The Billionaire's Intern (Maya Thompson) novel Chapter 33

Chapter 33: Ruin, Not Release-1

Damien’s POV

The door clicked shut behind James, sealing Damien in a silence that pulsed with heat.

The city stretched beyond the windows-cold, bright, indifferent. But inside his office, everything burned.

He stood still, fists flexing at his sides, jaw clenched as Monroe’s voice echoed in his head.

But his mind was no longer in the room.

It had drifted-back to the hospital. Back to her.

Maya.

He remembered the sterile hum of machines, the antiseptic chill that did nothing to touch the heat she stirred in him. The way she looked sleeping-lashes casting shadows over flushed skin, her mouth parted slightly, as if whispering secrets even in dreams.

One arm curled beneath her cheek.

The other resting near her heart.

She had looked fragile – beautiful.

And his.

He hadn’t planned to stay. Just ten minutes, a check-in, then he’d leave.

But the moment he saw her, all that control slipped. Every rule he lived by blurred.

The memory struck sharp as glass-the moment he sat across from her, the air thick with unsaid words and raw, brittle tension.

“You were never supposed to be dragged into my world.”

He had said it carefully, as if confessing a secret he could never take back.

“I told myself you were just another intern. That I didn’t care.”

But the lie had been clear in his voice.

“I lied. I care. Too much.”

His words had landed between them like a claim, a vow, a warning.

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<Chapter 33: Ruin, Not Release-1

“You’re not just an intern, Maya.”

He had let the words hang, letting them sink into the quiet room-and into her.

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He remembered the flicker of confusion and something softer in her eyes. The way her fingers clenched the sheets as if trying to hold herself together.

He almost reached for her. Almost touched her cheek, her hair, the curve of her jaw. But he

held back.

Not because he didn’t want her.

But because the moment he touched her, there would be no going back.

Yet he saw it-the subtle way her body responded when he was near, the unspoken pull

between them.

When Jamie had returned, calling her name softly, Damien had stepped back into his role. But inside, something fierce and dark had taken root.

She was his.

And no one-no woman in red bikinis, no island trips, no fucking man-hunting fantasies- would change that.

The report from Monroe had been clear: the upcoming ocular, the flirtation, the threats.

None of it mattered if he wasn’t there.

But it was Monroe’s voice echoing that lit the fuse:

“She said they were, and I quote, ‘ridiculously sexy’-and that the hospital gown did nothing to conceal her curves.”

He gritted his teeth.

He wanted to see them for himself. All of her. Skin flushed and soft beneath his hands, her breath catching as he traced every inch she’d been too innocent to offer to anyone else.

No one else was allowed to look.

Not Lin. Not Monroe. Not a single man on that damn island.

“She’d look killer in a red bikini…”

He slammed a hand on the desk.

She would. And that’s exactly why she wouldn’t wear it.

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Chapter 33 Ruin, Not Release-1

Not unless it was for him.

Only him.

“They’re going man hunting… she might meet the love of her life there.”

The fuck she will.

His hands twitched at his sides, white-knuckled. His blood roared in his ears.

He rose from his chair.

Tried to pace.

Failed.

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All he could see was her-half-asleep, soft and warm beneath hospital blankets. Then in that goddamn bikini. Then beneath him, spread open and gasping, saying his name like it was

sacred.

His body responded instantly-hard, aching, desperate.

He yanked at his tie, tossed it aside. Poured a drink, downed it.

But whiskey wasn’t enough. Nothing was.

She was everywhere.

In his blood. In his mind. In his goddamn soul.

He collapsed into the chair again, jaw tight, eyes shut.

His hand twitched.

Dammit.

He could still see her.

Still feel her.

He leaned back in his chair and let the image take over-Maya, flushed and breathless, whispering his name like a prayer she didn’t want answered.

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<Chapter 33: Ruin, Not Release-2

+25 Points

Chapter 33: Ruin, Not Release-2

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of his pants, hard already, aching with the force of

his need.

He pictured her beneath him.

Her thighs trembling.

Her back bowing.

His name spilling from her in broken, breathless moans.

“Damien… please…”

His eyes shut tight.

Stroke after stroke, his breathing turned ragged-but no matter how fast, how deep, it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t real.

And he couldn’t touch anyone else.

Not anymore.

His breath caught-hips jerking, muscles tightening.

He came with a harsh groan, spilling into his hand-but even that didn’t satisfy him. Not even

close.

His release was hollow. Unsatisfying. Almost maddening in its emptiness.

Because it wasn’t her.

And nothing would be enough until it was.

He leaned back, chest heaving.

Stared at the ceiling like it might offer answers.

Then slowly, he stood.

If he couldn’t have release, he needed ruin.

Below the Surface

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Chapter 33. Ruin, Not Release-2

The air down here stank of blood and bleach.

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The underground room was silent but for the occasional groan of the man chained to the wall. Beckett was barely recognizable-his lips cracked, his tongue gone. Three fingers missing. His wrists raw from the manacles. A doctor sat nearby, cold and precise, stitching fresh wounds and ensuring he stayed alive.

Alive. But suffering.

Damien walked in slowly.

Beckett whimpered. Tried to speak.

Only silence came out.

“You don’t get to speak anymore,” Damien said, voice calm as poison. “You lost that privilege the moment you laid eyes on her.”

He circled him like a predator. Unhurried. Controlled. Deadly.

“You think pain is punishment?” His lips curved-mocking. “Pain is nothing. What I’m giving you is memory. Every day you wake up will be another reminder of what you did. And what you lost.”

Beckett’s shoulders shook.

Damien leaned in, lips near what remained of the bastard’s ear.

“She will heal. She will rise. And you? You’ll be nothing but dust in the corners of her past.”

Then, without warning, he drove his knee into Beckett’s ribs-hard and deliberate. A sickening crack echoed, followed by a choked wheeze of pain.

Beckett coughed blood, body jerking against his restraints.

Damien straightened slowly, eyes void of mercy.

“Keep him alive,” he said to the doctor. “He’s got ten more days left to learn what pain really means.”

And then he turned to leave-coat sharp at his shoulders, the scent of blood and whiskey trailing behind him like a promise.

Ashcroft was already waiting, two glasses in hand, the rich amber liquid catching the dim light like fire.

“Hell of a date night,” he said with a smirk, offering Damien one of the glasses.

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<Chapter 33: Ruin, Not Release-2

Damien took it without a word, jaw tight.

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Ashcroft tipped his glass toward the hallway Damien had just emerged from-the one that still stank faintly of blood, sweat, and Beckett’s fear. “You gonna tell her how you feel?” he asked, casually. “Or just keep jerking off in your office and torturing people underground?”

Damien’s glare could’ve killed a lesser man.

But Ashcroft just chuckled, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying-flowers might be cheaper.”

Damien said nothing. Just threw the entire drink back in one sharp movement, the burn down his throat barely registering.

But even whiskey couldn’t touch it.

Not the rage. Not the heat.

Not when every part of him still throbbed for her-mind, body, soul.

Not when the memory of her voice, her eyes, the way her fingers clutched the hospital sheets while she looked up at him like he was both danger and salvation-was burned into him.

Ashcroft leaned against the wall beside him, swirling his drink lazily. “You’re a goddamn menace when you’re in love.”

“I’m not-”

“Oh, please.” Ashcroft rolled his eyes. “You mutilated a man, D. Not because he was a threat to the company. But because he touched her.”

Silence stretched.

Damien’s grip on the glass tightened.

“She’s not ready,” he muttered. “Not for my world.”

Ashcroft looked at him, gaze finally softening. “Maybe. But she looked like she could survive it. And you… you looked at her like you couldn’t survive without her.”

Damien didn’t respond.

He couldn’t.

Because that part-that last part-was the one truth he couldn’t outrun.

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