Special Chapter: The Sovereign's Grocery Purchasing (Part 2)

From a certain perspective, Damien was surprisingly undisciplined. Especially when it came to his personal life.

Take, for example, the concept of groceries.

The moment the Sovereign stepped into the supermarket and saw the crushing weight of the holiday crowd filling every corner, his instinct to delegate—and his talent for sophisticated laziness—surged to the surface.

He stopped a passing employee before Mia could even orient herself.

"Is there a concierge service here?" he asked, his voice low and expectant.

Mia blinked. "Damien..."

Before she could explain the mechanics of a common supermarket to him, a group of floor managers, sensing the arrival of someone who looked like he owned the zip code, practically glided over.

"Good afternoon, sir! How can we assist you today?"

Damien reached into his tailored coat, pulled out a black American Express card, and held it out with a languid indifference. "Take one of every edible item in the building. Charge it to this. Have it delivered to the following address."

The staff went silent. Mia felt a flush of heat crawl up her neck.

She had never seen anyone try to "speed-run" a grocery trip with such absolute, elitist apathy. She quickly snatched the card from his fingers, offering a pained, apologetic smile to the bewildered managers.

"He's joking," she stammered. "It's a joke. We're... we're doing our own shopping."

And that was how the head of the Lancaster Syndicate found himself personally "submerged" in the mundane reality of a grocery run.

Surprisingly, Damien's temper was holding. Despite the chaos, he pushed the cart with a one-handed, casual grace, his pace a slow, aristocrat's stroll through the aisles.

Mia watched him, her quiet nature stirred by a rare impulse to be kind. "You're being very patient today," she noted softly.

"I agree," Damien murmured.

"I'm glad."

"In fact," he added, his voice dropping into a low, sexy drawl that vibrated against her ear, "I'm being significantly more patient than I usually am in bed."

Mia's internal clock came to a jarring halt. Sir, what exactly is the logic path between broccoli and our bedroom?

She turned away, her face burning, and tried to focus on the task at hand as they navigated through the throngs of people toward the produce section.

"What do we need?" Damien asked. "Just grab whatever you like."

"That's not how this works," Mia said, shaking her head. "Where is the list Kitten wrote? We have to get what she asked for."

"Ignore her. She's a menace."

Damien was a man who lived by his own law; he had dismissed the existence of Catherine the moment they'd left the estate.

Mia realized there was no point in arguing with a "beautiful monster" who viewed a shopping list as an optional suggestion. She simply reached into his coat pocket and retrieved the paper Kitten had forced on them earlier.

Damien watched her.

He saw the way her lashes swept down, the softness of her profile—she looked so utterly devoid of malice or self-preservation. Looking at Mia always reminded him of the simplest, cleanest parts of the world—a place where there was no bloodshed, no routing manifests, and no "localized wars".

"Mia," he said suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Have you ever bullied anyone?"

Mia paused, looking at him as if he'd asked if she'd ever piloted a submarine. "No. Of course not."

"No interest in bullying Kitten? It's a very satisfying pastime."

She shook her head. "No interest."

Damien leaned down, his lips nearly brushing hers, his gray eyes locking onto hers with a predatory, seductive intensity. "...What about me?"

Mia's heart hammered against her ribs. She took an instinctive step back, but he was faster—his arm snaked around her waist, dragging her hard against his chest.

"Damien!" she hissed through her teeth. "We are in public!"

"So?" he countered, his posture radiating a total disregard for the hundreds of people around them. He looked like a man who had already decided that the world ended at the perimeter of her skin.

Mia closed her eyes for a second, trying to regain her stoic mask. "I don't like bullying people. So no, I have no interest in bullying you."

It was the exact answer he expected.

Damien straightened up, his eyes twinkling with a playful, dark amusement. He reached out and pinched her cheek. "You really are no fun, Mia."

Mia decided to employ her strategy of strategic invisibility—if she didn't react to him, he might stop. She turned her attention back to the list.

"Let's just see what Kitten wants..."

She was so focused on finishing the errand and escaping the public eye that she didn't scan the paper first. She simply read the first item out loud.

"First... one hundred boxes of Fire-style Durex—"

The silence that followed was absolute.

Damien froze.

The shoppers in the immediate vicinity stopped mid-reach. Several elderly women turned, their eyes wide, as they cast looks of "profound respect" at the quiet, elegant girl who had just announced a bulk purchase of condoms that would make a smuggler blush.

Mia felt like she was actually catching fire.

"Oh my god," she whispered, her voice cracking as she realized what she'd just said. She turned and buried her face in Damien's chest, her shoulders shaking with mortification. "Kitten said... she said it was a grocery list..."

Damien let out a choked sound that was half-cough, half-laugh. He wrapped his arms around her, patting her back in a rare gesture of possessive comfort.

"I told you, Mia," he murmured, his eyes scanning the crowd with a look that dared anyone to keep staring. "Don't engage with the brat. You can't win against a psychopath like that."