The ride back to the penthouse was suffocating. No words, just the steady hum of the car and Damian's hand still resting at Elara's waist like a claim.
She kept her eyes on the city lights flashing past, each one a reminder that the world outside was alive, free, untouchable—everything she wasn't.
When the doors shut behind them at the penthouse, Elara finally pulled away. "Why did you bring me there?" she demanded, her voice trembling more from adrenaline than fear.
Damian loosened his tie slowly, his gaze fixed on her like she was the only thing in the room. "You needed to see what my world is. And they needed to see you."
"See me?" she snapped. "Like I'm—like I'm property?"
His smirk was infuriating. "You're more than property, Elara. You're leverage."
Her stomach dropped. "Leverage… against who?"
Damian stepped closer, and the air thickened. "Against everyone. Tonight, every eye in that room measured you. They know I don't bring anyone inside unless they matter. And now, they'll wonder why you matter."
She shook her head. "I didn't ask for this."
He caught her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up to his. His voice softened, dangerous in its calm. "No. But you chose it the moment you ran into my path. And now there's no going back."
A silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. For a fleeting moment, Elara thought she saw something—hesitation, maybe even vulnerability—in his eyes. But it vanished before she could be sure.
He released her and walked to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a drink. "There are rules now," he said, his back to her. "Rules that keep you alive."
She folded her arms tightly. "And if I break them?"
Damian turned, glass in hand, eyes glinting. "Then you bleed. Or worse, you disappear. And no one will remember you."
The words should have frozen her. Instead, fire sparked inside. "Then tell me the rules."
His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Rule one: You don't speak of what you saw tonight. Rule two: You don't lie to me. Rule three…" His gaze swept over her slowly, deliberately. "…you don't run again."
Elara's chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. "And what do I get in return?"
He approached, stopping just a breath away. His hand brushed against hers, not forceful this time, but deliberate. "Protection. Power. Survival."
Her body betrayed her, leaning ever so slightly into his nearness even as her mind screamed danger.
It was a pact without signatures, sealed only by silence and the heat of his gaze. She had stepped willingly into the snare, and he knew it.
But somewhere deep inside, Elara swore to herself that if Damian thought she would break so easily, he was wrong.
Very wrong.