Zendaya's POV
As we glided through the bustling town and traffic, the cacophony of horns and distant shouts was somehow muted by the plush interior. My fingers were still intertwined with Damien's, his touch a constant, warm anchor. The strength in his hand was undeniable, a subtle pressure that spoke of possession, of unwavering certainty.
Only moments ago, I'd been a whirlwind of flustered blushes and desperate breaths, caught in the exhilarating, terrifying intimacy of his presence. Now, dressed in an elegant black gown, sitting beside him in the controlled environment of his car, I felt a different intensity.
It was the quiet hum of power, the subtle vibration of a bond tightening, even without a mark. I stole a glance at him. He was focused on the road ahead, his profile sharp against the passing cityscape. His jaw was set, a familiar line of resolve, yet there was a softness around his eyes, a lingering warmth that only I seemed to elicit.
