The office reeked of burnt cigars, old leather, and ink-signed sins. Damon sat behind the desk—flawless suit, gunmetal eyes, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand. His empire moved with or without him. Deals were made. Territories settled. Legal or not—it didn't matter.
But his mind…
His mind wasn't here.
It kept drifting back—to her.
To his Bella.
The image of her face when he left her in the mansion still lingered in the shadows of his thoughts—confused, broken, obedient. It shouldn't have mattered. He told himself that a hundred times. She was just another piece on the board.
But none of them had her eyes.
None of them trembled the way she did.
His jaw clenched.
"Lost in her again?"
Adrion's voice cut in as he stepped through the door, his usual swagger shadowed by something heavier tonight.
Damon didn't look at him. "Took your time."
"Had to," Adrion said, sitting across from him. "Cleaned up the mess in Sicily. Couldn't leave without wrapping it all. Besides…" he smirked, "your father showed up."
Damon looked up slowly, eyes darkening.
> "What?"
"Yeah. Him. Antonio. Walked right into your mansion like he still owns your name. And guess who was hanging on his arm?"
A pause. Then, flatly:
> "Veronica."
Adrion chuckled bitterly. "Made for each other, aren't they? Poison and plastic."
Damon didn't answer. His silence was thunder.
"She still wants you, by the way," Adrion said with a scoff. "Kept asking if you'd join for dinner. I think she's hoping for one last fuck before crawling back to your father. That bitch—"
> "Watch your mouth," Damon snapped coldly.
Adrion raised his brows. "Really? Now you defend her?"
Damon downed the whiskey in one gulp and stood. His voice was low.
> "I'm not defending her. I'm controlling myself."
He grabbed his coat.
> "I'm going back, I want to see..."he stopped in middle.
Adrion smirked. "Ah. So that's where your heart's bleeding."
Damon didn't respond.
---
At the Mansion
By the time Damon returned, the sun had begun to bleed into the horizon. Gold draped the hallways like a warning.
He hadn't taken three steps inside before he heard her voice.
No—Veronica's.
"Baby, you're finally back," she cooed, voice laced with fake sugar. "You didn't even say goodbye this morning. I missed you, sexy."
Her arms tried to wrap around him, but his eyes weren't on her.
They were scanning. Searching.
> Where is she?
Then he saw.
Her face was flushed. Pale. Eyes wide with fear and disgust.
And beside her—too close—stood Antonio.
Damon froze.
His fingers curled into fists, slow and deadly.
His father—smiling, leaning in, touching what was his.
Too close.
Too fucking close.
His Alina was shaking. Eyes screaming. Pleading—for escape. For someone to see.
> I see you, bella.
> I always see you.
He strode toward them.
---
In the Kitchen
Antonio laughed low as he leaned closer. "She's got the kind of mouth that would look good gasping, don't you think? Soft. Breakable."
Damon's voice sliced through the air like a knife.
> "Father."
Antonio turned, slowly. Calm. Smiling.
Damon stood at the threshold, dark as sin, unreadable as the night.
> "Ms. Alina," he said evenly, not looking at her, "Noah is asking for you. Go."
She bolted without a sound. Her fingers brushed Damon's as she passed—a whisper of thank you hidden in the tremble.
Once she was gone, Damon stepped inside.
Shut the door.
Damon stepped into the kitchen, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed—but his presence changed the air.
Her eyes shimmered with a cocktail of fear, disgust, and shame. Her body—small, trembling, red-faced—pressed tight to the counter like it might save her. Like she was trying to disappear into the marble.
No one touches what's mine.
But Damon's face remained unreadable.
> "Father," he said coolly, voice smooth like frost over a blade.
Antonio turned, unfazed. Smiling, even.
> "Ah, Damon," he drawled, sipping something expensive. "You didn't tell me your staff was this… visually appealing."
Damon didn't respond.
He was watching his father like a beast watches prey it's not ready to pounce on—yet.
> "She's got that soft kind of fear, you know?" Antonio continued, eyes still trailing where Alina had fled. "The kind that makes a man want to taste her cries. So innocent. Like unspoiled silk stretched over trembling bone."
> "Father—"
> "She flinched when I touched her," Antonio said, chuckling. "Do you know how rare that is these days? Women who still flinch? Makes you want to bend them. Break them. Teach them how to take it."
He licked his bottom lip, thoughtfully.
> "Her mouth… would look exquisite crying around something far more useful than words."
A pause.
A silence.
Damon didn't move.
But his nails dug into the flesh of his palm. Deep. Bloody.
One more word.
And I swear to God, Father, I'll kill you where you stand.
But he didn't show it.
He never did.
> "She's paid," Damon said, voice low. Controlled. Deadly. "Not prey. Not a toy. She works here. You will treat her accordingly."
> "Come on, son. You've always had good taste," Antonio said, smirking. "If you weren't using her, I'd say you're wasting a perfectly good warm—"
> "Careful," Damon cut in.
Quiet.
Sharp.
Final.
Antonio tilted his head, amused by the warning—but something in Damon's eyes made him back off. Just an inch.
Just enough to survive.
> "Don't tell me she matters," Antonio teased. "To you?"
Damon's lips curved slightly. But the smile was wrong. It didn't reach his eyes.
> "You think I built this empire to let vermin run their mouths about my staff?"
> "Staff," Antonio echoed.
> "Touch what belongs to me again my things, my staffs," Damon said softly but pressed the word staffs more, "and I won't care if God Himself signed your birth certificate."
His father blinked.
The cold hit him, then.
Damon walked away, calm as winter.
But inside him?
Murder was already blooming.
Red and slow and sweet.
Antonio left the kitchen with the same arrogance he always wore—lips smirking, steps slow, as if the house still bowed to his presence. But Damon's eyes followed him like crosshairs on a target.
That bastard touched her.
He needs to die.
The thought came without hesitation. Cold. Final.
Damon followed him into the living room, posture deceptively calm.
"I'm leaving," Antonio announced, straightening his cuffs.
"For good, I hope," Damon muttered.
But his father only chuckled. "Veronica's staying. At least until your engagement party. Take good care of her, son. I need her daddy's support in the election."
With that, he was gone.
Damon didn't move for a full ten seconds. Then he turned to a maid.
"Put Veronica in the guest wing. Far from my room. And tell her I said she is not to touch anything that belongs to me."
He found Veronica lounging near the staircase, smiling like a viper.
"Baby," she cooed, "I was waiting for you to come back and say hi properly."
"Stay out of my room," Damon cut in, eyes steely.
"You're here until the party. Until then—you're nothing more than a guest. Don't touch what's mine."
Her smile flickered.
"I'm your fiancée, Damon."
"You'll be my wife after the paperwork. Until then, you don't get to act like one."
Veronica crossed her arms. "That caretaker girl—does she stay in the main house? Not in the staff quarters? Ugh. She smells like… low-life."
That was it.
The knife twisted in his gut.
Damon's jaw clenched, voice like ice.
"She's Noah's caretaker. He's a child. He needs her 24/7 until Atlanta returns."
"Whatever," she rolled her eyes. "I'm going shopping. I need to look perfect for the engagement party."
"Take the card." He tossed it to her like it weighed nothing. "Buy whatever you want. After all, you're my fiancée."
"Thank you, baby," she beamed, then kissed his cheek. "I'll be out all evening."
Good.
Run along, bitch.
The second she left, his body turned without thought.
He needed to see her.
To see if she was still breathing.
Scene: Her Silence
He found her door shut.
Locked.
But his key opened anything in this mansion.
Dim light bled through the curtains, touching everything except her.
She was curled into herself on the bed—knees tucked, fists trembling, eyes closed, but the sobs betrayed her.
Damon locked the door behind him.
His steps were careful. Controlled. But inside, he was unraveling.
He walked toward her.
Knelt.
Reached out… and touched her ankle—barely.
She flinched so hard it broke something in him.
"I'm not that type of girl," she whispered through trembling lips.
"I'm not a whore… please, let me go…"
His heart cracked.
Then shattered.
"Alina," he said gently. "It's me Damon."
Her breath hitched.
For one second, she wanted to run into his arms. To cry. To fall apart where it felt safe.
But she didn't.
She couldn't.
He was the reason she was falling apart to begin with.
She sat up abruptly, eyes red and burning.
"Please leave, Mr. Carter. I am not your whore."
"Who said you were?" Damon's voice was quiet.
"You did." Her voice cracked. "Your father did. And the world will, too—if I stay. I don't want to be that girl. I don't want to be the girl who ruins an engagement. I don't want to be a homewrecker."
"You're not, and I didn't mean it I'm sorry baby", he came near her.
"You're engaged."
The words hit like poison in her mouth.
"You hid it from me," she whispered. "You let me feel something for you… while you were promised to someone else."
She broke.
She buried her face in her hands, shaking with silent sobs.
"It's okay. I know now. I won't get in the way."
She forced herself to her feet, shoulders squared even as she trembled.
"Please Mr Carter, let me go I have a life ."
She used his name like a blade.
Like a wall.
He didn't move. Just stood there—watching her fall apart because of him.
She sat up, spine stiff with shame, and said louder now, cracking—
"Let me go!"
Damon froze.
Her voice rose with every breath
"Let me go!" she screamed.
"I'm not a whore!"
"I'm not a whore!"
"I'm not—!"
She broke.
Fully.
The sobs came hard, loud, open. No longer hidden behind walls of pride. She didn't care who heard.
Damon moved.
Without asking, without thinking—he pulled her into his arms.
She struggled at first, weak fists pushing against him, but he didn't let go.
He held her tighter.
She collapsed into his chest, crying so violently it shook her entire frame. Her mantra didn't stop.
"I'm not a whore… I'm not a whore… I'm not…"
He didn't speak.
Didn't correct her.
Didn't defend himself.
He just held her, arms locked around her as if he could squeeze the pain out of her skin and into his own.
Eventually… her sobs dulled.
Then slowed.
And finally, like a child worn out by nightmares—she fell asleep in his arms.
Breathing uneven.
Fists still curled.
Lips still trembling.
She cried herself into silence.
Damon looked at her—really looked.
So small.
So fragile.
So breakable.
He laid her down gently, as if she were glass. Tucked the sheets around her like she was something precious. Untouchable.
His palm hovered above her cheek, but he didn't dare touch it.
Instead, he just whispered.
"Sleep, Bella."
Then he turned.
And walked out.
The door closed behind him like a secret.
But the war inside him?
It had only just begun.
His breath was thunder.
His heart?
A battlefield.
He stormed into the hallway like a loaded gun.
In his study
Damon slammed the door behind him.
Adrion was already waiting.
> "Damon!" Adrion rushed toward him. "What happened? Your face—"
> "I need to kill that bastard." Damon's voice was lethal. His hands trembled with restraint. "He touched her. He called her a whore."
His jaw locked.
His fists bled.
> "I swear, Adrion, I'll make his death slow—painful—I'll carve his throat open for touching what's mine—"
> "Damon, STOP." Adrion's voice cut like a blade. "Don't ruin your plan."
Damon's chest heaved. He looked ready to explode.
> "We can kill him eventually," Adrion added, calm but firm. "But not now. Not when everything's in motion. It's not the right time."
Silence, fell.
Heavy. Bitter. Boiling.
Just for a moment, the only sound was Damon's ragged breathing.
Adrion studied him, then stepped forward, voice quieter.
> "Now tell me… what's going on between you and her?"
Then Damon exhaled—like a man trying not to drown.
He explained everything happened between them to Adrion.
The obsession that bloomed like rot.
The control, the fear, the guilt that gnawed under his skin.
The ache.
The possessiveness.
How even her silence screamed inside him.
And when he was done, there was nothing left but breath.
Adrion watched him carefully.
> "Damon," Adrion said more softly now. "Do you love her?"
Damon stared at him.
Eyes wild. Haunted. Bleeding something he'd never spoken aloud.
> "If love means feeling her pain as if it were mine..."
His voice cracked.
> "If love means needing to kill the man who touched her...
If it means fearing I'll lose her every damn second she's not near me...
If it means never wanting to let her go because she is my sanity—
Then yes."
> "I'm in love with her.
Damn it."
Adrion froze.
It wasn't the confession that shocked him—it was the weight of it.
The finality.
Damon Carter had never said those words for anyone.
Not in thirty- five years.
> "Then treat her like it," Adrion said, voice low and steady.
Damon blinked.
> "If you love her… show her. Not with chains. Not with fear. But with something real."
> "You're engaged to another woman. Your father is a monster. Your past is painted in blood. She's terrified of you, Damon—can't you see that?"
Damon looked away.
Silent.
Wounded.
Adrion stepped closer.
> "If you want her love… give her a choice."
> "No." Damon's voice was immediate. Sharp. Final. "I won't give her a choice."
> "Because I know what she'll choose."
His eyes gleamed—something between fury and desperation.
> "She'll run."
> "And I—can't—let her."
> "Then make her want to stay," Adrion snapped. "Make her feel safe. Make her feel… special. Not like a prisoner."
> "She's not a prisoner."
> "Then don't act like her warden."
Damon stared at the floor.
Adrion stepped closer.
> "If you want her heart… give her something real.
Give her reason to look at you—and not see a nightmare."
But Damon's voice was ice now.
> "I don't want her love if it means losing control. I can't risk it."
Adrion didn't flinch.
> "Then don't be surprised when she runs."
Damon didn't answer.
He stood there—still, but seething.
Adrion watched him with a steady gaze, then turned to leave. His voice floated behind him like a parting shot.
> "You think you're strong enough to keep her in a cage.
But if you keep pushing… you're going to lose the only person who ever saw the man inside the monster."
But the fire in him didn't die—it only shifted direction.
From violence to purpose.
> "She called herself a whore," he whispered, voice breaking. "Because of me."
> "Then make her believe she's something holy," Adrion replied.
Damon didn't answer.
He just nodded once.
The door clicked shut.
And Damon was alone again.
Surrounded by wealth.
Silence.
And the gnawing ache of something slipping from his grasp.
He turned toward the darkness.
Because one day, he wouldn't just destroy Antonio.
He'd begin rebuilding the only girl he ever loved—
Starting with the pieces he broke.
Meanwhile,
Alina woke with a jolt.
The air felt colder.
Damon was gone.
For once, the silence wasn't suffocating—it was a chance.
A way out.
Carolin's words echoed in her mind like a faint prayer.
Maybe she would help me.
Her legs moved before her thoughts could catch up. Her steps were faster than usual, driven by something primal—survival. Her eyes still burned, her cheeks blotched with dried tears, but she didn't stop until she reached Carolin's quarters.
She knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Then the door opened.
Carolin's eyes widened at the sight of her.
> "Alina, dear… what happened to you?"
That voice.
That softness.
It shattered what little strength she had left.
Alina broke.
Completely.
Sobs erupted from her chest, louder than before, her whole body trembling as she collapsed into Carolin's arms.
> "I knew it," Carolin whispered, clutching her tight. "I knew that monster did something to you. I told myself—a girl like you doesn't belong in his world… but I never thought—"
She paused. Swallowed hard.
> "He used you… and he's still with that Veronica witch. He slept with you… he r—"
She couldn't finish.
Alina pulled back, eyes red, her voice trembling.
> "I need to escape, aunty. Please… can you help me? I—I can't stay with him anymore. He's… he's dangerous."
Carolin froze.
Her expression shifted—fear creeping into every line.
> "Alina… I… I can't. If he finds out, he'll destroy everything. You don't know what he's capable of—"
> "But I do," Alina said, voice shaking with desperation. "He won't let me go. Even after marrying Veronica, he—he owns me. I'm trapped, aunty… I can't breathe."
Her voice cracked again.
> "Please. I can't live like this."
Carolin looked away.
Then let out a slow, heavy breath—full of guilt.
> "I can't help you, child," she said quietly. "But I can tell you something…"
She leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper.
> "About the security shifts. And something else. Something only the oldest staff know."
Alina blinked, confused but clinging to hope.
> "What is it?"
Carolin's eyes flicked to the hallway, then back.
> "This mansion… it was built during wartime. There are secret passages, Alina. Tunnels under the east wing. Hidden doors. Servants' routes—meant for emergencies."
Alina's breath caught.
> "You're serious?"
> "Yes. Get your sister. Take only what you need. Once you're in the tunnel, he won't find you. Not right away."
Alina hesitated.
> "But my grandmother…"
Carolin gently cupped her cheek.
> "He won't harm her. Not yet. She's his leverage. I'm sure he'll keep her safe—for now. Because that's the only string he has to pull you back."
Alina's tears spilled again.
Carolin gave her a small nod.
> "Don't worry. If she wakes, I'll let you know."
Alina flung her arms around Carolin, hugging her tightly.
> "Thank you… thank you, aunty."
Carolin pulled back just a little, her voice soft.
> "Have you taken your pills? You looked faint."
> "Yes," Alina whispered. "I'm okay."
> "Then go. Rest. But be ready."
Alina turned to leave.
But this time, her steps weren't heavy.
They were sharp. Certain.
She would leave this hell.
She would take Anaya.
She would vanish.
And Damon Carter would never touch her again.
Not if she could help it.
Alina slipped into Anaya's room like a ghost.
The air was still. The clock ticked past midnight. The moonlight poured in through the window, soft and silver.
Anaya was curled up beneath the sheets, her face peaceful in sleep.
Alina's voice cracked as she knelt beside her.
> "Anaya... wake up."
A groggy mumble.
> "Come on, Alina… let me sleep… it's the middle of the night."
> "Please," she whispered again, urgency trembling in her tone. "Just wake up. Just listen."
Anaya blinked open, rubbing her eyes. She frowned when she saw her sister's face.
> "What's wrong?" she asked, sitting up. "Why are you—"
> "Don't ask me anything right now," Alina cut her off, gently but firm. "Just trust me. Do you trust me, Anaya?"
There was a pause.
A heartbeat of silence.
Anaya stared at her—really looked at her. There was no joy in her sister's face tonight. No trace of mischief or comfort.
Just fear.
Exhaustion.
Determination.
> "Of course, I do," Anaya said finally, her voice quiet. "Always."
> "Then listen carefully," Alina said. "Pack your bags. Take only what you need. Tomorrow… we're leaving this place."
Anaya's eyes widened.
" where ?" she whispered, like the word itself was forbidden.
Alina nodded. " I'll say but not know."
> "But—why? What happened? what about him?"
> "I can't tell you yet," Alina murmured. "I need you to trust me. Please, Anaya. Don't tell anyone. Not even Noah. Especially not Noah."
Anaya hesitated for a moment.
Then nodded slowly. "Okay."
Alina exhaled, the tension in her chest easing only slightly.
> "Get some rest now. Tomorrow, everything changes."
She brushed a hand gently through Anaya's hair like she used to when they were children.
> "Sleep. I'll be right here."
Anaya lay back down, quiet, still staring at the ceiling, her mind now restless with questions.
After Anaya drifted into a restless sleep, Alina pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her lips trembled.
She stood there for a moment, memorizing her sister's peaceful face—because she didn't know when, or if, they'd feel peace again.
Then she turned, gently closing the door behind her, her heart hammering louder than her footsteps.
She stepped into her room.
And froze.
Damon was there.
Sitting in her chair like a phantom, back to the door, staring out the window. The moonlight curved along his jaw like a blade. He didn't move.
But he spoke.
> "Lock the door."
His voice was quiet.
Too quiet.
Alina didn't respond.
> "I won't repeat myself," he said again, colder now.
Her fingers obeyed before her mind caught up. The click of the lock sounded like a gunshot in the silence.
She took a step forward. Then another.
> "Mr. Carter… what are you doing here?"
Damon turned his head, slowly.
And stood.
Not rushed. Not angry.
But deliberate. Controlled. Like a storm right before it breaks.
He walked to her.
And wrapped his arms around her.
Tightly.
Possessively.
As if letting go meant death.
But Alina didn't move.
Didn't hug him back.
Didn't even breathe.
His voice dropped against her ear.
> "Why are you calling me that?"
She swallowed hard.
> "It's nothing… I just— I'm your employee. You pay me. It's… inappropriate."
She tried to pull away.
But he didn't let her.
> "You're not just my employee," he whispered. "You never were."
Alina's heart slammed against her ribs. Her voice came out thin.
> "Your fiancée is here… Veronica. What if she sees you here? What would she think—"
> "Let her think whatever she wants," Damon growled, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. "I didn't come here for her."
> "Then why are you here?" Alina whispered, eyes glassy.
Damon's hand reached up, brushing a thumb beneath her eye where tears had dried. His touch was far too gentle for the violence he carried in his soul.
> "Because you didn't call my name."
His voice cracked—not with sadness, but with fury restrained.
> "You used to whisper it when you thought I wasn't listening. And now you call me 'Mr. Carter'? Like I'm a stranger to you?"
Alina stood still, every cell in her body screaming to run—but she didn't. Couldn't.
> "You are a stranger," she whispered, barely audible.
Damon's eyes darkened, but his mouth curved into a cruel, aching smile.
> "No, baby. I'm the only one who's ever truly seen you."
He leaned in, brushing her hair back, breathing her in like she was the only oxygen left in the world.
> "And you'll see that soon enough."
Damon's gaze lingered on her face—searching, unreadable.
> "I want to ask you something, Alina," he said quietly.
She looked up, cautious. Her heart thudded in her chest.
> "What is it?"
> "I want you to give me a chance," he said.
Her brows tightened.
> "A chance… for what?"
His voice dropped lower, almost tender.
> "To start over. Everything. You and me."
Alina froze.
For a second, she wanted to laugh. Or slap him. Maybe both.
But she didn't.
She simply nodded—slowly, carefully—because this wasn't the time to fight.
Not when freedom was so close she could taste it.
Damon blinked, surprised by her lack of resistance. He stepped forward and pulled her into a hug—tight, intense.
> "Alina…"
He kissed her.
It was deep. Desperate. Like he was trying to convince himself she was his.
Alina didn't kiss back.
Not really.
She let it happen.
When his fingers tangled in her hair and he tried to pull her closer, she gently pulled back.
> "You smell like alcohol," she murmured, barely above a whisper.
Damon stilled.
> "I drank to forget how much I need you," he said, his breath hot against her skin.
Alina turned her face away.
She didn't speak.
Just stood there, quiet in his arms, letting him believe this was the beginning of something new.
But inside her—
She was already gone.
Damon's grip on her tightened, his breath brushing her temple.
> "Do you know what it does to me," he whispered, "when someone else touches you?"
Alina didn't answer. Her body stayed still in his arms.
> "Even… I couldn't bear it. That night—at the club—when he laid hands on you, I saw red."
His voice thickened, rough with something between anger and obsession.
> "No one touches what's mine. Not strangers. Not even my father."
She felt his jaw clench as he said the last word.
> "When he spoke about you like you were a pawn… I wanted to break his jaw."
His hand slid into her hair again, slower this time. Controlled. Possessive.
> "They all think they can take things from me. Use what I care about. But you're not theirs, Alina. You never were."
Alina swallowed hard.
Still silent.
Still pretending.
Letting the words pass through her like smoke—because resisting now would only spark the storm.
> "Don't make me watch you belong to anyone else," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "I won't survive it."
She closed her eyes.
Not because she believed him.
But because she didn't want to see the madness behind his tenderness.
Because tonight—he still thought she was his.
And she needed him to believe that.