3.

Chapter 3: Crossing Lines

Brielle stormed into the house, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows. Her pulse pounded in her ears as Damian’s smug, infuriating face replayed in her mind.

He had destroyed her van, insulted her, and then had the audacity to act like he owned the world. Her skin prickled with rage, and she knew she couldn’t let this go.

A few minutes later, she saw his bike roar back into the driveway through the window. Her jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

He was back. She grabbed a glass of water, her hand trembling with frustration, and stormed outside, ready to humiliate him in any way she could.

Damian’s bike came to a screeching halt, and he pulled off his helmet, shaking out his messy black hair.

His shirtless chest gleamed in the sunlight, but Brielle wasn’t in the mood to be distracted by his body—or the tattoos that wound over his skin like art. No. She was here to put him in his place.

“Back so soon?” she called out, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

He chuckled as he set his helmet down, that same lazy, arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

“What can I say? I missed the warm welcome.”

Brielle stalked toward him. “You missed it? Well, don’t worry. I’ve got plenty left for you.”

Damian’s smirk deepened. “I’ll take it. Just try not to break anything else in the house when you throw your tantrum.”

Brielle’s rage boiled over. “You destroyed my van, you arrogant asshole! You had no right—”

“It was in the way,” he interrupted, shrugging casually. “You want to cry about it? Write a report.”

“You think this is a joke?!” she yelled, stepping closer. The tension between them crackled like static.

“You can’t just do whatever you want, Damian. Not here. Not to me.”

He tilted his head, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re in my world now. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

She hated how close he was, how his voice sent an unwanted shiver down her spine. But she wouldn’t back down. Not from him.

“You have no power over me,” she shot back. “I’m not scared of you, and I never will be.”

His expression hardened, his smile slipping away. “Is that right?”

“Yes.” Her voice was firm, though her heart raced. “You’re just a spoiled rich kid who thinks the world owes him something. But guess what? I’m not here to bow to your ego.”

Damian’s eyes darkened. He took a step forward, closing the space between them.

Brielle’s breath hitched as his chest almost brushed hers. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating in its intensity.

“Careful, Brielle,” he whispered. “You’re pushing limits you don’t understand.”

“And I don’t care,” she snapped. “You don’t scare me.”

His gaze dropped to her lips for a brief moment before he pulled back with a bitter chuckle.

“You should be scared,” he muttered. “But you’ll learn soon enough.”

She was about to retort when her eyes finally focused on something else—something she hadn’t noticed before.

His body wasn’t just muscular and tattooed; there were bruises forming along his ribs and faint cuts on his knuckles, like he’d been in a fight.

Her gaze trailed across his torso, taking in the way his muscles flexed as he adjusted his gloves. Was that… dried blood near his waistband?

Her stomach churned. “What the hell happened to you?” she asked, her voice softer now, laced with suspicion.

Damian froze for a moment, then smirked again, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “What’s the matter? You worried about me now?”

“I don’t care,” she lied quickly. “You just look like you’ve been in a bar brawl.”

He gave her a long, assessing look before shaking his head.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” he warned.

Brielle frowned, her curiosity piqued despite herself. “Is that why you ran off earlier? What are you hiding?”

Damian turned to leave, clearly done with the conversation. “Like I said, keep quiet, stay out of my business, and you’ll be fine.”

But Brielle wasn’t ready to drop it. She couldn’t help noticing the way he moved—like someone used to pain, like every step hurt but he refused to show it.

And those bruises… they weren’t normal. They weren’t from a casual workout. They were from something much rougher.

Her thoughts raced as she followed him with her gaze. Could he really be involved in something dangerous? And why did he look so damn calm about it?

“Whatever shady shit you’re into,” she muttered, “I’ll find out.”

“Good luck with that,” he called back over his shoulder, as if he’d heard her. He straddled his bike and revved the engine, the sound deafening in the still morning air.

He sped off without another word, leaving her standing there in a cloud of dust and unanswered questions.

Brielle clenched her fists, her frustration mixing with a strange, gnawing curiosity. Damian was more than just an arrogant jerk.

He was hiding something, something that explained the bruises, the cold warning in his eyes, and his sudden disappearances.

She didn’t want to care. She shouldn’t care. But now that she’d noticed the cracks in his armor, she couldn’t ignore them.

This wasn’t just about the van anymore. Damian Anderson was a mystery—a dangerous one—and Brielle had a sinking feeling that her summer was about to get a lot more complicated.

With a deep breath, she turned and headed back inside, her mind buzzing with plans. If Damian thought he could intimidate her, he was dead wrong. She wasn’t going to play by his rules.

And if he had secrets, well… she was going to find them.