Damien's POV
The sting in my knuckles hadn't faded, but it wasn't enough. The rage still pulsed through me like an untamed wildfire, spreading through every vein, burning me from the inside out. I needed more—more pain, more release.
The underground training room smelled of sweat and blood, the perfect place to drown out the suffocating frustration tightening around my throat. The dim lighting cast long shadows on the walls, adding to the eerie solitude of my sanctuary. This was where I let go, where I didn't have to maintain the calculated control the world expected from me.
I tore off my gloves, flexing my fingers as I turned to Ronan, who stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He had been with me long enough to know when I needed this—when I needed him to hit back.
"You're not done yet?" he asked, his voice carrying the slightest hint of amusement.
I scoffed. "Do I look done to you?" I rolled my shoulders, the tension still coiled tight beneath my skin. "Get in the ring."
Ronan arched an eyebrow but didn't hesitate. He pulled off his jacket and stepped inside the boxing ring, rolling his neck as he loosened his stance. "You sure? You already look like you've been through hell tonight."
"I'm not looking for easy," I muttered, raising my fists.
Ronan smirked. "Good."
The moment the bell rang, I lunged.
Ronan dodged, sidestepping my punch with frustrating ease. He was a trained fighter, disciplined and tactical, whereas I fought with raw instinct and aggression. He waited for me to swing again, blocking my hit before driving his fist into my ribs. The sharp impact sent a shock through my body, but I welcomed it.
I retaliated fast, catching him in the jaw with a right hook. He grunted but didn't back down, his footwork fluid as he twisted, landing a solid punch to my side. I barely felt the pain—my adrenaline drowned it out.
Blow after blow, we moved in a violent dance, testing each other's limits. The sound of our fists colliding, the heavy breathing, the raw energy—it was everything I needed to numb the storm in my mind.
But Ronan was holding back. I could see it in his movements, the slight hesitation in his strikes. It pissed me off.
I wiped the sweat from my brow, leveling him with a glare. "Stop treating me like I'm fragile."
His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he exhaled sharply. "You want the real thing?"
I didn't answer. I just raised my fists again.
Ronan's stance shifted. He moved faster this time, landing a brutal uppercut to my ribs that sent me staggering back. I barely had time to recover before he followed it up with a sharp blow to my shoulder.
Pain erupted through me, but I thrived in it.
I pushed forward, dodging his next strike and landing a hard punch to his gut. He grunted but didn't falter, his knee snapping up to catch my side. I stumbled, barely keeping my balance, but I didn't stop.
For several minutes, we went back and forth, neither of us holding back anymore. My body ached, my lungs burned, but for the first time that night, my mind was clear. No thoughts of Aurora. No thoughts of her father's blackmail. Just me, the fight, and the blood pounding in my ears.
Then Ronan's fist collided with my jaw, snapping my head to the side. I staggered, gripping the ropes as I spit blood onto the mat.
He stepped back, breathing hard. "Satisfied?"
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my breathing ragged. "Not yet."
Ronan gave a half-smirk, shaking his head. "You're insane."
I let out a short laugh, though it lacked humor. "You just figured that out?"
Before he could answer, the door to the training room creaked open.
Both our heads snapped in the direction of the sound.
Henry stood in the doorway, his expression blank, but his sharp eyes flickered between the two of us—taking in the bruises, the blood, the raw tension hanging in the air.
"Sir," he said, his voice clipped. "Your father is expecting you upstairs."
My amusement vanished instantly, replaced by a familiar coldness.
Bryan Reynolds.
The reason I was here in the first place.
I exhaled slowly, letting the weight of reality settle back onto my shoulders. Whatever relief I had found in this fight was gone now, replaced by the suffocating reminder of the mess I was tangled in.
Without another word, I stepped out of the ring, grabbing a towel as I wiped the sweat from my face.
"Tell him I'll be there in ten," I muttered.
Henry nodded, lingering for a second as if debating whether to say something else. But he knew better than to push when I was like this.
I turned back to Ronan, who was leaning against the ropes, watching me with knowing eyes.
"You good?" he asked.
I forced a smirk. "Never better."
He didn't believe me. But he didn't push.
As I walked out of the underground room, I forced myself to shake off the fight, to ignore the ache in my body. Because now, I had to prepare for another kind of battle.
One that involved my father.
And I wasn't sure which one hurt more.