The door slammed behind her with a metallic clang that echoed down her spine.
Diana stood frozen in the middle of Damien's war room, her skin still tingling from his touch, her lips raw from the kiss they hadn't meant to share.
"What now?" she whispered.
Damien turned his back to her, jaw clenched, shoulders rigid.
"You wanted to know who I am," he said. "Now you do. Don't expect mercy."
"I didn't ask for mercy," she replied, softer than she meant.
"Good."
He turned back, and the look in his eyes was unrecognizable.
Something between lust and loathing.
"You don't get to leave again," he said. "Not without my permission. Not even for air."
She frowned. "You can't—"
"I can. And I will."
He stepped closer.
"You saw too much. Now you belong to me more than ever."
Her breath caught. "So I'm your… prisoner?"
He tilted his head, a cruel smile twitching at his lips.
"No, sweetheart."
His fingers brushed her cheek.
"You're my pet."
**
Claiborne tried to protest when he had her things moved into the chamber adjoining his bedroom.
But one look from Damien silenced her.
Diana's new "room" had no locks, no privacy, no curtains.
Just a bed… and surveillance.
Two guards were stationed outside.
Always.
She didn't cry.
Not this time.
Not when she saw her schoolbooks replaced with books on criminal law and espionage.
Not when Claiborne whispered, "You need to play smart now, Diana. Stop testing him."
She didn't cry.
She didn't speak much either.
She just watched.
And waited.
**
Meanwhile, Cassie burned.
Not just with jealousy—but with fury.
"Did you think humiliating me would fix her?" she barked at Rhys during their secret meet-up. "He's chained her tighter now."
"She went to the greenhouse," Rhys said, amused. "She's doubting him. That's all we need."
Cassie's smile curved like a blade. "Let her doubt. Let her choke on the truth."
"And then what?" Rhys asked. "You think he'll ever take you back?"
Cassie's face hardened. "No. But if I can't have him, I'll make sure no one else can."
**
Diana noticed the first crack in Damien's armor three nights later.
She heard him scream.
Not loudly.
But enough.
She peeked from the open crack in the connecting door and saw him twisted in bedsheets, soaked in sweat, his fists clenched as if he were punching ghosts.
She crept closer.
His mouth moved.
One word. Over and over.
"Stop. Stop. Stop."
When he woke up, she was at the door.
Watching.
"Do you always scream in your sleep?" she asked coldly.
He didn't reply.
"Or was tonight special?"
He sat up, bare chest heaving, hair wild.
"Leave."
"No."
He blinked at her.
"No?" he repeated.
She stepped in, crossing the room like a shadow.
"I'm tired of being afraid of you," she said. "So let's make a deal."
He scoffed. "You're in no position—"
"I am exactly in the right position," she cut in. "You want me close? Fine. Then stop playing God and talk to me like I'm not just another doll you're dressing in fear."
He stared at her.
And for the first time… didn't fight back.
"I have nightmares," he said flatly. "Want a gold star?"
"No. Just honesty."
He looked away.
"You're the first person to ever see that," he said. "Enjoy your prize."
Her heart twisted.
She hated how human he looked in that moment.
She hated that she didn't hate him enough.
**
The next morning, she found a key on her pillow.
No note.
Just a key.
She held it for hours.
Was it to test her?
To see if she'd run?
Or was it… an invitation?
When she finally tried it, it didn't open any door she knew.
But it opened a drawer in the study.
Inside—old photos.
Damien. As a boy.
With another man.
His father?
No. His brother.
Same eyes.
Same jaw.
But softer.
And beside that—
A newspaper clipping.
> Prominent billionaire family covered up suspected homicide. Teen heir refuses comment after tragedy.
Her stomach dropped.
The brother was Rhys.
The one who vanished from the news after age seventeen.
She put the clipping back and shut the drawer.
Her fingers trembled.
Suddenly, everything felt more dangerous.
This wasn't just about power.
It was about history.
And blood.
And a past Damien would rather destroy than speak of.
**
That night, Damien came to her.
No threats. No orders.
Just silence.
And one sentence:
"You should've run."
She met his gaze.
"But I didn't."
Something flickered behind his eyes.
"You're either brave," he said, voice low.
"Or stupid."
She nodded. "Maybe both."
He stepped closer.
Too close.
"I'll break you if you stay," he warned.
Her breath hitched.
"Then break me."
She wasn't sure who leaned in first.
But their lips collided like thunder—violent, raw, punishing.
She clawed at his shirt.
He grabbed her like she was oxygen.
And they fell into the fire again.
Not as enemies.
Not even as lovers.
But as two broken things pretending they were whole.
**
And across the estate, in a dark corner of the surveillance room…
Cassie watched the footage.
And smiled.
"You poor little fool," she whispered to Diana's reflection.
"Fall harder."
"Because when he burns you…"
"I'll be the one lighting the match."