Chapter 6
Chapter 6: A Dangerous Line
Brielle barely remembered how she got home. The drive was a blur, her fingers gripping the wheel too tightly, her heart still hammering from what she had just witnessed.
Damian. Fighting. Bleeding. That woman—the way she looked at him, like he was nothing more than a tool she could discard.
She should’ve listened to him. She should’ve walked away.
But she couldn’t.
She had seen the look in his eyes when he told her to leave. Beneath the anger and frustration, there had been something else. Fear.
And that scared her more than anything.
She parked her car outside the mansion, shutting off the engine. The house was dark except for the faint glow of a light in the living room. As she stepped inside, she heard movement upstairs—Damian.
Brielle hesitated.
He probably didn’t want to see her. Would push her away like he always did.
But tonight felt different.
Sucking in a breath, she headed up the stairs. Each step felt heavier than the last as she approached his bedroom door. It was slightly open, and she could hear the low sound of running water.
The bathroom.
She peeked inside and felt her stomach twist.
Damian stood in front of the mirror, shirtless, his back covered in bruises and cuts. His knuckles were raw, his jaw tight as he wiped a damp towel across his ribs, wincing at the contact.
Brielle didn’t think—she just pushed the door open and walked in.
His head snapped up. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She ignored him, grabbing the first aid kit from the counter. “Sit.”
He let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Not happening.”
She crossed her arms. “Damian.”
“I don’t need your help,” he said, turning away.
Brielle slammed the first aid kit onto the counter. “Too bad. You’re getting it anyway.”
He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. For a moment, she thought he would fight her on it again, but then, to her surprise, he sat on the edge of the counter, his gaze locked onto hers.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Make it quick.”
She stepped between his legs, heart pounding as she focused on his wounds. Up close, they looked even worse—the deep purple bruises, the dried blood along his ribs.
She swallowed hard and grabbed a disinfectant wipe. “This might sting.”
“I can handle it,” he murmured.
Brielle pressed the wipe against one of his cuts, and his body tensed. His fingers curled into fists, but he didn’t make a sound.
She worked in silence, her hands careful as she cleaned his wounds.
After a few minutes, she spoke. “Are you going to tell me why you’re doing this?”
Damian’s jaw clenched. “No.”
She sighed. “Of course not.”
He studied her, his green eyes darker than usual. “Why do you care, Brielle?”
The question caught her off guard.
Why did she care?
He was arrogant, reckless, infuriating. He had ruined her van, insulted her, made her life miserable since she moved in.
But she had also seen glimpses of something else.
The way he had helped her when her dog was sick. The way he had looked at her when she found him tonight—like he didn’t want her to see him like this, but at the same time, couldn’t stop her.
She exhaled slowly, pressing a bandage over one of the deeper cuts. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just do.”
Something flickered in his expression, but he didn’t say anything.
Brielle pulled back slightly, but Damian reached out, his fingers grazing her wrist. Her breath caught.
“You should stay away from me,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”
Her heart pounded against her ribs. “Yeah.”
His grip tightened ever so slightly. “Then why don’t you?”
Brielle licked her lips, her pulse skittering. His body was warm, his skin rough beneath her fingertips.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
Silence stretched between them, thick with something she couldn’t name.
Then, before she could stop herself, her gaze dropped to his lips.
A mistake.
Because in that moment, Damian saw it.
A low curse slipped from his mouth, and then—
His lips crashed against hers.
Brielle gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he pulled her closer. The kiss was hot, urgent, reckless—everything she knew it shouldn’t be, but couldn’t stop.
Damian’s hands gripped her waist, his fingers pressing into her skin as if he was trying to convince himself that she was real.
For a second, Brielle let herself melt into him. The heat, the taste of him—it was dizzying, overwhelming.
But then reality slammed into her.
She was kissing her stepbrother.
She tore herself away, breathing hard. “No. This… we can’t.”
Damian was staring at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Brielle—”
Her heart was filled with guilt and fear.
How could she kiss her stepbrother.
This was undoubtedly playing with fire, and perhaps she would be doomed!