(Damien's POV)
The ride was silent. Not the kind of silence that brings calm. This was the silence before a detonation—thick, charged, demanding to be broken.
My hands rested loosely on the steering wheel, but every movement was deliberate. I didn't grip it because I didn't need to. Control didn't come from how hard you held something—it came from knowing you could tighten your hold at any second and make it unshakable.
The road ahead stretched in darkness, broken by the occasional sweep of headlights from oncoming cars. The city was behind us now, its noise fading into something distant. I'd chosen this road for a reason—it gave me time. Time to look at her without actually turning my head. Time to weigh her against the risk she represented.
She was sitting to my right, posture a little too straight, eyes fixed on the blur of passing trees as though they were more interesting than the fact that she was alone in a car with me. I'd seen people fake indifference before. It was a good mask—her chin was lifted just enough, her breathing steady—but I knew better. I'd heard her heartbeat shift the moment I'd told Henry Rothwell she might not come home tonight.
That part had been intentional.
I wanted to see the crack.
And I had.
She hadn't argued. She hadn't laughed it off. She'd gone quiet, and quiet in a woman like Evelyn Rothwell wasn't submission—it was calculation. Which meant she was already dangerous.
The scent of saltwater reached me before the coast appeared. Sharp. Clean. A reminder of something endless and untamed—something that didn't care about borders or rules.
I slowed the car and pulled onto the gravel shoulder, the crunch loud against the still night. The ocean was laid out before us, black and silver under the moon, waves tearing at the rocks in a rhythm that felt older than time.
I killed the engine. The hum faded, and in the space it left, I could hear her breathing again. Steady. Measured. Controlled—just like before.
She turned slightly toward me, mouth parting to speak, but I didn't give her the chance.
"How," I said slowly, my voice low enough to leave no room for misunderstanding, "did you know?"
Her brows pulled together just slightly, like she was deciding whether to act confused. "Know… what?"
I held her gaze. "Don't play games, Evelyn. How did you know I'm Damien Kane?"
I watched the shift in her. Not shock—confirmation. That told me everything.
She froze for a beat, then said, "I didn't—"
"Yes, you did," I cut in, my tone sharp enough to slice through her attempt. "Back at the penthouse, you called me by my real name. You didn't laugh, you didn't apologize, you didn't correct yourself. You froze. And you watched me. You knew exactly who you were saying it to."
Her eyes darted to the water, as though the ocean was safer to look at than me. "I pieced it together. Just… little things. The way you—"
"Stop." I let the word hang in the air, not raising my voice but making it hard enough to land like a strike. "That's not the truth."
Her head snapped back toward me. "It is the truth."
I leaned in slightly—not touching her, but close enough that the heat from me could be felt. "No. You're trying to give me a version of the truth that keeps you safe. I want the real one."
Her throat moved as she swallowed. "Why does it matter?"
I let my gaze drop to her mouth for a second—not long enough to lose control, just long enough for her to feel it—before locking eyes with her again. "Because I don't like being watched without knowing how deep the eyes go. And if you figured me out, it means you were looking for something. People don't just stumble onto Damien Kane."
She didn't answer right away. That pause was telling. I could hear the waves hitting the rocks, matching the slow, even rhythm of my own breathing.
I tilted my head, studying her like I would a potential opponent. "So… tell me, Evelyn. Who told you? Or did you dig until you found me?"
"I didn't—"
"Don't lie." My voice dropped lower now, softer but edged with something sharper. That was always more dangerous than shouting—it pulled people closer even as it warned them away. "You're too smart for accidents. And you don't flinch like a girl who's in over her head. You flinch like someone who's holding onto a secret."
She drew in a breath, but it wasn't steady this time.
Good.
The space between us tightened until there was no way she wasn't aware of every inch. I didn't have to touch her. The air itself carried the weight of my presence.
She opened her mouth again, but nothing came out.
"You're quiet," I murmured, my tone almost amused but my eyes unblinking. "Which tells me I'm right. You do know more than you're saying. And I'll get it out of you… one way or another."
And I would.
Because whatever Evelyn Rothwell thought she was keeping from me, it wasn't just about my name. It was about why she looked at me like she hated me one second and couldn't breathe without me the next.
A distraction? Yes. A problem? Definitely.
But I'd never met a problem that wasn't worth solving—especially one I couldn't seem to let go of.