Damian
The alley was silent again, save for the faint sound of her struggling. My men dragged her toward the car, her muffled protests breaking against their indifference. She kicked once, twice, but she was no fighter. Fragile. Terrified. And yet… not broken.
Most people who stumbled into my world shattered instantly. Their eyes went vacant, their bodies limp with shock. Not her. She was shaking, yes, but her eyes—those wide, desperate eyes—still burned with something alive. Fear laced with defiance.
Interesting.
The black sedan waited at the curb, engine humming, its tinted windows reflecting the weak glow of the streetlamp. As I approached, my men shoved her inside, her body landing against the leather seats. She scrambled upright instantly, pressing her back against the far door like a trapped animal.
I slid in after her.
The air shifted the moment the door closed. Tight. Suffocating. My presence filled the space, and she felt it—I could see it in the way her breathing hitched, in the way her trembling hands clutched her bag like a lifeline.
She was beautiful in the rawest sense. Not painted, not polished, just real—messy hair, panic-stricken face, lips parted around ragged breaths. A woman who had no business being in my world, yet here she was, staring at me like the devil himself had climbed into the car.
Good. She should be afraid.
My men climbed in, the car rolling forward, headlights slicing through the dark. I leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, and let silence settle heavy between us. I wanted to see how long it would take before she broke it.
She lasted longer than most.
Finally, her voice cracked the stillness, hoarse with fear. "Please… I didn't see anything. I swear. I'll forget—"
"Don't insult me."
Her words died instantly. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to. Calm was more terrifying than rage, and judging by the way she swallowed hard, she understood that.
I studied her openly, letting my gaze move from her trembling hands to the frantic rise and fall of her chest. "You saw everything," I said. "And now you're here. That makes you a problem."
Her lip trembled. She shook her head quickly. "I'm not—I won't tell anyone. I don't even know who you are."
I almost smiled. Almost.
"That's the point," I murmured.
She didn't know me. But she would.
The car turned, city lights flickering across her face. For a moment, something softer brushed against the steel inside me. She looked young. Too young to have death shadowing her. In another life, she might've been a student walking home from the library, or a waitress closing late at a café. Ordinary.
But fate had thrown her into my alley. Into my world.
And fate was cruel.
I should have ended it already. A bullet, a shallow grave, silence. Simple. Clean. But when I pictured it—her eyes going dull, her fire extinguished—something in me resisted.
Why?
I didn't know.
But instincts had kept me alive in this life, and my instincts told me to keep her.
Leaning forward, I braced an arm on the seat, closing the distance between us. She stiffened, pressing harder into the door, her breath catching in her throat. The scent of fear clung to her, sharp and intoxicating.
"You're in the wrong place at the wrong time," I said softly, my gaze locking hers. "That usually means only one thing."
Her eyes widened, tears threatening to spill.
"But lucky for you…" I let the pause drag out, savoring the tension snapping between us. "…I'm in a generous mood tonight."
She didn't look convinced. She shouldn't. Generosity wasn't in my nature—it was a lie, a mask I wore when it suited me.
I tilted my head, studying her one last time, then gave my men the order that sealed her fate.
"Take her to the estate."
Her gasp filled the car, raw and desperate. "No—please, I can't—"
"You can," I cut her off, my tone final, unyielding. "You will."
Her voice broke into silence again, but her eyes stayed on me, wide and furious now, not just afraid. Good. I preferred fury. Fear faded; fury kept people alive.
As the city blurred past the windows, I leaned back, satisfied with my decision, though I couldn't yet explain it to myself.
She thought this night was her worst nightmare.
She had no idea.
I turned my head, catching her stare once more, and let the words fall like a verdict:
"Congratulations, sweetheart. You just became mine."