Damian
The car ate up the streets in silence. City lights faded behind us, replaced by the darker, quieter roads leading out toward the hills. She hadn't stopped staring at me—not fully. Every few seconds, I felt her eyes flicker to my face, only to dart away again like she'd touched fire.
Good. Let her look.
Most men spent their lives begging for respect. I never had to. Respect—or fear—came easily when you knew how to wield it. And tonight, this woman had been dragged headfirst into a world where I was both law and executioner.
The leather interior smelled faintly of smoke and expensive cologne. My suit jacket stretched easily as I leaned back, one hand resting loosely against my thigh, the other on the seat near her. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough that she could feel the weight of my presence, filling every inch of the car.
She was trying not to stare, but I could feel it. People always stared.
I wasn't vain—I didn't need to be. I knew what I looked like, knew what effect it had. Dark hair, sharp jaw, tailored suits cut to my body as if the fabric itself feared disappointing me. Power was more seductive than beauty, but the combination of both was lethal. And I had long ago learned how to use it.
Her chest rose and fell quickly, unevenly, and I wondered what exactly terrified her more—the memory of the man I'd executed, or the fact that she couldn't seem to stop looking at me despite it.
The car slowed as the wrought-iron gates came into view. Ten feet tall, black, flanked by stone pillars carved with my family crest: a lion and a dagger. The gates swung open at our approach, controlled by unseen guards.
Her sharp inhale filled the silence.
Good. Let her see. Let her understand.
The drive stretched long, lined with trees lit by golden lamps. At the end of it, the house revealed itself. No—not a house. An estate.
White stone walls, three stories tall, endless windows glowing like fire in the night. Balconies lined with marble. Fountains spilling water into pristine pools. Gardens sculpted like artwork.
Power didn't need to be explained. It was displayed.
Her lips parted, and though she tried to hide it, awe replaced fear for just a heartbeat.
I watched her reaction closely. A poor man would've begged her to notice him. A rich man would've begged her to stay. But I wasn't either of those things. I didn't beg.
The car pulled to a stop at the front steps. My men stepped out first, one opening my door. I moved slowly, deliberately, adjusting my cufflinks before stepping into the wash of golden light spilling from the chandeliers above the entrance.
I extended a hand—not to her, not yet. Just to test her.
She hesitated, staring at it as if it were venom. Then, almost against her own will, she placed her trembling hand in mine. Her skin was warm, soft. Fragile.
I pulled her out effortlessly, keeping her close as her heels touched the marble steps.
Her eyes darted upward, taking in the towering facade of the estate. She looked small here, a lost bird in a cage built for lions.
I bent my head slightly, close enough for her to catch the faint trace of smoke and expensive whiskey that clung to me.
"Welcome to my home," I said smoothly.
Her shiver betrayed her.
Inside, the doors opened into a cathedral of wealth. High ceilings draped with crystal chandeliers, black marble floors that reflected every step, walls lined with paintings worth more than most people would earn in a lifetime.
She moved as though afraid to breathe. Good. Fear sharpened awareness. It made her see the details, made her realize that escape wasn't just unlikely—it was impossible.
As we reached the grand staircase, I let go of her hand, watching the way her body swayed with sudden freedom. My men stood waiting for orders.
I didn't give them right away. Instead, I studied her one last time tonight.
She was shaking, yes. But her chin lifted slightly, a flicker of resistance still alive. Fragile, yes—but not broken.
That was dangerous. And intriguing.
I leaned closer, my voice low enough for only her to hear.
"You should be terrified," I said, my gaze dragging over her like a slow caress. "But if you learn quickly, if you behave… you might just survive."
Her lips parted, but no words came.
I straightened, turning to my men. "Take her upstairs."
Her gasp filled the hall, echoing under the chandelier's glittering light.
And as they moved to obey, I let myself smile for the first time that night.
Because the game had just begun.