The boat rocked gently on the black water, each movement subtle yet unsettling, as though the sea itself was holding its breath. Fog coiled thick around them, alive and shifting, wrapping the night in an eerie stillness. Alina gripped the edge of the vessel, her knuckles pale against the weathered wood, her pulse thundering in her chest. She could feel the night pressing in on her, each sound magnified—the creak of the oars, the soft lap of water, the unbroken rhythm of Daemon's breathing.
He sat across from her, composed, unbothered, as if this small boat cutting through the abyss was the most natural thing in the world. His presence filled the space between them, more tangible than the fog, more dangerous than the unknown depths beneath them. Alina forced her gaze away, but her eyes betrayed her, sliding back to him again and again. There was something magnetic about his stillness, about the way he seemed in control even of the silence.
"You're quiet," he observed at last, his voice low and smooth, carrying easily over the water. "Most people would be panicking by now."
The corner of her lips lifted in a faint, stubborn smile. "I'm not most people," she replied, her tone steadier than she felt.
Her heart raced so wildly she thought he might hear it, a rapid drumbeat that betrayed her excitement, her fear, and something far more dangerous lingering beneath. The words were meant to sound bold, but beneath her mask she wasn't certain whether she was convincing him or herself.
Daemon tilted his head slightly, studying her with unnerving precision. His gaze was sharp, piercing, as if he were peeling back the layers she had so carefully built to shield herself from the world. "No," he said finally, his lips curving into the faintest ghost of a smile. "You're different. That's why I wanted you here."
Alina's throat tightened, her breath catching on that single word. Different. She wasn't sure if it was a compliment or a curse. She had spent her life hidden behind expectations—her family's wealth, the society's scrutiny, the endless demands to behave, to be perfect, to be silent. Her existence had been one of golden chains, disguised as privilege.
And now here was this man, this stranger cloaked in shadows and secrets, who looked at her as if she wasn't invisible, as if he saw something she had forgotten even existed.
Her voice faltered as she asked, "Why me?"
The question slipped from her lips before she could catch it, soft and unguarded, carrying more vulnerability than she wanted him to hear.
Daemon didn't answer immediately. He simply regarded her, his dark eyes unblinking, his face unreadable in the shifting fog. Then, slowly, he leaned forward. The movement was subtle, but it pulled the air taut between them, like the tightening of a string before it snapped.
"Because sometimes," he said, his voice deep and deliberate, "the right person comes along, and there's no choice left—only fire."
The word burned in her ears, searing and dangerous. Fire. It carried with it the promise of destruction, of transformation, of a force no one could tame. She felt it coil inside her chest, hot and restless, sparking against her ribs. She didn't fully understand what he meant, not yet, but the intensity of the moment made her crave the answer, even if it scorched her.
The boat rocked once more, this time as it nudged against the far dock. The sound of wood scraping wood shattered the heavy silence, reminding her of where she was. Daemon stood first, his long coat brushing against his legs, his movements fluid, purposeful. He extended a hand toward her.
For a moment, Alina hesitated. Every instinct screamed for her to retreat, to pull away, to remind herself of the danger in stepping further into his world. But her hand betrayed her heart before her head could intervene. She placed it in his.
Warmth surged through her at the contact. Not gentle warmth—something sharper, alive, commanding. His grip wasn't tender, but it wasn't cruel either. It was certain. Certain in a way that terrified her.
He helped her onto the dock, his hand steadying her as she found her footing. The fog was thinner here, revealing the outline of a sleek, black car waiting at the edge of the pier. It gleamed even in the dim light, a shadow given form, its polished surface a stark contrast against the worn planks beneath her boots.
Daemon didn't speak as he guided her forward, but she felt his presence at her side, close enough to ignite her nerves, distant enough to remind her he was untouchable.
The driver's seat was empty. Daemon opened the back door with a quiet click, his eyes never leaving hers. A silent command lingered there. Without a word, Alina slipped inside. The leather swallowed her, cool and smooth, the air heavy with the faint scent of musk and smoke. The door shut behind her with a muted thud that sounded final, like the sealing of fate.
Daemon slid in beside her. The car came alive with the soft growl of the engine, vibrating through her bones. He didn't look at her at first. His gaze was fixed ahead, on the endless dark road unraveling before them.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice careful, even, though her chest tightened with curiosity.
His answer came without hesitation. "Somewhere you'll be safe… for now."
Her stomach twisted at the pause before the last words. For now. Temporary. Conditional. Safety in his world wasn't a promise—it was a fleeting reprieve, a moment borrowed before the storm.
Daemon's hand rested casually against the wheel, but the tension in his posture told her he was never truly at ease. "But understand this, Alina," he continued, his tone deepening, sharpening. "Safety is temporary in my world. Everything you think you know—about life, about control, about power—it's about to change."
Alina's breath caught. The words weren't a threat. They weren't even a warning. They were a prophecy.
Her gaze slid to him, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the unwavering focus in his eyes, the quiet strength radiating from every movement. He looked like a man carved from stone, but the fire in him was undeniable, burning beneath the surface.
Her fingers tightened against her lap, nails digging into her palm. Fear coiled inside her, yes—but so did excitement. And something else she dared not name.
She turned her face toward the window, but her reflection stared back at her, illuminated by the faint glow of passing streetlights. She barely recognized herself—the girl who once measured her worth by the approval of others, now sitting in a stranger's car, heart racing, drawn to danger she couldn't walk away from.
Her life had changed the moment she stepped onto that boat. The girl she had been—the obedient daughter, the perfect heiress—was already fading into the mist behind her.
What stretched ahead was a road into the unknown.
And for the first time, Alina realized she didn't want to go back.