The lock clicked.
My stomach plummeted.
I whipped around, fingers clenching into fists, but the suited man who shut the doors didn't look in my direction. All he did was retreat, as Pharaoh recedes into darkness. Like a warning.
I was not only confined to Damien's house.
I couldn't escape his world.
A world I no longer had any control over. No escape. No say in what happened next.
It felt heavier in the air, pressing on my lungs.
I forced myself to breathe.
Damien was watching me with amusement, dancing behind those sharp, predatory eyes. He liked this. The instant I realized, my whole body was alight with rage.
"You can't hold me here," I ground out.
His lips curled at the edges. "I believe you will discover that I can."
I clenched my jaw. "I'm not your prisoner."
His head cocked as if weighing my words. Then he leaned closer, his mere presence a force unto itself. "No," he murmured.
"You are something much more interesting than that."
I didn't like his tone when he said it.
Didn't like how he looked at me—like he knew something about me even though I didn't know it yet.
I straightened my spine, unwilling to let him detect the fractures screaming under my skin. "You pretend like you're a victor, but you're not. I will never belong to you."
Damien chuckled, a low, taunting laugh that skittered down my spine. He took his hand out of his pocket and pulled out his phone with casual ease. I felt my heart hammer, and he tapped the screen and then turned it toward me.
A live security feed.
My mother's hospital room.
She was sleeping. Her chest rose and fell with the red light. But standing just inside the doorway was a man in a suit, his posture stiff, his stance all too familiar.
Another enforcer.
My blood turned to ice.
Damien lowered the phone. "Your mother is safe." His voice was calm and measured. "For now."
I inhaled sharply, the significance beneath those words cutting between my ribs.
He was reminding me that her safety was not given. That her fate was still completely up to him.
Panic tore at my throat. The impulse to yell, to resist, to do something cramped in my muscles.
But what good would it do?
He had already won.
I made myself breathe steadily, even as my hands shook at my sides. I couldn't afford to let him see my weakness.
He smirked like he could see through my every thought. "Good girl."
The words made my skin crawl.
I walked away before I did something stupid, something that would take everything I had.
"Come." His voice was pure command. "You need rest."
Rest.
The word was laughably short.
"How am I ever going to be able to sleep in a place like this?"
But what choice did I have?
I followed him.
Closer and closer to the unknown.
The hallway went on forever, adorned with paintings that I was certain cost more than my soul.
The mansion exuded riches of all kinds, but not the comforting kind. Not the type made from love or legacy.
This was wealth forged in power."
On fear.
On blood.
As we walked, I felt Damien's eyes dart at me. I knew he was studying me. Scrutinizing every twitch, every falter.
"Afraid?" he mused.
I lifted my chin. "No."
He gave a sort of hum like he didn't believe me.
Maybe because it was a lie.
We arrived at a door at the end of the hallway, and he pushed it open without a word. I paused before going inside.
The room was gorgeous — vaulted ceilings, a giant bed, floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the darkened city.
It didn't resemble a prison at all.
But it didn't alter what it was.
"You'll be staying here," Damien said, eyes on me. "Everything you need is there. Finish this up—you don't have to leave unless I tell you to leave."
I turned to him, my heartbeat still erratic. "And if I try?"
His smile was slow, dangerous. "Try and see what happens."
I swallowed hard.
He reached over, snapping on a switch.
The soft click of a latch disengaging.
I turned hard and, too late, understood what he had done.
The outside lock.
Not one I could control.
Not one I could break.
I was trapped.
Damien exhaled, satisfied. "Sweet dreams, Elena."
Thereafter, he closed the door behind him.
And I was alone.
Alone in a gilded cage.
I was trapped, but when I was alone.
I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to think. There had to be a way. Some vulnerability, some crack in his Galilean, psychotic matrix.
But regardless of what I did, there was only one truth I couldn't escape.
I was absolutely at his mercy.
And that realization was the scariest of all.
The lock clicked.
I let out a long breath, squeezing the skin at my temples. Think. Panic wouldn't help me now.
I moved forward, pressing my palm on the heavy door. Solid. I tried the handle anyway. Locked. Of course.
Damien had planned this.
I turned, scanning the room. No cameras, at least none I could see. No visible escape routes. Just me, a bed too big to be comforting, and a silence I could choke on.
No windows. Just glass.
Floor-to-ceiling, sweeping the city lights. An illusion of freedom, beautiful for those who are foreign.
I wasn't free.
My heart raced beneath my rib cage.
No. I am not letting him off the hook that easy.
I forced my breath to steady. There has to be a way out.
Damien wanted me cornered, but he also wanted me to know I was cornered. That was a mistake. Because men like him? They got off on control. And control could be corrupted.
I scanned the room again, more slowly this time.
Then I saw it.
The closet door stood barely open.
A jolt of uneasiness ran down my spine. Why leave it open? Damien didn't appear to be the type of person who missed details.
I advanced, my naked feet soundless on the floor. One inch. Two inches.
The air inside was heavy with expensive cologne. His scent. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and my stomach twisted.
And then—movement.
A shade, nothing more than a disturbance in the dark. But I felt it.
Someone was inside.
I wanted nothing more than to step back, to run—but there was nowhere to go.
So I did the only thing I knew how to do.
I struck first.
I took a deep breath and yanked open the closet door, swinging my fist at the figure in there.
My knuckles met solid muscle.
A low chuckle. "Feisty."
Damien.
The breath whistled out of my lungs. He didn't merely stand outside this door, playing the role of a distant captor.
He was here.
Watching. Waiting.
For me to notice.
For me to react.
Fury coursed through my veins as I staggered back, my heart beating in my ears. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Damien emerged from the shadows, slow and unconcerned, as if he had all the time in the world. The low light cut harsh lines over his jaw, his eyes glimmering like something wicked.
"Now," he said, shutting the closet door behind him. "That's not how a host gets spoken to."
Host. For some reason, the word turned my stomach.
I shouldered my fists, unwilling to shrink from his stare. "You stayed in here the whole time."
His smirk deepened. "Curious to see what you would do."
Disgust curled in my gut. "You're sick."
"And you're fascinating."
I stiffened.
Damien took a step forward. I took one back.
"I was expecting panic," he continued, his voice almost… sanguine. "Maybe even tears."
Another step. "But no. You're already looking for an escape route, aren't you?'
I swallowed hard and wouldn't let him know how much that dug into me.
I kept my voice steady. "A door that's locked doesn't mean I'm quitting."
He hummed, tilting his head. "Good."
That word sent an unnatural chill down my spine.
Then, as if we weren't standing in a room where he'd just established his total domination over my reality, he reached into his pocket and took out his phone.
Another tap. A second screen rotated in my direction.
My mother's hospital room.
But this time—she wasn't sleeping.
She was awake. Sitting up. Her eyes dart toward something we can't see.
And then—her lips moved.
I couldn't make out her words, but I didn't need to.
Where's Elena?
A lump formed in my throat.
Damien watched me, silent. Calculating.
Then he did something that sent my blood running cold.
He flipped the camera.
For half a second, I saw the man who stood by her bed.
A different enforcer. Not the one from before.
A change in staff.
A shift in control.
I sucked in a breath.
Damien arched a brow. "Noticing the difference?"
I gritted my teeth. "You're playing games."
He let out a soft laugh. "Oh, Elena." He came closer, his breath warm on my ear. "I don't play games. I win them."
The threat was quiet. Intimate.
I made myself hold his gaze.
He was testing me. Again.
And this time—this time, I wouldn't let him win.
I slowly exhaled, pushing the panic out. He wants a reaction.
Don't give him one.
I lifted my chin. "So this is your idea of fun? Locking a woman in a room, spying on her, threatening her family?"
His expression didn't change. "I don't make threats, Elena. I make promises."
I wanted to scream. To throw something.
Instead, I had gotten closer, closer than I had thought possible, close enough that I saw the way his pupils darkened, just a little.
"You think I'm going to fall apart," I said quietly. "You think you'll intimidate me into submission."
His smirk never wavered. "Oh, I know you'll break."
I smiled, slow and sharp.
"Then you don't know who I am at all."
A flicker passed in his gaze. Amusement. Interest.
And then—
He stepped back.
My breath caught.
He wasn't pinning me up against a wall. Wasn't boxing me in.
He was… giving me space?
The realization came as a jolt of confusion.
Damien wanted me to fight.
Because to him, this was still a game.
And that?
That was his mistake.
Because I wasn't playing.
His lips curled slightly. "Sweet dreams, Elena."
Then—he turned. Walked to the door.
I held my breath.
Another soft click.
The lock.
From the inside.
My stomach dropped.
I was still trapped.
But now that has changed.
Because Damien had just exposed his greatest weakness.
He wanted me to be strong.
He wanted me to fight.
He wanted to see what I would do.
So I'd show him.
I'd play along.
Then—I would tear this entire game to shreds."