Celeste didn't remember the drive back from the docks. Only Damien's voice, low and steady in the dark car, telling her things she didn't want to hear. Names. Places. The kind of details that made her realize she wasn't just a woman he desired — she was a piece on a board she hadn't even known existed.
By the time they reached her apartment, the rain had stopped, but the air still felt heavy. Damien walked her to the door without asking, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back. It was a touch that felt protective… and possessive.
Inside, she flicked on the light — and froze.
Her living room wasn't as she'd left it. A glass on the coffee table had been moved. A drawer in her desk was open. And on the counter, in the center of her otherwise spotless kitchen, sat a single white rose.
She didn't touch it.
Damien's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened. "Pack a bag," he said.
"I'm not going anywhere—"
"You are," he cut in. "Someone's been here. And they left you a message."
She looked at the rose again. "What does it mean?"
"It means," he said, stepping closer, "that someone wants me to know they can get to you."
Her stomach turned cold. "Who?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled out his phone, murmured something to someone on the other end, and then turned back to her. "You're staying at my place tonight."
She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell him she didn't need his protection. But the truth was, the thought of being alone in this apartment now made her skin crawl.
Damien's penthouse was everything she expected — glass, steel, and shadows. But it was the view that caught her: the city stretched out below like a glittering trap.
He poured her a drink without asking. "You should know," he said, handing it to her, "that in my world, trust is currency. And betrayal is debt."
She took the glass, her fingers brushing his. "And which am I to you?"
His gaze lingered on her face, unreadable. "That depends on what you do next."
Something in his tone made her chest tighten. "What are you not telling me, Damien?"
He hesitated — just for a fraction of a second — and that was when she knew.
There was something he'd already done. Something that involved her.
And whatever it was, it wasn't protection.
It was possession.