The penthouse lay wrapped in silence, thick as velvet and pressing against the skin. Elena didn't move, arms locked across her chest, a lone, stubborn figure in the cold gleam of marble and glass. Damien watched her with steady, golden eyes, unhurried, as though the ticking clock meant nothing at all. He'd taken the win, and they both felt it—like the sharp snap of a door closing."The arrangement, as you call it," she said, her voice surprisingly steady, "has terms. "The arrangement, as you call it," she said, her voice steady as stone, "comes with terms.""You promised me something about my mother, and it's the only card I've got—the reason I'm still standing here, with the rain dripping off my sleeve."She made sure it stayed lodged in his mind, sharp as the sound of a slammed door."I honor my agreements," he said. For a heartbeat, his eyes held a flicker—like the quick shine of metal in the sun—that might have been respect."Come."
Hesitantly, she followed. "I keep my word," he said, his voice steady as a locked door. He motioned for her to follow, then turned from the windows and headed down a wide hallway that felt like a quiet art gallery."This is yours," he said simply. "Come." She took a slow step forward, her fingers brushing the rough wall as she followed. He guided her to a pair of towering dark-wood doors, swung them wide, and revealed a suite so spacious her old apartment felt like a broom closet in comparison. A roomy sitting area held a plush cream sofa, a large bed draped in what seemed like silk, and a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering lights of the city's northern edge."This is yours," he said, his voice quiet as if handing over something fragile."How…" she started, her voice trailing off.
"I am thorough," he finished for her, his back still to her. He crossed the room to a huge walk-in closet, the scent of cedar faint in the air, and pulled the door open. The space overflowed with clothes, shirts draped over the edge like they might spill to the floor."As for your mother."
On the screen was a live video feed. Dresses, sweaters, jeans, and shoes lined up in tidy rows, each one straight as if measured by hand. She noticed, with a sharp jolt of violation, that every single one was in her exact size—right down to the snug fit of a sleeve."How..." she began, her voice fading like smoke in the still air."A private medical facility an hour outside the city," Damien explained, his voice devoid of emotion. "Dr. Alistair Finch, the man speaking to her now, is the world's leading expert in regenerative cardiology. "I'm thorough," he said, finishing her thought without turning, the curve of his shoulders rigid. He turned and gripped a sleek silver tablet, its surface cool against his palm. He tapped the screen, then held the cool glass out for her to see. As for your mother—there she was, moving in a grainy live feed on the screen. The room was spacious and private, bright as midday, with gleaming monitors and sleek medical equipment lining the walls. A calm, professional-looking team of doctors and nurses stood by her mother's bed, speaking softly as she sat upright, eyes wide and puzzled but without a trace of fear. From her mother's new window, Elena took in the view—a quiet, neatly trimmed garden where a single red rose caught the light."And my terms?" she asked quietly. "What are the rules of this… cage?"
"The rules are for your safety," he corrected smoothly, stepping a little closer. "It's a private clinic about an hour from the city," Damien said, his tone flat as stone."You will not leave this tower without me or my designated security. Dr. Alistair Finch, the man talking to her now, happens to be the world's top mind in regenerative cardiology, the one who once grew a beating heart cell in a dish. Your mother's no longer under the state's care—she's back where she can hear the kettle whistle in her own kitchen."Except for me. I'm looking after her, making sure she's safe. I've already kept my side of the deal. Elena stared at the screen, heart thudding like a fist on a locked door, caught between soaring relief and raw fear. His speed, his precision, the way he commanded every move—it took your breath, like hearing a single note hang in the air after the rest falls silent. He didn't wait for her to agree—only for her to walk through the door so he could tell her the deal was already done."Why me?" she whispered, the question torn from the deepest part of her. "Of all the people in this city, in the world, why go to all this trouble for a waitress?"
He closed the remaining distance between them. Her duty pressed down on her, heavier than an iron shackle biting cold against her skin."Because the first moment I laid eyes on you, I knew," he murmured, his voice a low, intense vibration that resonated deep within her chest. "The universe shifted on its axis, and every part of my soul recognized its counterpart. She passed the tablet back, fingers tingling like they'd been in ice. She lowered her voice. "And what about my terms?""What are the rules for this… cage?"
"They're to keep you safe," he said, his voice low as he stepped closer, the faint scrape of his boot against the floor breaking the silence. That wild, clean scent of his drifted toward her again, sharp as fresh rain, and it made her head swim. You're not walking out of this tower without me or the guard I assign to you."My dream… How could you know about my dream?"
He gave her that ghost of a smile again, the one that held all the secrets of the world. "I was there with you."
He let that impossible statement hang in the air for a moment before he turned and walked towards the door. "Rest now," he said, his voice returning to a cool command. "We have much to discuss tomorrow."
The door closed with a soft click, leaving her utterly alone in the opulent, silent suite. The whole floor's yours—every corner, from the creaky stair to the sunlit window."No one—staff or guest—sets foot inside without your say." He paused, golden eyes locked on hers like sunlight caught in amber. No one else—just me.