The city blurred past the tinted windows of the black car, neon and glass flickering like broken dreams. Elara sat rigid in the leather seat, Damian beside her, his presence filling the confined space as effortlessly as the night filled the streets.
Neither of them spoke at first. The silence was heavy, stretched thin with the weight of everything that had happened between them. Elara's fingers twisted in her lap, brushing the hem of her dress—black silk Damian had chosen for her, cut low enough to make her blush when she first saw it in the mirror.
"You keep looking out the window," Damian said finally, his voice a velvet blade. "As if freedom exists out there."
Her head snapped toward him. "It does."
His smirk was slow, deliberate. "Does it? Or is it just another cage—only wider, with different bars?"
Her chest tightened. "At least it would be mine."
Damian leaned closer, his arm resting against the back of the seat, caging her in without touching her. His cologne filled her lungs, sharp and intoxicating. "You think freedom is surviving on scraps, running from shadows? No, Elara. What I give you is more than freedom. It's power."
Her pulse raced. She hated the way his words slithered under her skin, wrapping around the parts of her that were already weak. "What you give me is a prison."
"And yet," he murmured, his lips ghosting near her ear, "your body doesn't fight me. Last night proved that."
Her breath hitched, heat rushing to her cheeks. She pressed back against the cold window, desperate for space, for clarity. "You stole that from me."
"No," Damian said softly, dangerous certainty in his tone. "I revealed it. There's a difference."
The car slowed, pulling up in front of a building bathed in golden light. A restaurant, secluded, its entrance guarded by two men in suits. Elara's stomach twisted as the door opened and Damian stepped out first, extending a hand.
She hesitated, staring at his palm. His hand was both a chain and a lifeline, and the choice to take it felt heavier than any blade.
"Don't make me wait," he warned, his eyes narrowing just enough to remind her of the consequences.
Her trembling fingers slid into his. His grip tightened instantly, warm, commanding, unyielding.
Inside, the restaurant glowed with low light, chandeliers dripping crystal above velvet booths. The world seemed quieter here, too polished to be real. A table waited at the far end, candles already lit.
As Damian guided her forward, his hand lingered at the small of her back. Possessive. Claiming. To anyone watching, they looked like lovers dining in luxury. But beneath the tablecloth of silk and shadows, Elara knew chains bound her more tightly than steel ever could.
Damian leaned close, his lips brushing her ear as they sat. "Eat, drink, smile if you must. But remember, little dove—every eye in this room belongs to me. And so do you."
Her heart pounded as the waiter approached, her lips forced into a fragile curve that wasn't hers.
The world thought she belonged to Damian. The terrifying part was how easily, how naturally, she played the part.