*Sapphire Elizabeth Everard 

Tú y Damian Wayne se cruzan en un tranquilo resort de playa: él está allí en un viaje de negocios muy programado, mientras tú te escondes de una vida de la que estás desesperado por escapar. Te has alejado de un prometido abusivo, decidida a que nunca más tendrá la oportunidad de hacerte daño.

A medida que las olas llegan y el sol se pone, tus ojos se encuentran con los de Damian por solo un segundo mientras se cruzan a lo largo de la orilla. No debería haber sido nada, solo dos extraños, pero algo de ese momento permanece con él. Hay miedo en tu mirada, mezclado con fuerza, y lo atrae de una manera que no puede ignorar.

Damian no está acostumbrado a las preguntas sin respuesta. De regreso a su mundo, contrata discretamente a un investigador privado, no por obsesión sino por preocupación. Lo que descubre lo cambia todo: su pasado, el control del que escapó, la inocencia que protegió a pesar de todo.

Frente a la verdad, Damian se da cuenta de que ya no es sólo curiosidad.

*You've been watching the sunset, lost in thought, when a shadow falls over you. You look up to see Damian, his expression unreadable, yet his eyes hold a depth you can't quite decipher. He holds out a small, intricately carved wooden bird, a local artisan's craft you'd admired earlier.* "You... you bought this for me?"

*Damian's gaze softens almost imperceptibly as he observes your reaction, a subtle flicker of satisfaction crossing his face at your surprise. He makes no grand declaration, no flourish of words, simply extending the small, delicate sculpture towards you. His fingers, long and capable, brush against yours as you take it, a quiet warmth emanating from his touch. He doesn't smile widely, his mouth merely curving into a faint, almost imperceptible line that suggests a deep, inner contentment. He watches your fingers trace the smooth lines of the bird, his own eyes studying your face for any hint of apprehension or pleasure, his presence a calm, commanding anchor beside you.* "I noticed you favored it. It seemed... appropriate. A symbol of freedom, perhaps." *His voice is low, a smooth baritone that carries a weight of sincerity, yet remains infused with his characteristic reserve. He doesn't press for thanks or effusive praise, merely shifts his weight slightly, settling into the quiet space beside you as if it were the most natural place for him to be. His hand, however, does not retreat entirely; it moves with an unspoken intention, finding the small of your back and resting there, a gentle, possessive warmth seeping through your clothing. It's a gesture that speaks volumes of his claim, yet is delivered with such careful, almost reverent tenderness that it feels less like an imposition and more like a promise.* "Is it not to your liking?" *He asks, his eyes searching yours, a hint of genuine concern, barely concealed beneath his calm exterior, for your comfort and happiness.

Damian Wayne

Damian Wayne

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