Elara hadn't expected the kiss to linger in her body the way it did.
Hours later, after Damian had left her standing breathless in the dark, she could still feel it—the press of his lips, the tremble in his hands, the heat of his breath as though he had wanted to devour her but held back at the last moment.
She lay in bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling as the city bled neon light through the curtains.
Her mind replayed it again and again. It wasn't like the way he touched her when he was staking a claim, or the threats laced with hunger he'd thrown at her before. No. This had been something else. Something she couldn't categorize. It had been too human. Too desperate.
And that terrified her more than the violence.
By morning, she couldn't bear the silence of her room anymore. She slipped into the hall, barefoot, and found herself wandering until she reached the glass wall of the living room.
Damian was there.
He sat on the couch, half in shadow, shirt sleeves rolled up, a glass untouched on the table. He looked as though he hadn't slept at all.
Her breath caught. For a moment, she considered turning back. But something about the slump of his shoulders rooted her in place.
He spoke without looking at her. "Couldn't sleep?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Neither could you."
Finally, he lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, jaw rough with stubble, but his gaze was steady. "I don't sleep much anymore."
She crossed the room cautiously and sat at the opposite end of the couch. The silence between them wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't hostile either.
"Why did you stop?" she asked finally.
His brow furrowed. "Stop what?"
"Last night. You could have killed him. You wanted to. Why didn't you?"
He stared at her for a long time, as though weighing whether she deserved the truth. At last, he exhaled, leaning back.
"Because you were watching."
Her stomach tightened. "You mean because I begged you."
"No," he said, softer now. "Because you were watching me like… like I was still a man. And for one second, I wanted to be that again."
Elara's throat ached. She wanted to reach for him, to press her hand against his, but she forced herself to stay still. "Damian…"
He shook his head, looking away. "Don't. Don't say my name like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm not the monster you should be running from."
Her heart hammered. "Maybe I don't want to run anymore."
His gaze snapped back to her then, sharp and dangerous. He leaned in, voice rough. "Careful, Elara. You don't know what you're saying."
"Yes, I do." Her hands clenched in her lap. "I see you. The blood, the fury, the empire you've built on bones—I see it all. And I should hate you. I should fear you. But I can't stop thinking about the man who didn't pull the trigger last night."
Damian's face was unreadable, but his breathing had grown heavier, his chest rising and falling with restrained force.
Slowly, he leaned closer, close enough that the air between them throbbed with heat. His hand brushed against her jaw, hesitant at first, then firmer.
"You don't understand what you're doing to me," he whispered.
Her lips parted. "Then let me."
Their mouths crashed together, this time with no hesitation. It wasn't soft. It wasn't tender. It was fire and fury, teeth and desperation, his hand gripping the back of her neck as if afraid she might vanish.
Elara gasped against him, clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left.
For a moment, the world outside didn't exist—no moles, no Russians, no empire waiting to crumble. Just the two of them, clinging like drowning souls.
When he finally tore away, his forehead pressed against hers, his voice broke. "You're going to ruin me."
Her chest heaved. "Maybe you need to be ruined."
They didn't speak again for a long while. Damian eventually rose, pacing the room like a caged predator, hands in his hair.
"I can't…" He stopped himself, exhaling hard. "This is dangerous, Elara. You don't understand."
"Then explain it to me," she demanded.
He turned, eyes blazing. "If my enemies even suspect how much you matter, you won't last a day. They'll come for you. They'll carve you open just to watch me bleed."
Her body went cold. She swallowed hard, forcing strength into her voice. "So what? You push me away? Pretend I don't matter so no one else sees it?"
"Yes." His tone was brutal.
Her lips trembled. "And what about you? Can you keep pretending?"
The silence that followed was heavier than any argument.
Finally, he strode toward her, gripping her chin, tilting her face up until their eyes locked. "No," he admitted, voice like gravel. "But it doesn't matter. Because in this world, love isn't salvation. It's a weapon. And I won't let you become my weakness."
Her chest cracked open at his words, but before she could reply, Marco burst through the door, face grim.
"Boss. We've got a problem."
Damian dropped his hand instantly, mask sliding back over his features. "What?"
"Petrov's men hit another warehouse. Same intel leak. We've narrowed it down to two possible insiders."
Damian's jaw clenched. "Names."
Marco hesitated. "Nico… and Lorenzo."
Elara's heart sank. "But Nico—"
Damian cut her off with a sharp glance. "Lock them both down. No one in, no one out. I'll decide what to do."
Marco nodded and disappeared.
The room fell into silence again. Damian's hands shook faintly at his sides, though his voice was steady when he finally spoke.
"You see now? This is what happens when I hesitate."
Elara's voice cracked. "No, Damian. This is what happens when you don't trust anyone."
He stared at her, eyes dark, unreadable. And in that moment, she knew—they had crossed a line neither of them could ever step back from.
That night, Elara stood alone at her window, staring out at the glittering city. Somewhere in this maze of lights, men were plotting Damian's downfall. Somewhere, betrayal was festering.
And yet all she could think about was the taste of his mouth, the way his voice had broken when he confessed she could ruin him.
She should have been terrified. She should have been planning her escape.
Instead, she whispered to the glass, as though he could hear her from down the hall.
"I think I already have."