(Damien's POV)
The Rothwell gates appeared in the distance, glowing faintly gold against the black curtain of night. My hands rested loosely on the steering wheel, but my focus wasn't on the road.
It was on the girl sitting beside me.
Evelyn.
Silent. Rigid. Staring out the window like the view was her lifeline.
She thought she could bury what she knew under that stubborn quiet of hers, that if she didn't speak, I'd let it go.
She couldn't be more wrong.
I slowed as we neared the gates—just enough to make her think we were turning in—then eased my foot back onto the accelerator. The car slid past without hesitation.
It took her a few seconds to notice.
"You missed—"
"I know," I cut in, my tone flat.
Her head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing. I could feel her wanting to push, demand an explanation, but she bit it back. Good. Let her stew in the unknown for a while.
I didn't glance at her again, though I didn't have to. I could sense her—tense shoulders, the way she pressed her knees together, her hands twisting slightly in her lap. She wasn't afraid of me. No, this was different. This was her mind working, calculating, maybe even panicking about how much I already knew.
The city lights blurred past us, and soon we were gliding into the underground parking of my penthouse building. I killed the engine, and before she could gather herself, I was out of my seat and at her door.
The second it opened, her voice sharpened. "Damien, what—"
Her words were cut short when I scooped her up into my arms.
She made a sound halfway between surprise and protest, her hands pushing at my chest. "Put me down—"
"No," I said simply, stepping into the private elevator. "You'd run."
Her eyes flashed at that. She didn't deny it.
The elevator doors slid shut, enclosing us in the faint hum of machinery and the heavy air of unspoken things. She was warm in my arms—infuriatingly warm—and though her weight was nothing, her presence pressed against me like gravity.
The doors opened to my apartment. The space was dim, the city skyline stretching wide beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. I didn't stop until we reached my bedroom.
Only then did I lower her onto the bed. She bounced slightly on the mattress, trying to shift away, but I planted my hands on either side of her hips, caging her in.
Her eyes locked onto mine—defiant, but there was a flicker there. Something she didn't want me to see.
I leaned in, close enough that her breath mingled with mine. "Now," I said slowly, deliberately, "how did you know?"
She looked away, toward the window, pretending to misunderstand. "Know what?"
I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Don't play games with me, Evelyn. How did you know I'm Damien Kane?"
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She looked… cornered.
And I liked it.
"You didn't just slip," I continued, my voice low. "At the penthouse, when you said my real name, you didn't correct yourself. You froze. You looked at me like you'd finally confirmed something you'd been wondering. That doesn't happen by accident."
Her throat worked, but she kept her gaze fixed anywhere but on me. "I pieced it together," she said finally. "Little things. The way you—"
"Stop." The word came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't regret it. "That's not the truth. That's the safe answer you want me to believe."
Her eyes snapped back to mine. "It is the truth."
"No." I leaned in closer, close enough that my hands sank slightly into the mattress beside her, my shoulders boxing her in completely. "The truth would be messy. It would have sharp edges. And you don't want to give it to me because you think it'll put you in danger."
She blinked at that, and for the briefest moment, something in her expression wavered.
I studied her face—every detail. The faint quickening of her breath. The slight tremor in her hands where they pressed against the bed. The way her lips pressed together not in fear, but in restraint.
"You're not afraid of me," I murmured. "Not the way most people are. Which means you've already decided what I am to you."
Her eyes narrowed. "You think you know everything, don't you?"
I tilted my head slightly. "No. I just know enough to know there's more. And I'm not walking out of this room without it."
She pushed at my chest, and though the force was minimal, the intent was sharp. "I don't owe you an explanation."
A muscle ticked in my jaw. "You don't. But I'm telling you now—you're not leaving until I get one."
We held each other's gaze, the silence between us electric, the air taut like a live wire. Outside, the city carried on—lights flickering, traffic humming—but in here, it was just the two of us, locked in a quiet battle.
And I had no intention of losing.