LEAH POV
The elevator doesn't fall.
It pretends to.
That's worse.
There's a violent shake—metal screaming against itself—then a stop so abrupt it knocks the air from my lungs. I'm thrown forward again, but this time Damian is already moving, already braced.
His arm wraps around my back, solid and relentless, pulling me flush against him. For half a second, I forget how to breathe.
Not because of fear.
Because of him.
Then the elevator goes still.
My cheek is pressed to his chest. I can hear his heartbeat—slow, controlled, like he's forcing it to behave. I should move.
I don't.
"You okay?" he asks quietly, his mouth close to my hair.
"I think so," I say, though my legs feel weak. "Did we… drop?"
"No," he replies. "We slipped."
"That's not comforting."
"I know."
The red emergency light flickers again, weaker than before, carving his face into shadows that make him look sculpted instead of born.
I pull back reluctantly. "So what now?"
"Now we wait," he says. "And we stay calm."
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "I don't think calm is an option anymore."
He turns back to the control panel, pressing buttons that offer nothing in return.
"This elevator should've reset by now," he says softly.
"Should've?" I repeat. "That's not a phrase I like hearing."
He looks at me. "Do you want the truth, or do you want comfort?"
I hesitate, then straighten. "Truth."
"This isn't a normal malfunction."
My stomach drops. "You already said that."
"Yes," he says. "And I meant it."
The elevator creaks above us, a long, drawn-out groan that sends goosebumps down my arms.
"How long do you think we'll be here?" I ask.
He exhales slowly. "Hours. Possibly longer."
"Hours?" My voice pitches higher than I want. "I have an interview."
He turns fully toward me. "With who?"
"HartTech."
Something flickers across his face—gone before I can catch it.
"What position?" he asks.
"Writer. Content. Internal communications." I lift my folder. "I need this job."
He studies me in a way that makes me feel both seen and assessed.
"You won't miss it," he says finally.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
There's something in his voice—confidence edged with authority. I want to challenge it, but something tells me not to. Silence settles between us.
"So," I say after a moment, "if we're going to be trapped together, we should probably set some rules."
"Rules?" His voice echoes faintly.
"Yes. Like… no screaming unless we're actually dying."
"That's reasonable."
"And no lying."
He pauses.
"That one might be difficult," he says carefully.
I frown. "Why?"
"Because people lie without meaning to."
I study him closely. "That sounds like wisdom from experience."
"Everything I say comes from experience."
The elevator hums softly, then goes quiet again. My chest tightens.
"Damian?"
"Yes."
"Stay where I can see you."
He doesn't argue. He lowers himself to the floor, back against the wall, long legs stretched out. After a moment, I sit across from him, knees pulled close. The space feels intimate. Too intimate. The red light makes it worse.
"Tell me something true," I say.
"About what?"
"About you."
He considers me for a long moment.
"I don't trust easily," he says.
"That's it?"
"No," he adds. "But it's a start."
I nod. "My turn?"
"If you want."
"I'm not actually a waitress," I say.
One corner of his mouth lifts. "I guessed that."
"Rude."
"You don't carry yourself like someone who thinks small."
The words hit harder than they should.
Before I can respond, the elevator jerks again—harder this time. The emergency light flashes wildly, then steadies, dimmer than before. I reach for him without thinking.
He lets me.
DAMIAN POV
Leah grips my wrist, her fingers warm, trembling slightly. She's scared—but refusing to show it. I don't pull away, even though I probably should. Being this close makes clear thinking difficult.
But something about her—the way she watches, the way she listens—makes silence feel dishonest.
"This elevator was serviced last week," I say.
She blinks. "How would you know that?"
"I pay attention."
"That's not an answer."
I meet her gaze. "Someone doesn't want this elevator moving."
Her grip tightens. "Are you saying this was on purpose?"
"Yes."
The word lands heavily between us.
"Why?" she whispers.
I don't answer right away. Because once I say it out loud, it becomes real.
"Because I was supposed to be somewhere else right now," I say finally.
Her eyes sharpen. "Where?"
"A board meeting."
Something clicks for her.
"You're important," she says.
"Enough."
She studies me more closely now. "You're not just an employee here, are you?"
"No."
"Are you—"
The elevator emits a long, low creak, almost like a warning. Leah shudders and moves closer. I steady her, my hand firm against her back.
"Whatever happens," I say quietly, "I won't let you get hurt."
She looks up at me, eyes wide. "You can't promise that."
"I can," I say. "And I don't make promises lightly."
The emergency light flashes once—
Then dies.
Darkness swallows us whole.
Leah inhales sharply, her fingers digging into my sleeve.
"Damian," she breathes.
"I'm here."
The elevator drops another inch.
This time, I don't soften the truth.
"Leah," I say calmly, "if this system fails again—"
Above us, the cables stretch tight with a sharp, violent crack.
The elevator jerks.
And for the first time, I'm no longer certain I can keep that promise.