Call You Mine (Servite Academy)

Chapter Twelve

WYNTER

2124173422: Do you miss me yet, Snow? Cause there isn’t a day I don’t think about you, carina.

2124173422: I bet you think about me too.

2124173422: Maybe not in the same context, but I’m there. I’m in your mind before you lay your pretty little head on the pillow. I’m in your daydreams as you lie awake. I’m in your nightmares while you sleep.

2124173422: Tell me, carina. Whose bed are you keeping warm tonight? - XOXO E

Bile rises in my throat once more when I reread the messages he sent for the hundredth time tonight.

There’s no doubt in my mind it’s him. The vile way he called me carina, which to anyone else would be a term of endearment but to me was nothing more than a reminder I was his possession. It was his way of reminding me I was a captive in his world, where he ruled above all, including me. The most terrifying thing about it, his kindness would nearly make me forget how wicked and dangerous he could be.

It's been twelve hours since Damon and I got back from that horrifying lunch with Willa and Ace. Twelve hours since he had his fingers buried deep inside me as I came with his name on my lips. I almost had him right where I wanted him.

After the way he defended me in front of Willa and confronted my brother, claiming me as his to protect, I fell harder than I thought possible. And I kept falling with every kiss, every touch, until it disappeared faster than it came.

Until Enzo happened. A harsh reminder that I would never be rid of the devil. Whether it is his ghost haunting me, or someone in his circle who’s discovered what I’ve done. When you aim for the devil, you should never miss. And I’m thinking I did.

As I read the messages coming in I froze, panic building up inside me at the thought of him coming after me, of him finding me by Damon’s side. He’d already threatened him once. If he had any inkling that I came back to Hillcrest—back to him—Enzo wouldn’t hesitate to send another message. This time, more final.

Though, when Damon demanded I tell him the truth, I couldn’t. I can’t put him in danger even if it means having to lie to him about everything. It’s the one thing he can’t stand, lies. But it’s what I might have to keep doing to make sure he’s safe.

Safe from Enzo, from Willa, from me. Even if it kills me inside.

Damon swore he would touch me again unless I confessed the secrets I’ve been hiding, but deep down he knows I can’t do that.

Just as much as I know he won’t be able to hold back.

Not if I have anything to say about it.

For two days I contemplated how I would approach the dilemma at hand. It wasn’t hard to do since Damon was nowhere to be found. I found myself alone in his mansion, talking to the walls and dining with the voices in my head. That part wasn’t very different from what I’ve grown used to. He’d texted me once, the first night saying something about spending the night at one property Kingsman owned as he needed to oversee some emergency renovations.

I knew it was a bullshit excuse. In reality he was avoiding me, and it's been slowly killing me. Which brings me to my plan.

I came up with it on my own after going downtown to one of my favorite boutiques and running into the shop owner's wife, a freelance photographer who specializes in boudoir photoshoots. Kara had specifically been working on photoshoots for a marketing campaign of her wife’s new line of high-end lingerie. She approached me, having recognized me from some earlier shoots I did for her mentor, David Saks. David and I worked together during my short-lived career as a model a few years ago, and previously he’d worked with Willa during her time modeling.

It had been years since I’d seen him but apparently he always spoke highly of me when discussing previous models he’s worked with.

It was Kismet, running into Kara who was in search of a new model for the campaign. Someone who could showcase the elegant luxury of Provocateur, and according to David, I wasn’t a pretentious diva who was, and I quote, hard to work with.

I was hesitant at first, having been years since I was last in front of a camera and the small little detail that I am trying to stay under the radar, but when Kara explained the timeline of the campaign, I knew it would work. The photos won’t be released until September, when Liza will host a show during New York Fashion week. Besides, I could use the extra money to keep myself from digging into my current bank account. Who knows if I’ll need to skip town soon with Enzo’s ghost lurking over me.

So far his threats have remained behind the screen, but knowing him, he doesn’t take well to be ignored. And there is no way I’m replying or even entertaining his little games.

After a brief conversation to go over the campaign, I agreed to a practice shoot to get my feet back into modeling since it’s been so long. Though I had one condition. I told Kara I’d need her to take a few extra photos for a plan of my own I need to see through.

A man, no matter how in control, could never resist a woman in sexy lingerie. And I needed these photos to bring mine to his knees.

“Just like that, Wyn. Give me a little wink over your shoulder and pop your hip a little to the left,” Kara calls out to me as we work in her studio. Conveniently, Bella Boudoir is located right above Liza’s Boutique .

We’ve been working for almost two hours, and I’ve tried on at least six of the most sensual and exquisite pieces of lingerie I’ve ever seen. Intricate designs, delicate and luxurious fabrics, and an equal amount of sex and modesty, a bit for everyone's tastes. Liza’s an incredible designer, each piece I’ve seen, clearly had a lot of thought and hard work put into it.

The one I’m currently wearing, one a little on the sexier side which is exactly my style, is a white, Chantilly Lace set–a lace see through bra and a matching thong. Around my waist is a garter belt in the same fine lace, clipped onto a pair of nude stockings with small rhinestones delicately glued along the mesh.

I paired the look with some white Manolo pumps and diamond jewelry. My hair sits in soft waves over my shoulders, the platinum blonde nearly identical to the lace on my body.

“Just a few more shots from behind and we’re done for the day.”

Relief washes over me, not because she said we’re almost done, but because I’ll soon have the photos I need to set my plan into motion. This specific piece was what I chose for my personal collection and I cannot wait to see if Damon approves.

“So tell me again, who are these special photos for?” Liza, Kara’s wife and the designer of the beautiful lingerie I’m wearing, asks as we walk over to Kara’s computer to look at the last few shots she took.

“For some sexy, stubborn idiot who doesn’t recognize a good thing even if it’s standing naked in front of him. I’m hoping if I’m standing in this beautiful piece it might just change his mind.”

Kara scoffs, setting her camera down on the table and clicking through the photos on her computer screen. “The guy is a fucking fool if he’s saying no to you, Wynter. I’m happily married to the sexiest woman on the planet, but goddamn, woman. You are perfect.”

Liza agrees, giving me a little wink. The two of them are equally gorgeous. Kara’s rocking a wavy pixie cut, her black hair still long enough to cover her ears, a decent amount of makeup, and is dressed head to toe in black leather. Liza, the more feminine of the two, is wearing a cute summer dress with cap sleeves and thin cardigan tied around her neck.

They complement each other perfectly. Light and darkness, kind of like Damon and me.

Ugh, there he is, in my goddamn thoughts again. “Thank you ladies, this one’s a hard-headed fucker, but I think I can break him so long as this,” I shimmy, moving the little rhinestone tassels attached to the cups of the bra—the only thing covering my nipples thought the see-through fabric. “Gets him on his knees.”

“Oh, I know. Come.” Kara motions for me to follow her over to the full-length mirror against the wall. Its intricate gold frame looks antique, but like it was purposefully made that way. Refurbished from its original form with a fresh coat of paint made to match the rest of the decor in the studio. Much like you’d expect a boudoir studio to look, the walls and furnishings make the space appear to be fit for a royal.

A large, four-poster bed with an elegant tufted headboard sits in the middle of the room. On the far side, beside the window is a matching chaise delicately arranged atop a beautiful cream-colored fluffy rug. The walls are off white, bare except for the various frames arranged like a gallery wall that can be switched out depending on the style of the shoot. For example, the campaign is based on luxury, so the photographs in the frames resemble that. Palaces, landscapes of the Parisian countryside, chateaus in France, fashion, diamonds, everything I was once very familiar with.

Kara picks up a few stray items off of the floor and tosses them onto the bed. “I’ll send you the photos so you can do whatever it is you’re plotting, but in the meantime, I say we give the asshole something to pine about.”

She positions me so I’m in full view of the mirror, one hand behind my back, my hip popped out to one side, while Liza moves over to fix my hair. Liza fluffs out the already voluminous blow out they gave me, and applies slightly darker lipstick to my lips before motioning for me to rub it in. The shade is Bordeaux, a color I wouldn’t have chosen but I’ll admit I’ll be adding it to my collection. Liza runs her finger over my bottom lip, smearing the lipstick slightly.

“There, perfect. Now take out your phone.” Kara moves behind me and walks over to the end of the room beside the bed. I watch her in the mirror as she moves to stand in a way that only her legs, combat boots, and leather jacket are visible. Liza slides the cart of camera equipment and the clothing rack full of the other changes of lingerie I wore, into view.

“What are you two up too?” I ask, watching them through the mirror. Their smiles grow wide giving them away, and as Liza approaches me with my cellphone in hand, I figure it out.

“Why not give him a little taste with a sexy mirror selfie,” Liza says, winking at me as she turns to where Kara stands behind us. “No harm in a little leather coming into view behind you.”

Kara looks at us over her shoulder. “I’ve lost count of the times someone has come up to me and said sir while I’m facing away from them.”

Liza points the small remote in her hand up toward the surround sound. Jealousy, Jealousy by Olivia Rodrigo plays on the speakers above.

“You want me to send him a photo where you're in the background, and he’ll mistake you for a man.”

“Jealousy, the little green fucker, is the one thing that can make any man break. Regardless of how strong or how in control they claim to be. The idea of their woman being with another, the effects should ought to be scientifically investigated.”

I snap almost twenty photos, suddenly self-conscious about the way I look. I’m the queen of confidence, yet at this moment, my insecurities are getting the best of me. What if he doesn’t like it? Does it look like I’m begging? Am I coming off desperate? What if I’m too skinny? What if I’m not curvy enough?

Thankfully, the scars from Enzo have healed quickly and have left no trace behind of the horrors I lived that night. The ones on the inside take longer to heal and once they do, I’m not sure it will be enough to ensure they’re never reopened. Nothing a little makeup and a bright smile can’t cover up.

“Stop overthinking darling, and just send it. You look fucking hot in all of them. And if this doesn’t work, get him to the eye doctor or better yet, check him into an asylum.”

I laugh at Kara’s unconventional pep talk, but it works. It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend, or anyone to talk to for that matter. Being locked away in Enzo’s penthouse was lonely. The only people around were his men who I steered clear from, the help I was forbidden to talk to, or the women in his family who looked at me with such utter disdain, it was best for me to keep as far away from them as possible.

And since I’ve been back, I’ve only been with Damon, except for the brief conversations at Stella’s wedding and the disaster of lunch with my mother.

I’m surprised she’s kept her distance and hasn’t hounded me with any more of her pathetic threats, but I fear it won’t be long before she once again appears with some new ultimatum.

I need to come up with a way to get her the money, or at least make her believe I have.

Opening up my messaging thread with Damon, I type a quick message, deleting it and rewriting it four times before Liza yanks the phone out of my hand.

“Oh, give me that,” she says as her fingers tap away on the screen reading aloud what she’s writing.

Me: Went into town for a little retail therapy, and I realized I had no one who could give me their opinion on this little thing I purchased. Well, no one who’s opinion really mattered. Thoughts?

She attaches a photo, one where Kara is clearly visible in the mirror and anyone would mistake her for a man. The bed also comes into view with a few pieces of lingerie scattered along the comforter.

“He’s going to lose his shit. I know nothing about him, other than the tidbit of information you’ve shared with us, but I just get the feeling he's the jealous type. Possessive, protective, positively alpha.”

Well, if that isn’t the perfect description of Damon Drake.

His response is almost immediate, causing Kara and Liza to laugh wholeheartedly. Not me. I’m overcome with nerves, my fingers shaking as I take the phone from Liza’s hands and unlock it, opening the message.

Damon: Where the fuck are you, Wynter?

A shiver runs through me as I picture him whispering that exact thing into my ear. I can hear his voice, dark and gravelly dripping with wickedness. Just as I am about to respond, Kara swipes the phone from my hands.

“Ooh yes just as expected.”

“Give me the phone, I got it from here.”

Me: Answer the question.

Damon: Answer me first.

But before I can type out my response, he messages once more.

Damon: Tell me where the fuck you are, Princess, and I’ll go easy on you.

Me: Fine, I guess I’ll have to get someone else’s opinion. Shouldn’t be hard to.

Three dots appear to show he’s typing but before his reply can come in. I lock my phone and toss it on the bed.

Liza laughs, swinging her arm around my shoulder. “Bold move.”

“Now what?” Kara asks, a little too enthusiastic.

An electric energy flows through me at the image—the excitement of watching him squirm, unable to contain his anger as he stares down at his phone.

“Now I let him sit and think about what I may or may not be doing here, wearing this lingerie, with someone behind me.”

My phone’s been buzzing incessantly, first with text message notifications, before phone calls came pouring in. For the past ten minutes, I’ve been helping the girls clean up and close the studio and set it up for a fairytale themed shoot Kara will do tomorrow. I draped pale pink tulle across the top of the bed frame, and wrapped beautiful greenery along the posts, clipping some fake butterflies and flowers into the vines. The bed now has a sage green comforter and an array of fluffy pink and white pillows.

“If you don’t answer your phone, Wyn. I am going to do it for you. The man is relentless.”

“Tell me about it,” I joke, though I’m not laughing at all. Anxiousness creeps up my spine, wondering if I’ve pushed him too far.

Kara’s phone vibrates loudly on the table, startling us. She walks over and picks it up, staring at the screen with a look of confusion. “It says, unknown.”

Liza turns to me and gasps, her eyes wide as she shakes her head in disbelief. “You don’t think it’s…”

I shake my head, but to be honest, I wouldn’t put anything past him at this point. Damon is relentless when there’s something he wants, and he’s a man with means who frankly can get it without issue.

“Answer it,” I whisper, afraid but also eager to find out if it’s truly him.

“Hello,” Kara whispers nervously into the phone, putting it on speaker. Her blue eyes shoot wide when a voice on the other line speaks. I can’t make out what they’re saying or even tell if it’s a male or female voice, but her expression gives it away.

It’s him. It has to be.

My heart races with a mix of fear and anticipation, but it’s not until I hear his voice, dark and demanding, laced with a hint of humor that I nearly lose consciousness.

“Stay where you are, Princess. I’m on my way.”

My face pales, my lip quivers, and my insides burn in anger. Kara and Liza stare at me with wide eyes and mouths gaping open.

How? Why? So many questions run through my mind. How does he know where I am? Better yet, how the hell did he get Kara’s phone number?

“Holy fuck, I’d say that worked.” Kara drops onto one chaise, her face pale except for a hint of pink tinting her cheeks. Is that a blush on my lesbian friend incited by Damon? T he power of that man's voice needs to be studied, bottled up, and sold for the highest price.

“That was hot, even if it’s also a little terrifying he somehow figured out where you were, let alone found Kara’s phone number. Who is this guy again?” Liza asks, coming over to join us on the couches beside the window looking out onto the street below.

She stares at me awaiting my response, with an equally worried expression on her face.

“Is he a cop or something? Or is he in the CIA? Mafia maybe?” Kara asks.

My stomach drops at the mention of organized crime. She doesn’t know how close to home that hits. Damon may not be part of that world, but I am, and it’s true what they say. Once you’re in, there’s only one way out. Death .

Enzo’s taunting text messages come back to the front of my mind. This is not good. If Damon could track my whereabouts so easily, then it’s obvious Enzo probably already knows where I am, and worse, who I’m with.

“You were right about Damon,” I tell them, walking over to the window, looking down at the streets like I did that night. Only this time I’m behind glass and hundreds of feet closer to the ground yet the same panic and worry laces my thoughts. “He definitely is the possessive, “ Touch what’s mine and you’ll die”, type. But he’s also a stubborn bastard. The, “You may not be mine, but you won’t be anyone else’s”, kind.”

“I don’t know, Princess,” Kara says, mocking the nickname Damon called me by. The one I equally despise because of his intended meaning, but love because deep down I know it means so much more. “This seemed different. He seemed genuinely ready to lay his claim.”

“On a possession he thinks someone else is about to take. That isn’t romantic, it’s insanity.” Insanity I’m all too familiar with. How had I not seen it before?

Damon may not be a psychotic serial murderer like Enzo, but with me, he wants the same thing. To own me, control me. He may not have outright said it, might even claim he doesn’t want that from me, but that’s what he needs in a relationship.

It’s how they raised him. The way the demons inside him changed him.

I open the thread of unread texts he sent before his phone call.

Damon: Don’t play games with me, Princess.

Damon: I swear to God Wyn, if that fucker is there with you, I don’t care who he is to you. I will fucking murder him for touching what belongs to me.

Damon: And don’t you fucking doubt it. You, Wynter Servite, belong to me.