Elena
I woke to sunlight pouring in through tall windows, harsh and golden, far too beautiful for the kind of night I'd had.
For a moment, I didn't know where I was. The silk sheets, the heavy curtains, the faint scent of polished wood and expensive cologne — none of it belonged to me. My heart sank as memory crashed in: the alley, the gunshot, Damian's eyes, the mansion.
I sat up slowly, my head pounding from crying myself to sleep. My throat was raw, my body heavy, but my mind spun with one thought.
Escape.
The window. My gaze darted toward it. The curtains were drawn back now, revealing a manicured garden bathed in morning light. It looked close enough to freedom.
I slid out of bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. My hands trembled as I tugged at the window latch. It gave way with a soft click, the cool morning air brushing against my skin. My breath hitched.
Maybe—just maybe—
But when I looked down, the breath left me in a rush.
The drop was too far. At least two stories. Below, stone paths wound through rosebushes trimmed to perfection. Guards patrolled lazily near the gates, guns at their sides, movements efficient and practiced.
I shut the window quickly, my stomach churning.
No way out. Not like this.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, squeezing my eyes shut. If I didn't go to work today, I'd lose my job. But what did that matter anymore? I wasn't even sure I'd survive long enough to worry about it.
A knock at the door jolted me upright. Before I could answer, it opened, and a man in a tailored black suit stepped in. His expression was unreadable, his posture stiff.
"Mr. Moretti requests your presence for breakfast," he said. Not asked. Requested. Which, coming from Damian, meant commanded.
I wanted to refuse. I wanted to scream that I wasn't hungry, that I wanted to go home. But my legs carried me forward anyway, fear propelling me.
The dining hall was a cathedral of glass and gold. Sunlight streamed in through floor-to-ceiling windows, glinting off polished silverware and crystal glasses. The table stretched long enough to seat twenty, but only one place was set.
And Damian sat at the head.
He was already watching me when I entered, his dark eyes unreadable. His suit was a shade of charcoal that made his skin look even more cut from stone. He didn't move as I approached, didn't blink, didn't even offer a greeting. He simply looked.
It made my knees weak.
A chair scraped softly as one of his men pulled it out for me. I sat, clutching my hands together in my lap to keep them from shaking.
The silence stretched until I couldn't bear it. My voice cracked when I whispered, "Why am I here?"
Damian's lips curved slightly. Not a smile. Something sharper. "Because you saw something you shouldn't have."
My heart thudded painfully. "If you're going to kill me, then… just do it. Why keep me here?"
His gaze lingered on me like a physical touch, slow and consuming. "If I wanted you dead, Elena, you would already be gone." He leaned back in his chair, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. "But I don't like wasting potential."
My mouth went dry. "Potential?"
"You interest me," he said simply. "That's dangerous enough for you."
A maid entered quietly then, placing a plate in front of me. Fluffy eggs, toast, fruit sliced with precision. My stomach clenched, but not with hunger. I couldn't eat under his stare.
Damian picked up his fork, cutting into his food with deliberate calm. He didn't look away from me as he ate, and the weight of that gaze made my skin prickle.
I forced myself to take a bite, if only to avoid angering him. The food tasted like ash in my mouth.
When I set the fork down, his voice cut through the silence.
"Don't try to run."
My head jerked up. His eyes pinned me, cold and merciless. "I know you looked. The window, the gardens. You won't get far."
Heat rushed to my face. Shame, fear, fury all tangled in my chest. "You can't keep me here forever."
His expression didn't change. "Can't I?"
The question wasn't loud, but it hollowed me out. He was daring me to deny it.
I gripped the edge of the table, nails biting into the wood. "Why me? Why not someone else?"
Damian set his glass down carefully, leaning forward until his presence swallowed the space between us. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper.
"Because, Elena… fate handed you to me. And when fate gives me something, I don't let it go."
The finality in his tone made my stomach twist.
He leaned back again, as if the warning had been nothing more than casual conversation, and resumed eating.
I sat frozen, the food untouched, the words echoing in my head like a death sentence.
No escape. No hope.
Just him.
And that was the most terrifying part of all