I woke up with pain on my throat and my shoulder, tangled in the same clothes I'd arrived in. Miraculously, they were dry now, like some small miracle in this cursed place but still heavy with the scent of whatever this mansion wanted to claim as "home." My body ached, but my brain screamed louder: 'get out.'
The door clicked. Unlocking, Luisa appeared like a shadow slipping in, her face neutral. She gestured silently, and I followed her downstairs. The dining room looked normal enough: polished wood, gleaming cutlery, the kind of place where wealthy people pretend to eat without tasting anything. But I didn't care about that. I didn't care about the bread, the eggs, the steaming coffee they offered. I didn't touch a thing. My stomach knotted, not with hunger, but with defiance.
Damian's stormy presence swept in, dark and sudden, and his gaze locked on me like a predator spotting prey that refused to kneel. "Why aren't you changing your clothes?" His voice controlled, but threaded with fury. Every word struck like glass against bone.
I didn't flinch. "I don't feel like it," I said bluntly, folding my arms. My tone sharp. Every syllable a provocation.
His lips twitched not with humor, but with that kind of dark, dangerous amusement that made me want to simultaneously run and throw something at his face. "You will," he growled, the promise behind it more terrifying than the threat.
"I'm fine," I snapped, voice steady even as my chest thudded. "I need some fresh air."
Damian's eyes flicked up from his glass of whiskey, a dark storm brewing behind that calm exterior. He leaned back against the marble counter, watching me like a hawk that's already decided its prey's fate.
"Fresh air?" he repeated, as if the words themselves offended him.
My palms were clammy, but I held his stare. I wasn't going to flinch. Not in front of him.
He swirled his drink once, the ice clinking sharply in the silence. Then, he set the glass down with slow, deliberate precision. "You can go," he said voice smooth as smoke but every syllable curled with warning.
My pulse missed it's step
"Two of my men will go with you," he added, his tone hardening.
"If you try to run, Lyra…" He tilted his head, his lips curving into that cruel half-smile that made my stomach twist. "I'll kill you myself."
His threat arrived like a draft from an open grave winding it's way up my back with the touch of a dead man's fingers. It settled deep against my bone, a freezing weight that promised to drag me under if I dared to flinch.
I swallowed a hard lump, nodding once. "Got it."
The chair scraped back, a harsh, sudden sound in the silent room and then he was on his feet, moving toward me like a storm front. He didn't stop until I was to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
The scent of his cologne washed over me suffocatingly elegant.His fingers trailed behind my ear with with a tenderness that felt like a threat in disguise.
"Don't test me." he warned, he didn't even wait for my response, he simply walked away, leaving nothing but the echo of his footsteps and the lingering scent of danger.
The two guards followed me outside, shadows in black.
The air hit me like freedom a crisp chill brushing against my skin. I exhaled shakily, realizing how long I'd been holding my breath. The house loomed behind me, a fortress of glass and stone perched high on a hill overlooking Los Angeles. From up here, the city looked almost unreal silver lights scattered across the dark like spilled diamonds. The wind carried the faint hum of traffic, far, far below.
It should've been beautiful, but all I saw was a cage with a view.
I walked along the edge of the driveway, my eyes scanning the property. The gate was at the bottom of the long, sloping path massive, black, and guarded. Still, it was a gate. And a gate meant a way out.
One of the guards broad shoulders, buzz cut, the kind who looked like he ate concrete for breakfast cleared his throat. "Don't go too far, miss."
I smiled tightly. "Wouldn't dream of it."
My heart was a live wire. Every step felt rehearsed. I was pretending to take in the view, pretending not to be counting distances, timing movements, memorizing exits.
Then I heard it the low rumble of an engine.
The gate began to open.
A sleek black car rolled in, headlights cutting through the fog. My pulse jumped. This was it. My one chance. I didn't think. I just moved.
The first guard reached for me, but I spun fast, ramming my elbow into his ribs. He grunted, stumbling back. The other lunged, and I kicked hard right where it counted. His groan was strangled, his body folding as he dropped to his knees.
I didn't look back. My legs flew down the hill, gravel crunching beneath my boots, lungs burning. The gate was still open. Almost there, almost….
BANG!
A gunshot split the air.
I froze.
The bullet whizzed past my ear, close enough that I felt the sting of displaced air. My knees buckled, breath ripping out of me.
"Stop!" a voice thundered behind me.
They dragged me back up the hill like I was weightless, my body thrashing, lungs aching from the run and the terror. The mansion loomed ahead, all glass and shadows and the kind of silence that came before storms. And there he was.
Damian..
Standing at the top of the steps, eyes like a blade's edge, fury bleeding from every line of him.
"Put her down." he demanded.
His voice was slow and dangerous. The kind that didn't need to be loud to silence a room.
The guard obeyed instantly, dropping me to the ground. My knees hit stone.
"You let her slip away?" Damian's voice snapped through the air, a whip of sound that made the others flinch.
No one answered.
That was their mistake. Before I could blink, before I could even process what was happening he raised his gun.
Two shots…
Bang!
Bang!
Qick and merciless.
The sound shattered the air. My scream tangled with it raw, too human for a place like this.
I stumbled back, falling to the cold marble, my hands flying to my ears. My heart was a wild drum, beating against bone like it was trying to break free. The metallic sting of gunpowder clawed at my throat; the air tasted sharp, and burnt.
Something warm dotted my cheeks, my clothes, my skin.
It hit me all at once, what had just happened?
My breath came in short, jagged bursts. My stomach twisted. Tears blurred my vision, streaking hot down my face. I wanted to run, to undo it all, but all I could do was shake.
"Come and clean this mess up," Damian said, voice controlled as if he hadn't just pulled the trigger.
More guards appeared, black suits and polished boots, their earpieces glinting under the pale sun. They moved with eerie synchronization efficient, silent, like shadows trained not to think, only to obey.
They stepped past me without even a glance, lifting the fallen bodies with mechanical precision.
Like it was nothing.
I stayed where I'd fallen on the ground, knees scraped, tears streaking down my face. My hands clamped over my ears, trying to block out the world, the gunfire echo still alive in my skull. My whole body trembled, my heart a wild animal trapped in a cage made of bone and fear.
"Take her to her room," Damian's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "And make sure she doesn't set one foot outside again."
Two guards moved toward me. Their grips were firm, cold, unyielding as they pulled me upright. My legs felt useless, heavy. I stumbled, head spinning, barely processing the marble staircase that stretched ahead.
And then his hand stopped me.
It closed around my arm, halting me mid-step. His grip was steel, a warning wrapped in human touch.
He leaned in close, his breath a whisper of danger against my cheek. "You try to escape again…" His tone was calm and that was the terrifying part. "....your body will be next."
Something inside me snapped.
Before I could think, before I could stop myself, I spit right in his face.
The world froze.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then his lips curled not in anger. It was worse, a slow, cruel smirk that promised retribution.
His hand shot up, fingers digging into my jaw as he tilted my face up toward him. His control was terrifyingly effortless, his proximity suffocating.
"Brave," he murmured, voice soft enough to be a threat. "But not smart enough."
I gasped, trying to pull back, but his grip tightened. Air turned to glass in my lungs. My pulse hammered against his hold, the edges of my vision blurring.
"Damian,that's enough."
The voice came from somewhere behind him.Calm in a way that didn't need to be loud.
Damian froze.
For a split second, his eyes flicked toward the newcomer. I could barely make out the shape of a man in the shadows tall, composed, hands casually tucked in his pockets like he'd just walked into a boardroom instead of a crime scene.
I couldn't see his face clearly through the blur of tears, but I felt the weight of his presence. Authority, a power that even Damian seemed to respect.
Damian released me.
The sudden freedom sent me stumbling backward, coughing, clutching at my throat as I tried to drag air into my lungs. My knees buckled, and one of the guards caught me before I hit the floor. My breath came out in ragged gasps, tears burning down my cheeks as I fought to steady myself.
"Take her to her room," Damian said again, but this time his voice had shifted still dark, but edged with something colder. "Make sure you lock it."
I didn't look back. I couldn't. My legs moved on autopilot, guided by the guards' grip as they half-carried me up the stairs.
Behind me, the sound came sharp and violent. The crack of something breaking. Then another glass and metal. Dante's rage tearing through the room, destroying everything in his reach.
Each crash made me flinch. Each sound was a reminder that I was still alive in the same house as him.
By the time we reached the top of the staircase, my entire body was trembling. The hallway stretched long and dim, lit only by a few wall sconces that flickered like nervous candlelight. My throat burned; every swallow hurt. My heart hadn't stopped racing since the moment he raised that gun.
The guards didn't speak. They opened the door and ushered me in like a prisoner, and stepped back without meeting my eyes.