The morning began like any other—Damien at the head of the breakfast table, Diana under the silent watch of two guards, and Claiborne pretending not to hear the unspoken tension between them.
But when Damien set his coffee cup down, his eyes locked on hers with a new kind of intensity.
"Get dressed. We're leaving."
She blinked. "Leaving?"
"You've been climbing the walls," he said. "Consider this… fresh air."
Her first instinct was suspicion. "Why now?"
His mouth curved faintly. "Maybe I'm feeling generous."
The look in his eyes said it was anything but generosity.
---
Twenty minutes later, she was in the back seat of one of Damien's black cars, the tinted windows turning the outside world into a blur.
Claiborne drove, Damien beside her, his arm stretched along the seat back—a casual position that somehow still felt like a claim.
They didn't speak until the city skyline appeared.
She caught the faintest smile on Damien's lips as if the world beyond his gates was nothing more than his playground.
"Where are we going?" she asked finally.
"You'll see."
---
The car stopped outside an exclusive gallery—glass, steel, and whispers of old money.
Damien's hand found hers before she could step out.
"Stay close," he said.
She almost laughed. "Because of the art thieves?"
His gaze cut to hers. "Because I said so."
---
Inside, the space was quiet, echoing with the faint sound of classical music.
Diana trailed him through halls lined with pieces worth more than she could imagine.
She almost forgot to be wary—until she saw her.
Cassie.
Leaning against a marble column in a crimson dress that clung like sin, a glass of champagne in her hand.
Her smile was slow, deliberate.
"Fancy seeing you here," Cassie purred.
Damien's body went still beside her. "Leave."
Cassie's eyes glittered. "But I haven't even said hello to your little… pet."
Diana's spine stiffened, but before she could reply, the lights in the gallery flickered—once, twice—before going out completely.
Darkness swallowed them whole.
---
The first sound was the crash of glass.
Then voices—low, urgent—moving fast in the dark.
A hand gripped Diana's arm.
For a split second, she thought it was Damien.
But when the lights flashed back to life, she was staring into Rhys's face.
"Time to go," he whispered.
---
Her breath caught. "What are you doing here?"
"Saving you," Rhys said. His eyes flicked over her shoulder. "Unless you'd rather stay with him."
She glanced back—Damien was shoving a man in black against the wall, his expression pure violence.
His gaze found hers across the chaos, and something sharp passed between them.
Run.
Or stay.
Her choice would change everything.