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đź“– The Billionaire's Dark Secret
Chapter Four – The Warning
Zoey's heart thundered in her chest as the last trace of the whisper dissolved into silence. She spun again, phone trembling in her grip, searching the endless shelves.
No one. Nothing.
And yet she knew what she had heard.
Her pulse was still racing when Damian reappeared from the shadows. His steps were quiet, too quiet for a man his size, and when his face emerged in the candlelight, she swore his eyes glowed faintly—like embers caught in the dark.
She blinked, and the glow was gone. Maybe it was the flicker of the flame. Maybe.
"Everything all right?" His voice was calm, but there was a tautness underneath, a leash pulled too tight.
Zoey forced herself to steady her breathing. "I thought I heard something," she said. "A voice."
Damian stilled. His jaw clenched, his gaze sliding past her to the shadows that stretched down the aisles of books. For a fraction of a second, his control cracked — and what shone through was not surprise. It was recognition.
He knew.
He knew.
"It's an old house," he said finally, his tone clipped. "Wood groans. Air shifts. That's all."
But Zoey wasn't convinced. She could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his hand flexed at his side as though itching to grab something unseen.
"You don't actually expect me to believe that, do you?" she asked softly.
His gaze snapped back to her, dark and sharp as a blade. For a moment, she thought he might snap at her — but instead, he crossed the space between them in a few strides. The air around him seemed to thrum, carrying a heat that brushed against her skin.
"You should be careful what you believe, Miss Hart," Damian murmured, his voice a low growl that slid down her spine. "Some truths have teeth. They bite."
The warning was so close, so intimate, it made her shiver.
But before she could respond, the candles guttered violently, plunging half the library into shadow. Zoey gasped, her phone's light bouncing off the shelves. The atmosphere shifted—dense, charged, like the air before a storm.
Something moved between the rows. Quick. Silent.
Zoey clutched Damian's arm before she could think better of it. His muscles were coiled steel beneath her fingers, his eyes fixed on the darkness.
"Stay behind me," he ordered, voice colder now, dangerous.
She wanted to protest, to demand answers, but the words stuck in her throat when the sound came again—whispers, soft and chilling, rising like a tide from the far end of the library.
Not one voice this time. Many. Layered, overlapping.
Zoey couldn't make out the words, but her skin prickled with every syllable.
Damian's body went rigid. His hand lifted slightly, and Zoey realized with a start that his nails seemed longer, sharper, catching the faint candlelight in a way no human nails should.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the voices stopped. The silence slammed down heavy, suffocating.
The candles flared back to life on their own.
Zoey's grip loosened on Damian's arm, her breath ragged. "What the hell was that?" she whispered.
Damian turned to her slowly. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone. But his eyes—God, his eyes—looked almost… haunted.
"That," he said, voice low and final, "is why you should have never come here."