Ann didn't remember closing her eyes, but when she opened them, she was no longer standing at the door.
She was on the bed again — or maybe something that looked like her bed. The sheets were the same silk, the room the same penthouse, but the walls were darker, the air too still, too cold.
Damian was above her — knees on either side of her hips, his shirt half-open, his breath ghosting over her lips. His hand cupped her throat, thumb brushing the place where her pulse stuttered like it didn't know how to beat for itself anymore.
"You opened it," he whispered, voice rough velvet in the dark.
Ann's lips parted, but no words came out. She could feel the cold in his skin sinking into her bones — and she didn't pull away. Maybe she couldn't anymore.
Damian leaned closer, nose brushing hers, his other hand sliding under her jaw to tilt her face up. "Do you know what that means, Ann?"
She tried to shake her head, but his hold kept her still — pinned, claimed.
His lips ghosted over hers — not a kiss, not yet. "It means you're mine. Every breath, every heartbeat, every fear you hide under your pillow at night — they belong to me now."
He pressed his forehead to hers, exhaling a shaky laugh that sounded almost human, almost boyish — the part of him that was still Damian before the storms and the shadows turned him into something else.
Outside, the wind slammed against the glass, rattling the city awake — but in here, the only sound was her shaky breath and the soft hum of his voice wrapping around her like silk and chains.
"Say it," he murmured, his thumb pressing lightly under her chin until her mouth opened for him. "Tell me you're mine."
Ann's voice was so small it cracked: "I'm yours."
Damian's eyes darkened, a satisfied smile cutting across his lips — beautiful and dangerous at once. "Again."
"I'm yours, Damian." Her throat ached but the words felt right. Heavy. True.
His mouth crashed onto hers before she could take the words back — cold lips, but his tongue was warm, stealing her breath as his hand slid down to grip her waist, pulling her under him until there was no space left to hide.
He kissed her like a man starved, like her lips were the only warmth he'd ever tasted. She felt his teeth nip her lower lip — sharp enough to draw a gasp but not enough to break the skin. Not yet.
Her hands found his chest, the cold damp fabric of his shirt sticking to hard muscle and a heartbeat that thumped too slow, too steady to be human.
When he pulled back, a thin line of her breath still lingered between their lips, a ghost of a promise. His eyes glowed in the dark — silver-gray, sharp, burning holes into her.
"You opened the door, Ann," he rasped. His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head so he could drag his mouth down her throat, over her collarbone. His tongue left a burning trail that turned her shiver into something sweeter, needier.
"You opened it — now you can't close it again."
The shadows around them thickened — she could feel them watching. Not just his darkness, but hers too, the pieces of fear she'd buried deep so no one could see. He saw it all. He always did.
"Do you regret it?" His voice was muffled against her skin, his teeth grazing her pulse point.
Ann's nails dug into his shoulders. Her breath caught when his lips brushed the spot that made her thighs tense. "No," she gasped.
His laugh was a dark rumble against her throat. "Good girl."
He pulled back just enough to look at her, one hand sliding under her knee, dragging her leg up over his hip until he was pressed deeper, closer, his weight a promise she didn't want to escape.
The knocks came again — soft, muffled, like a warning she could no longer hear. Because all she could see was him, all she could feel was the cold burning into her skin like a brand.
Damian's forehead pressed to hers again, his lips brushing her jaw as he whispered, "Whatever comes knocking, let them wait. In the dark, you're only mine."
And when his mouth covered hers again, the shadows curled tighter around them — sealing the room like a secret, like a grave she'd chosen to climb into willingly.
She didn't care. Not when his kiss drowned out the storm, the knocks, the whole world beyond the glass walls.
In the dark, she was his. And that was enough.