryway, looking at him.
He didn't ask if I was hurt, didn't ask if Levi had done anything to me-only asked about the contract.
"Renée?"
He walked over.
"What did Mr. Bryant say?"
I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face.
Damien's head snapped to the side. He froze for two seconds before reacting.
"I..."
He opened his mouth, seeming to realize he'd said the wrong thing.
"I'm sorry, Renée. I didn't mean it that way. I was just worried about the business..."
I ignored him, went straight upstairs, and returned to the master bedroom.
Damien came to the door and knocked. I didn't respond.
He was silent for a while, then said softly, "I'm sorry."
I stood by the window, letting tears stream down my face.
Renée, you're such a fool.
Ten years of acquaintance, five years of dating, one year of marriage.
And you couldn't even tell who was human and who was a demon.
The next morning, as soon as I came downstairs, Damien grabbed my wrist.
He used considerable force, dragging me toward the living room.
On the sofa, Tara was covering her face with a tissue, sobbing. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying.
"Kneel."
Damien pressed down on my shoulder, forcing me down in front of Tara.
I looked up at him.
"Look what you did last night!"
His face was iron-dark.
"Mr. Bryant called this morning to cancel the collaboration. Do you know how long Tara worked on that project? You ruined everything!"
I tried to stand, but received a hard slap across the face.
My head snapped to the side, blood seeping from the corner of my mouth.
"Damien!"
Tara cried out and stood up.
"Don't blame Renée. It's my fault. I shouldn't have given her such an important responsibility..."
She moved as if to leave, but Damien stopped her.
"You're not going anywhere."
He pressed her back down on the sofa, then looked at me.
His expression was complex-apologetic, reluctant, but more than anything, resolute.
"When your parents went abroad, they left you three villas."
He spoke, his voice flat.
"Transfer the properties to Tara. Consider it compensation for her loss."
I was stunned.
"What did you say?"
Damien's Adam's apple bobbed as he looked away.
"The loss you caused last night was too great. Even if those three villas were sold, they'd only be worth about two hundred million. Not even enough to cover it."
"Fine."
I cut him off.
Damien froze and looked back at me.
I stood up, wiped the blood from my mouth, and turned to go upstairs.
I walked steadily, step by step, my spine perfectly straight.
Back in my room, I closed the door, took out my phone, and made a call.
It was answered quickly, the voice low.
"What's wrong?"
"Hello."
I leaned against the door.
"I can't keep those three properties. Have the lawyer initiate asset protection procedures."
The other end was silent for two seconds.
"Did he hit you?"
I didn't answer.
"I understand."
The voice on the other end turned cold.
"All procedures will be completed within three days. Renée, how many more days until you come home?"
"Five days."
"Good."
There was a pause.
"I'm waiting for you."
Downstairs, Tara's crying and Damien's soft consolations drifted up intermittently-too muffled through the door to hear clearly.
I looked out the window at the plane tree. When I first came to the Foster house at fifteen, it was already there.
In the year since our marriage, it wasn't that I hadn't noticed his changes.
I just never imagined a person could turn bad so decisively, so quickly, so thoroughly.
I found the transaction contracts for the three properties and placed them on the shelf outside my door, then returned to the bedroom.
Soon footsteps came upstairs, pausing outside my door for a few seconds-probably to check the contracts.
Then came the sound of footsteps going back down.
Five more days.
Then I could leave him.