Damien's penthouse was eerily quiet that evening, except for the sound of rain drumming gently against the windows. Elena stood by the large glass pane, watching droplets race each other down to the city below.
The view was breathtaking—skyscrapers glowing in the storm like fireflies trapped in a glass jar. Yet even with all that beauty, her heart ached with unease.
Behind her, Damien was on a call. His voice, low and firm, carried across the room.
"No, I don't care how much the board is panicking. You tell them Cross & Vale doesn't bow to pressure. If the shareholders don't like it, they can sell their stocks and rot."
A pause.
"No one controls me, Michael. Not Clarissa. Not the board. And certainly not the damn media."
He ended the call with a sharp tap and looked at her.
"Sorry you had to hear that," he said.
Elena turned from the window. "Was that about me?"
"Not everything is about you," he replied, then caught himself. "But yes. They want me to 'distance' myself from the scandal."
"And will you?"
His eyes flared. "No."
A long silence.
She walked slowly toward him. "Why do I feel like every day I stay in this arrangement, I'm walking closer to something I can't survive?"
He watched her with that unreadable look again—the one that hid both a storm and a secret.
"Because you are," he said honestly. "This life isn't kind. And it's not safe."
"Then why bring me into it?" she whispered.
"Because I didn't realize how real it would become."
That made her pause.
He took a slow breath and added, "The truth is, I've kept people at arm's length for years. Everyone wants something. Everyone has a price. But you walked in like you didn't need me—and that terrified me."
Elena's voice was barely a whisper. "So what now?"
He stepped closer. "Now we stop pretending it's just business."
---
That night, sleep came in fragments. Sometime past midnight, Elena woke to a faint sound—glass shattering.
She sat up instantly, heart pounding.
Then footsteps. Quick. Heavy.
She slipped out of bed and reached for her phone, but before she could dial, the door burst open.
Damien.
He looked furious.
"You need to come with me," he said.
"What's going on?"
"Someone tried to break into the penthouse downstairs. Security caught them, but I don't take chances."
Elena's breath caught. "Was it a thief?"
"More likely a message," he muttered.
She didn't ask what kind. She already knew.
---
Fifteen minutes later, they were in a black SUV, windows tinted, engine humming quietly as it sped down a private access road outside the city. Damien had arranged for them to stay at one of his countryside estates until things cooled down.
The rain had stopped, but the tension inside the car was suffocating.
Elena finally spoke. "Do you ever regret it?"
"Regret what?"
"Building an empire on secrets."
He turned to her, his face unreadable in the dim light. "Every day. But if I hadn't, I wouldn't have survived."
"You call this surviving?"
"Better than being powerless," he said bitterly. "I've been powerless before. Never again."
Elena looked out the window, watching the trees blur past.
She thought of her mother working three jobs. Her father leaving them behind. Liam getting arrested for defending her from a man twice his size.
And suddenly she realized—Damien wasn't the only one who'd made deals with the devil.
They just wore different suits.
---
At the estate, the staff greeted them quietly, professionally. The property was a fortress disguised as a mansion—tall walls, heavy gates, security cameras in every corner.
But it was the library that took Elena's breath away.
Rows upon rows of shelves lined with old books, a fireplace crackling in the center, the scent of leather and cedar filling the air. Damien stood behind her as she stared.
"This place doesn't feel like you," she said softly.
"It was my mother's favorite room," he replied. "Before she died."
That admission pierced her more than she expected.
"You don't talk about her much."
"I don't talk about a lot of things."
She turned to him, eyes searching. "Maybe it's time you start."
He hesitated.
Then said, "She used to tell me that monsters aren't born—they're made. I think I became one the day I stopped believing people could love without reason."
Elena stepped closer.
"And what if someone does? What if someone chooses to stay… not because of power, but in spite of it?"
Damien looked at her like the idea physically hurt.
"I wouldn't let them," he said. "Because everything I touch... breaks."
---
And just like that, Elena realized:
She wasn't falling into a fairy tale.
She was walking into a storm.
But maybe, just maybe—
She wasn't afraid of thunder anymore.