Damian’s POV

The door banged open so hard it rattled the frame, and my stomach was already tightening before I saw what my men had dragged in. Two of them, looking like kids caught with their hands in a till, half-hauling, half-shoving a chair between them.

I didn’t want to believe what I was seeing.

And then I did.

Elena.

Her head hung at an angle that made my gut twist. Strands of wet hair stuck to her cheek, her lips the kind of gray-pale you only see on people who’ve lost too much. The bottom of her shirt was soaked dark where the blood had spread, creeping out like ink. Not enough to be dead yet. Enough to make the room feel airless.

My jaw went hard.

“What the hell is this?” My voice cracked out before I could think.

They froze. Still gripping the chair like it might save them. One stared at the floor. The other swallowed so loud I heard it.

“You bring her to me like this?” I moved toward them, every step a drumbeat. “Tied up? Like she’s some stray dog?”

“She…she collapsed on the street, boss,” one stammered. “We thought”

“You thought?” I spun on him. He actually stepped back. “You thought binding her like this was smart? Look at her.” I pointed at her hands, tied so tight the marks were angry purple against her skin. “Does she look like a threat to you?”

“She’s not… she’s not our priority,” the other muttered, low but not low enough.

I heard it.

The words landed like a punch.

Not our priority.

I leaned in, slow, until my shadow swallowed his face. “Listen to me carefully,” I said, quieter than a whisper but sharper than a blade. “If she so much as coughs blood and dies in this house, I’ll feed you both to the dogs. Piece by piece.”

They nodded, jerky, eyes wide.

“Out,” I snapped.

They didn’t need telling twice. The chair rocked when they let go and bolted, leaving me alone with her.

Elena.

For a second I just stared. She was breathing, but barely. Skin clammy, pulse weak under my fingers when I crouched down. Her face turned a little toward the light and something inside me twisted ugly.

“Fuck,” I muttered, almost under my breath.

I hadn’t pictured it like this.

Keep her alive. Keep her contained. That had been the plan.

But now bones pushing against too-thin skin, shadows under her eyes something heavy settled in my chest, and it pissed me off.

I wasn’t supposed to feel this.

I dragged a hand down my face, pacing once, twice. Anger was easier. Anger was safe.

I turned back, forcing my voice to go hard, like metal in my mouth. “Don’t flatter yourself, Elena. I don’t care about you.” My hand curled tight at my side. “You’re just… necessary. You get that? Necessary.”

Necessary for revenge. Necessary to break the people who broke me.

But even in my own ears the words were thin.

She groaned, faint, her head shifting. My chest pulled tight. She wasn’t conscious, not really, but her body was still fighting.

I cursed louder, yanking my phone from my pocket.

“Get the doctor,” I snapped when the line picked up. “Now. No excuses. Twenty minutes. If you’re late, you won’t have hands to work with. Clear?”

I hung up before he could answer.

The silence after was thicker.

I crouched again, elbows on my knees, staring at her trembling fingers. She looked like someone fighting ghosts. Maybe she was.

“Stupid girl,” I heard myself whisper. The words came out half-curse, half something else.

Her lips moved faintly, soundless. I leaned closer without thinking, holding my breath. Nothing. Just a broken exhale.

I jerked back, shaking my head. “Don’t do that,” I muttered. “Don’t make me think you matter.”

Because she couldn’t. She wasn’t supposed to.

And yet when her body slumped harder against the ropes, I couldn’t stand it. My hands moved before my mind caught up, untying the knots rougher than I meant.

The ropes dropped, leaving angry red ridges. I hissed through my teeth, fury spiking—at my men, at myself.

I brushed my thumb across one welt, barely a touch, then pulled back like it burned.

“Doctor’s coming,” I told her, though she couldn’t hear. My voice cracked anyway. “You’ll live. Not because I want you to. Because I need you to. That’s all.”

But even to me, it sounded like a lie.

The doctor arrived fifteen minutes later, panting. I didn’t do pleasantries. Just jerked my chin at her.

“Fix her,” I said. “No questions.”

He hesitated, eyes flicking between us. My glare cut the thought off.

“Yes, sir,” he muttered, kneeling.

I stood back, arms folded, watching as he cleaned the wound, checked her pulse, pushed a needle into her skin. Every little hiss she made scraped against something raw inside me.

When he finally said, “She’ll make it,” I just gave a short nod.

Good.

Necessary.

That’s all.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.