The elevator doors opened. Damian stepped inside. For a heartbeat, the world froze. He stared directly into the barrel of a gun. My heart pounded up into my throat, each breath sharp and jagged. Mason sat beside me, his grip brutal. Another man aimed his gun at my head, the cold metal inches away.
Damian’s gaze landed on Ference’s body. For a heartbeat, he went utterly still. Then something broke. Not loud, not visible-but I felt it. His eyes widened, as if the world had just split open in front of him. Every muscle in his face locked; pain and disbelief flashed through him, raw and violent, before his jaw tightened hard enough to tremble. His breath hitched. His hands shook-barely-but I saw it, And in that single, shattering second, I was afraid. Afraid he might lose control. Afraid he’d make one wrong move—one that could cost him everything.The man I loved, the man who could command a room with a glance, looked suddenly… human. Broken.
It wasn’t rage that froze him. It was grief. A deep, unbearable kind of grief that hollowed out the space between us. I wanted to run to him—to say I’m sorry, even though the words would have meant nothing. But before I could move, it happened.
Something shifted.The pain vanished behind a wall of steel. His fury iced over into deadly calm.When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but every word pulsed with restrained violence.
“Let her go.”
Mason grinned and pressed me harder into the couch.
“Or what?” he sneered, leaning closer. “If you move, little lioness, I’ll order my men to put a bullet in his head. Do you understand?” He yanked my hair until tears pricked my eyes. “Do. You. Understand.”
“Yes,” I stammered, trembling.
Mason’s hand slid down my body and shoved my dress upward until my underwear was exposed.
“I like black,” he murmured. “I’ll take my pleasure first—right in front of you, Damian. Then I’ll let my men have her.”
I turned my face toward Damian. His lips parted slightly, as if the air had been ripped from him. Fire blazed in his eyes—untamable, volcanic, ready to erupt. I knew he would risk everything, even his life, to get me out of here. And that terrified me.
“That’s low, even for you,” Damian spat.
Mason straightened, pulled himself from his pants, and stroked himself.
“Mason, I swear—I’ll kill you if you touch her!” Damian roared.
Mason grabbed me roughly, shoving me in front of him. I screamed and fought, but his grip was a vise.
“Be quiet,” he hissed, just as he ripped at my panties—when, at that exact moment, the elevator doors slid open.
Damian’s bodyguards stormed in, and chaos exploded. Gunshots cracked through the air. Men clashed in a blur of violence. I caught one last glimpse of Damian—moving with lightning speed.
With a swift, practiced motion, he tore the weapon from his opponent and struck him down with the butt. At the same instant, a bullet caught Karl, and he collapsed. Mason released me and pushed to his feet. Damian didn’t hesitate. Two to the chest, one to the head. Then silence learned a new shape. Mason crumpled, hitting the floor hard. Without a flicker of hesitation, Damian stood over his body and fired again. The gunshot shattered the silence, its echo ringing in my ears as the bullet tore into Mason’s corpse. Another shot followed. And another.
I froze, my breath lodged in my throat. It wasn’t the gunfire that paralyzed me—it was Damian himself. The effortless precision with which he held the weapon. The frost in his eyes. No pause. No hint of remorse. He moved as if this act were nothing. Routine. Part of his daily life. And deep inside, I felt it—the undeniable truth. This wasn’t Damian Miller’s first kill.
I tried to rise, but my knees buckled, the weight of reality crashing down. Damian’s gaze stayed icy, his movements steady, measured, as he lowered the gun like it was just a tool. Routine. Not his first kill. The coldness of it hit me harder than the gunfire itself. I had always known he was dangerous, but this was something else entirely. Another caliber.
He turned and fired again. A bodyguard staggered back, crying out before collapsing. Damian moved with a terrifying fluidity, as though violence lived in him—something he could summon at will. A chill raced through me.
I pushed myself upright on trembling legs, but the ground pitched beneath me while my eyes stayed locked on him. For a fleeting second, his gaze met mine. Then another shot cracked—another man dropped. And suddenly, the space between us stretched vast and unreachable, as though an invisible wall of shadow and ice had risen to divide us. Damian wasn’t only the controlled, magnetic man I thought I knew; he was also a man who killed without conscience.
The air thickened with screams, sweat, blood, and the acrid sting of gunpowder. I stumbled toward Ference and dropped to my knees beside him, but before I could reach for him, Damian yanked me back to my feet. I fought against him, but he hoisted me into his arms and carried me into his bedroom. Another gunshot rang out behind us.
“You stay in here!” he ordered, his voice hard.
“No, Damian!”
“You stay in here!” he barked again, slamming the door shut.
I crouched on the bed, every nerve screaming, praying with all I had that I’d wake from this nightmare.
Minutes later, the door opened. Damian stepped inside. “It’s over,” he said, pulling me into his arms and pressing a kiss to my hair. His hands cupped my cheeks, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry, Daisy.” He held me tight as the rising wail of police sirens sliced through the silence.
He said it was over—but the way he held me felt like a man who had just crossed a line he’d never come back from.
I stepped out of the shower, steam curling around me. The hot water had eased the tension in my muscles, but it couldn’t wash away the restless weight pressing on my chest. Wrapping a towel around my body, I moved into the bedroom and pulled clothes from the closet.
