The safehouse was never meant to be permanent. Damian knew that. But he'd hoped for at least a night, a few stolen hours to breathe, to let Ava recover before the storm found them again.
He was wrong.
The first sound came as a whisper—tires crunching gravel outside, then silence. Damian's instincts flared, the same survival sense honed in shadows and blood. He grabbed Ava's wrist, pulling her from the sofa.
"Don't speak. Don't move," he murmured, his voice edged with steel.
Her eyes widened. "What is it?"
"They found us."
Before she could respond, the window shattered. A flash grenade clattered onto the floor. Damian yanked her down just as it erupted in a blinding burst. Ava gasped, ears ringing, but Damian's grip was steady, pulling her through the haze like he'd danced through chaos his entire life.
Three men in black stormed through the door, rifles raised.
Damian moved fast. Too fast. One second he was shielding Ava, the next he was a predator unleashed—slamming an elbow into the first intruder's jaw, twisting the gun from his hands, and firing before the man even hit the ground.
The other two faltered, but only for a breath.
"Stay behind me," Damian barked.
Ava pressed against the wall, heart racing, as gunfire tore through the safehouse. Splinters of wood and shards of glass rained down around them. She wanted to run, to scream, but her body refused. She could only watch Damian fight like a man who'd been living this double life forever.
With every strike, every shot, the truth became clearer: Damian Cross wasn't just a billionaire. He was a weapon.
He dropped the last attacker with brutal precision, the man collapsing into silence. Smoke curled through the broken window. The safehouse was ruined.
Ava's breath came in ragged gasps. "Oh my God…"
Damian turned, chest heaving, eyes sharp and unrelenting. For a moment, he looked more shadow than man. Then he crossed the room in two strides and gripped her shoulders.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, though her legs trembled beneath her. "No, but—Damian, they knew. How did they know where we were?"
His jaw clenched. "There's a leak."
The words hung heavy between them. Somewhere in his empire, someone had betrayed him.
He pulled out a small device from his jacket—a sleek black detonator. Ava's eyes widened.
"You're going to—"
"Burn it," he cut in. "We can't leave evidence behind."
He pressed a button, and a low rumble shook the ground as fire swallowed the safehouse. Flames licked up the walls, consuming everything. Ava flinched at the heat, but Damian didn't blink. He guided her through the back door, his hand firm around hers, not letting go until they were clear of the inferno.
They stopped beneath the cover of trees, the night alive with the roar of fire. Ava turned to him, her voice trembling. "This… this is your life? Running, fighting, burning everything down?"
Damian's expression was unreadable, shadows flickering across his face. "This is survival."
"And me?" she whispered. "Am I just another liability you'll burn down when the time comes?"
The question struck deeper than any bullet. For a heartbeat, Damian said nothing. Then, slowly, he lifted his hand, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. His touch was gentler than she expected, almost reverent.
"You're the only thing I can't burn, Ava," he said, voice low. "And that terrifies me."
Her chest tightened, torn between fear and something dangerously close to longing. Before she could answer, his phone buzzed—sharp, insistent.
He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening. "They're moving faster than I thought. We have to go. Now."
The fire raged behind them as Damian led her into the night, deeper into the shadows where both enemies and answers waited.