The guards' boots struck the gravel like war drums, drawing closer with each second. The glass garden shimmered under the moon, its fragile walls amplifying the sound until it felt like thunder in Elara's chest.
The stranger's hand hovered near hers—not touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat of it. His voice was low, urgent, meant only for her.
"Now, Elara. Come with me, before it's too late."
Her breath came shallow, her throat raw. The door to freedom was open before her, yet chains tugged at her from behind. Chains in the shape of a man whose voice still lingered in her bones.
Damian.
Her heart twisted violently. The stranger promised escape, but what if it was a lie? What if this was another game orchestrated by Damian himself—a trap, a test, one she was already failing by standing here?
The footsteps grew louder. A beam of light swept across the glass panes.
Elara's body moved before her mind decided. She darted behind a curtain of hanging ivy, pressing herself against the wall of the greenhouse. Her pulse thundered in her ears. The stranger cursed under his breath, his jaw tight, but he stayed where he was, hidden by shadows.
The door creaked open.
Two guards stepped inside, their flashlights slicing through the orchids and roses, cutting across the glass until beams landed dangerously close to her trembling figure.
Elara bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
One of the guards muttered, "Strange. Thought I saw movement."
The other shrugged, but his light lingered, sweeping dangerously near the ivy where she hid. "Better report back. He doesn't like mistakes."
Damian.
Her knees nearly buckled at the sound of his name unsaid, hanging between them like an unspoken curse.
The guards turned, footsteps fading until the night swallowed them again. The door shut with a hollow thud.
Silence.
Elara's chest heaved as she stumbled from her hiding spot, her hands shaking. The stranger watched her with narrowed eyes.
"You hesitated," he said. Not cruel, but sharp. "You'll die hesitating."
Tears stung her eyes, hot and unwanted. "You don't understand. If he finds out—"
"He will find out," the man snapped. His voice was harsh, but his gaze softened for just a second. "Damian always does. That's why you have to decide which cage you'd rather burn in—the one he built for you, or the one you can choose for yourself."
Her chest tightened, his words colliding with Damian's from earlier: Every move you make reflects on me. If you stumble, I'll be the one to bleed for it. And if you betray me… you'll wish you hadn't.
The sound of footsteps returned. Not guards this time—slower, steadier. A cadence Elara knew by heart.
Damian.
The stranger stiffened. His jaw locked as he pulled his hood low again, his form melting back into the shadows. He leaned close, voice barely a whisper. "We'll speak again. But if you let him see me tonight, it's over—for both of us."
Before she could respond, he slipped into the dark, vanishing as though he had never been there at all.
The glass door creaked again.
Damian stepped inside. His presence filled the greenhouse instantly, his tailored suit catching the faint silver of moonlight. His gaze swept the flowers, the shadows, then landed on her.
"Elara." His tone was calm, too calm. "What are you doing here?"
Her throat closed. Her body trembled. The orchids swayed faintly in the silence, as if they, too, were waiting for her answer.
And for the first time, Elara realized just how thin the line between survival and destruction truly was.