Chapter 3
Damon's POV
Two years.
Two agonizing, years of waking up every morning with her name on my tongue and falling asleep every night with the same empty ache in my chest.
Elena Marie. My Elena.
She hadn't just left me. She had vanished. No goodbye, no note, not even a scream of rage to mark the end of us. One moment, she was mine, my anchor, my fire and the next, she was gone like smoke scattered by the wind.
I tore apart cities, bribed detectives, threatened anyone who dared to claim they didn't know where she'd gone. I burned bridges and bled millions, only to find nothing. It was as if she'd been erased from the earth.
And now here she was. Standing beneath the crystal chandeliers of the gala like a ghost made flesh.
The moment I saw her across the crowded ballroom, my lungs forgot how to work. I knew it was her.
Her hair was darker, her face sharper, her body carrying itself with a dangerous new kind of grace. Subtle changes, expertly done, as if she'd been sculpted anew by the hands of an artist.
To anyone else, she was a stranger. Not to me. She couldn't erase the tiny crescent-shaped birthmark on the inside of her left wrist. I saw it when she reached for a champagne, her sleeve slipping back just enough. That mark had once been my favorite secret, a place I'd kissed a hundred times while she laughed and told me I was ridiculous.
The room spun around me, voices fading into nothing. It was her. My Elena.
My fingers curled around my glass so tightly. Rage and relief warred inside me, a hurricane I could barely contain. She had left me broken, and now she dared to waltz back into my world as if nothing had happened?.
I didn't go to her immediately. I watched. Studied. She moved through the crowd with poise she never used to have. Every tilt of her head, every soft laugh, every carefully measured glance,it was calculated. She was playing a part, just as I had spent years mastering mine.
Why? If she wanted to return, why not simply come to me? Why hide behind a new face and a false persona?
She thought she was clever. She thought I wouldn't see her. I smiled to myself. Let her play her game. I would play mine better.
I crossed the room slowly, until I stood before her.
"Forgive me," I said, my voice carefully neutral, "but… have we met before?"
Her gaze lifted to mine, and for a split second, something raw flickered there,recognition, panic. Then it was gone, smothered beneath a mask of polite indifference.
"I don't believe so," she said, her tone light, unfamiliar.
Liar.
My blood heated at the casual dismissal. She thought she could erase me with a single, practiced smile?
I leaned in just enough that only she could hear. Close enough to catch the faint trace of her perfume, the same one she used to wear when she curled against me in bed.
Her breath hitched. Small, but there. The reaction she tried to smother. She still felt me, whether she wanted to or not.
I straightened, outwardly composed, though my heart was a roaring beast inside my chest, clawing to get out.
"You look… familiar," I said, even though I knew damn well who she already was.
"People often say that," she replied, taking another sip of her glass. "I must have one of those faces."
My chest tightened, a sharp pang I buried beneath steel. God, she was good.
"And you are?". I asked, feigning polite curiosity even as my pulse thundered.
There was a pause. Then with a small, knowing smile, she said, "Elena."
The name hit me like a blade, twisting in my chest, but I masked it beneath an unreadable expression.
"Elena," I repeated, tasting her name like it was both poison and salvation.
The corner of her mouth lifted. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Blackwood."
For a moment, I simply stared at her, trying to piece together the puzzle of her presence. My Elena.
Then, to my own surprise, I laughed a dark, disbelieving sound that tasted like ash in my throat.
"You have no idea," I murmured, almost to myself. No idea what I went through when you left.
She tilted her head, feigning curiosity. "Pardon?"
My gaze snapped back to hers, sharp and focused. I smoothed my expression into the mask I wore better than anyone. "It's nothing," I said smoothly. Nothing she needed to know. Not yet.
Then, after a beat, I added, "May I buy you a drink?"
She glanced at the glass of champagne in her hand. "It seems I already have one."
"Then perhaps I can offer you something stronger," I said finally.
She hesitated, her gaze sharp.
Then, to my satisfaction, she nodded once. "Why not?"
Victory burned through me like fire. One step back into my orbit. One step closer to the truth.
________________________________________
Later that night, I didn't sleep. I sat in the darkness of my penthouse, staring at the city below while memories of her shredded me from the inside out. Two years I had bled for her absence. I'd told myself she would come back. She never did. She cut me out of her life completely, like I'd been nothing.
The thought made my jaw clench until it ached. She had broken me once. And now she was back, beautiful, dangerous, and mine to unravel piece by piece.
The next evening, when she arrived at my penthouse, I was ready.
She played her part perfectly,cool detachment, polite smiles. But every so often, when she thought I wasn't looking, I caught the flicker of something in her eyes.
As we dined, I fed her questions like baited hooks, letting her spin her lies while I watched, amused. She didn't notice the way my gaze lingered on her wrist, where that tiny crescent birthmark betrayed her.
God, how many times had I kissed that mark? How many times had she laughed when I told her it was my favorite part of her?
The urge to grab her hand and press my lips to it burned like fire, but I forced myself to wait. Patience.
By the end of the evening, she was flushed from the wine, her guard lowered just enough. When I suggested a drive through the city, she agreed.
As we cruised past skyscrapers and shadowed alleyways, I turned to her and held her hand. Her shoulders stiffened. I brushed my fingers against her wrist, directly over the birthmark. She froze, her breath catching.
There you are, I thought savagely. My Elena. My runaway queen.
Out loud, I only said, "Tomorrow night. Let me take you out again."
She hesitated just long enough to make me ache, then gave me a small, enigmatic smile.
"We'll see."
When she left, I stood at the window watching her retreating form, my hands curled into fists. She could run, she could lie, she could pretend. But I had found her again.
And this time, I wasn't letting her go.