Chapter Nine
The instant the car door closed behind me, I realized I had made a mistake.
A big one.
Next to me, Damien sat quietly, his body filling the cramped space like a storm ready to erupt.
The air hung charged and thick, like something might snap between us.
I shifted uncomfortably, running my hands on my dress's silk. "Aren't you going to tell me where we're going?"
There was no immediate answer from Damien.
Instead, he grabbed a crystal decanter at the mini-bar, canning himself a drink. He took the glass to his mouth and sipped slowly and the rich aroma of whiskey filled the air before he finally lifted his head as he spoke.
"I'm going to take you somewhere private."
My stomach twisted. Private?
I looked at the window, and the city lights blurred. "Why?"
Damien cocked his head, his blue eyes shimmering beneath the soft light of the car's interior. "Because I don't like conversations left undone."
I swallowed hard.
He kept trying to elicit answers from me.
I made a sharp exhale and brought my arms up. "There's nothing to discuss."
Damien smirked. "And yet, you're here."
My jaw tightened.
He was right, again.
I should have left the gala hell alone. I should have said no to getting in the car with him.
But I didn't.
And now, it was too late.
I took a slow breath, pleading with my pulse to calm. "Where is this private place?
Damien sipped the whiskey slowly before answering.
"My penthouse."
My breath hitched.
I turned to him sharply. "No."
His smirk deepened. "Yes."
I clenched my fists. "That was not on the table."
Damien arched a brow. "And what deal would that be?"
I stumbled.
Because, in fact, there was no deal.
Thank you for ruling out our life, no guidelines, no pact, no holdout point for me to clutch.
Damien was leading this. Controlling it.
And I was following.
I hated that realization.
I gasped and pressed my back into the seat. "I just want to go home."
Damien's gaze didn't waver. "You will."
I frowned. "When?"
His lips curved slightly. "When I decide you're ready."
My stomach flipped.
I was never certain if it was fear, frustration or something much more pernicious.
But one thing was certain: I was trapped.
Damien's Penthouse
I made the elevator ride to Damien's penthouse in silence.
Tense.
My pulse tinged in my ears as I arrived into his world—his private world.
The space was stunning.
The city skyline framed by glass walls, twinkling New York lights against the inky night sky. The decor was sleek, modern, with black and gold accents, marble floors, expensive furniture.
It was cold.
Just like him.
I crossed my arms, forcing myself not to focus on how large the room was, how overwhelming.
Damien put his glass on the bar and untied his tie, looking at me. "Sit."
I lifted my chin. "I'll stand."
His smirk didn't fade. "Suit yourself."
He headed to the big floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the city.
"Who called you, Elena?"
I stiffened.
We were back to this.
I exhaled sharply. "I told you. No one is important."
Damien chuckled, slowly and amused. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
I clenched my jaw. "No."
"Then stop insulting me."
His voice had changed.
The lazy amusement, the playful smirk, was no more.
But there was a harder edge in his tone then. Colder.
He looked over at me, his blue eyes as sharp as a blade.
"I'm not fond of secrets, Elena."
My breath caught.
Because I knew what he was actually saying.
I don't like being lied to.
I dug my fingers into the fabric of my dress. "Then maybe you shouldn't be sticking your nose in places it doesn't belong."
Damien's jaw ticked.
Then he was in front of me in two slow strides.
Too close.
My heart skipped.
His fingers grazed my jaw, gentle, but steady.
"Everything about you is on my mind now," he whispered.
I swallowed hard.
Damien's touch was too much, his presence too consuming, his scent too intoxicating.
I should have stepped back.
I should have shoved him off of me.
But I didn't.
Because, deep down…
I wasn't sure if I wanted to.
His thumb glided over my cheek, slowly and deliberate.
"Tell me, Elena," he said quietly. "Who are you running from?"
My pulse pounded.
I couldn't answer.
Because if I opened up, if I let Damien inside, he'd never let go.
I exhaled shakily. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Damien's grip on my jaw tightened.
And then, suddenly, deliberately — he tilted up my chin and forced my eyes to his.
"I'll find out," he murmured.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Damien meant it.
He would dig.
He would uncover everything.
And when he finally learned the truth about Liam…
I didn't know who to be more afraid of, my stepbrother.
Or of the man literally standing in front of me.
Gases were pooling between us.
Damien's fingers held my jaw still, his touch a silent demand. A silent challenge.
He was waiting.
Waiting for me to break.
Waiting for me to give my secrets away like I was just another deal to be brokered.
I willed my breath to calm, my heart to slow. "Let go of me."
Damien didn't move.
His blue eyes remained focused on me, assessing me, reading me.
Then — finally — his fingers relaxed, his touch releasing.
But he didn't step back.
He didn't give me space.
It was just him standing there, still present, still dangerous.
The skin burned where he'd touched me.
I took a plodding step back, creating the distance I desperately needed between us. "This is insane."
Damien's lips curled. "Is it?"
I exhaled sharply. "What did you drag me here for? To interrogate me?"
His smirk didn't fade. "You came willingly."
I scowled. "You gave me no choice."
Damien sipped his whiskey carefully, peering at me over the rim of his glass. "You always have a choice, Elena.
My stomach twisted.
I resented that he had me second guessed myself.
Hated that he always twisted my words to use against me, questioning my own decisions.
I folded my arms. "Well, I'm making one now. I'm leaving."
I turned toward the elevator.
But before I could move, Damien's voice froze me in my tracks.
"Liam Carter."
I froze.
My blood turned to ice.
I couldn't breathe.
Slowly, slowly, I returned to look at him. "What did you just say?"
Damien's gaze didn't waver. "That's his name, isn't it?"
My fingers dug into my arms. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Damien chuckled. But it wasn't amusing.
It was dark. Knowing.
"Liam Carter," he repeated, swirling his whiskey around in the glass. "Your stepbrother."
A searing pain shot through my chest.
How did he know?
I shook my head, forcing my face to stay neutral. "You're mistaken."
Damien cocked his head, his eyes shining like a cat who had cornered its prey.
"I don't make mistakes."
I swallowed hard.
He was watching me too closely, hunting for every crack, every weakness.
I had to stay calm.
I lifted my chin. "I don't know what you think you know but —"
Damien moved.
Fast.
Before I could respond, he was at my front, his body pushing into mine.
My breath hitched.
I attempted to step back, but my back hit the wall.
Trapped.
I was trapped.
Damien's hands pressed into the wall beside my head, pinning me in.
His breath was warm on my skin, his smell a blend of expensive whiskey and something so, so male.
He was too close.
Too overwhelming.
His voice was low, but it tightened around me like a vice.
"You're trying to run away from him, aren't you?"
I sucked in a sharp breath.
I should have denied it.
I was supposed to laugh it off, pretend it didn't matter.
But my body betrayed me.
My fingers trembled. My pulse raced.
And Damien saw it.
His mouth twisted into something darkly triumphant.
"I knew it."
A shiver ran down my spine.
I couldn't do this.
I had spent years hiding my past, locking it up where no one could touch it.
And now, a few days later, Damien Blackwood was ripping through my walls like they were paper.
I bit down hard, willing my face to go blank. "It doesn't matter."
Damien's gaze darkened. "It does."
I swallowed. "Why?"
Silence.
A long, heavy silence.
Then finally, his voice lowered.
"Because I defend what's mine."
My breath caught.
My body froze.
Mine.
The word shot a bolt of heat through me, a twist in my stomach that was something sinister.
I exhaled sharply. "I'm not yours."
Damien's smirk deepened, and his eyes became smoldering embers.
"Not yet."
My pulse skittered.
I couldn't do this.
I had to get out of here.
My hands slammed against the solid wall of muscle beneath his suit as I shoved at his chest.
To my surprise, he let me go.
I stumbled back, gasping for breath.
"I'm not talking about this anymore," I said, snapping.
Damien didn't look fazed.
If anything, he looked more amused.
"Go, then."
I did something closer to scowling at him, my body vibrating with frustration.
When I spun on my heel and walked toward the elevator, my heels clicked on the floor.
But just as I was about to reach for the button, Damien said one last thing.
"Liam's not going to stop coming for you."
I stiffened.
I hovered my finger above the button.
Damien's voice dropped lower. Darker.
"And when he does, Elena…"
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding.
"…I'll be waiting."
I clicked the button and would not look back.
The doors slid open, and I stepped into the room, my chest tight.
As soon as the doors snapped shut behind me, cutting me off from Damien Blackwood, I exhaled shakily.
He knew.
He knew.
And now there was no stopping him.