Damian’s POV

Morning poured through the tall windows like a spill of molten gold. It cut across the rug in crooked shapes, catching on the edge of my desk. My jacket was off, coffee cold beside me, but I wasn’t looking at it.

I was watching her.

Elena pushed in quietly with a tray. No uniform now — I’d taken that from her. Just a loose dress from the stack I’d ordered. Loose, yes, but short enough that when she bent slightly, the hem shifted over her thighs like it was teasing me on purpose. Her hands were steady on the tray but her eyes weren’t. Red. Puffy. She’d been crying again.

It clung to her, that misery. And damn me, but a part of me liked it. Dark, ugly satisfaction.

“You’ve been busy,” I said. My voice came out calm, almost casual the kind of tone that makes men sweat.

The glass trembled before she managed to set it down. She didn’t answer.

I leaned back, studying her the way you’d study a puzzle with a missing piece. “Look at you. Puffy eyes. It suits you.” My mouth curved without humor. “Your suffering suits you.”

Her breath caught. She stared at the floor.

“Phone,” I said.

Her head lifted a little. “My…phone?”

“Yes.” A sharp edge slid into my tone. “Now.”

She fumbled in her pocket and handed it over like it was burning her. I unlocked it without effort. Clara’s name filled the screen, message after message. Nothing back. Just silence.

A dry, humorless laugh escaped me. “You’re pathetic,” I murmured. “Begging shadows to save you.”

Color rose in her cheeks. She looked away. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

I tossed the phone onto the desk and let the silence sit a moment before speaking again. “We’ve circled this long enough. You still haven’t told me the truth. And my patience…” I let the words fade. “…is running out.”

Her head snapped up. “I—I have told you—”

“Lies.” The word cracked out of me before I could stop it. I stood, slow and deliberate. My shadow fell over her, swallowing her smaller frame. “Do you think tears sway me? That trembling voice? Your theatrics? They mean nothing.”

Another lie. They meant more than I wanted to admit.

She broke then, knees hitting the carpet, clutching the desk like it might save her tears swimming down her face “Please,” she whispered. “I swear, I don’t know anything. I wasn’t sent for what you think…”

The sight of her like that should have disgusted me. Instead, it felt like a blade in my chest. Anger tangled with something I refused to name.

I crossed the space in two steps, my hand closing around her throat, pressing her back to the wall. Her breath stuttered, her fingers barely brushing my wrist. Not fighting, just fear.

“Listen to me,” I said, my voice low, a growl against her ear. “If I want the truth, I’ll carve it out of you myself…I will torture the truth of you, trust me I am not bluffing” My gaze dropped to the raw cut of her lip where my hand had marked her last night. A bitter laugh scraped out of me. “You haven’t healed from that yet.”

Her lashes fluttered, fresh tears spilling. A small sound left her, cracked and broken.

For one reckless second, I thought of kissing her. Not gently. Not kindly. Just claiming. I crushed the thought, shoved her back. She stumbled, gasping.

“Stay out of my sight until tomorrow morning,” I snapped. “Don’t come tonight. I’ll have company.”

I turned away, forcing her out of my head, but her presence hung in the air like smoke I couldn’t clear.

I picked up her phone again, thumb dragging over the screen. Clara had stolen her money. Left her to die. Threatened to kill her if she showed up again.

I stared at the last message until my knuckles went white. For a moment, guilt cracked through my chest like a fault line. She had been loyal to a ghost. She had been betrayed. And here I was, ready to crush her.

Sympathy was weakness. I had business tonight. Still, when I dialed my mistress, my voice came out rougher than I liked. “Come over,” I said. She agreed without hesitation. She always did.

I ended the call and stared at the dark window. The truth was simple, and it tasted like ash: the woman I wanted was the one I couldn’t touch.

---

Elena’s POV

The door closed with a dull click. My knees gave out, and I pressed my back to the cold wall, fingers pressed to my throat as though I could hold myself together before I cracked open.

It still burned where his hand had been. My pulse raced under my palm, wild and shaky. My eyes blurred again. I’d sworn not to cry anymore, but the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable.

He liked it. He’d said it. My suffering amused him. The thought twisted my stomach until I felt sick.

I staggered to my room and shut the door. The mirror across from the bed caught me off guard red, swollen eyes, a blotched face, faint marks circling my neck. The girl in the reflection looked like a stranger. Someone already breaking.

I curled up on the thin mattress, pulling the blanket to my chin though it did nothing to stop the shaking. His words echoed in my head. Each one landed like a stone.

I can’t survive this.

He would destroy me piece by piece, not with a bullet, not with a blade, but with the weight of his voice, the way he looked at me.

One clear thought slid through the fog: I couldn’t stay. If I did, I would vanish until there was nothing left.

I pressed my face into the pillow, muffling the sob that ripped from me. Exhaustion finally dragged me under, but not before a single promise burned in the back of my mind:

Tomorrow. I have to try tomorrow.

Damian’s POV

The phone still sat on my desk. I should’ve tossed it back at her, let her clutch that pathetic little device like it could save her. Instead, I kept scrolling, my thumb moving slower with every message I read.

Clara.

The woman Elena had bled herself dry for. The woman she’d risked everything to protect. Gone. Not just gone vanished with money, leaving Elena behind to take the fall.

And the last message… I had to read it twice, my jaw clenching tighter the second time.

She is cruel. I wouldn't do this to my enemy.

My chest tightened, a weight I didn’t want pressing there. Anger curled hot in my gut not at Elena, but at the sheer absurdity of it. She had given loyalty, and this was her reward.

For a second, I almost hurled the phone across the room. My fingers flexed, twitching with the urge. Instead, I forced it down onto the desk, pressing my palm hard against the polished wood until the heat bled out of me in a rough exhale.

She was probably curled up in the next room right now, puffy-eyed, still clinging to the ghost of a friend who had already buried her. And me? I’d only added to the wreckage, grinding her down with my own words.

A bitter thought scraped through me maybe I’d already broken her past repair.

I leaned back, rubbing the bridge of my nose. No. That was weakness. She had chosen her path. Whatever part she was playing pawn, liar, survivor she was in my house now. Under my rule. I couldn’t afford to see her as anything else.

Tonight demanded clarity. I had business, a meeting that needed my full attention. But my mind kept dragging back to her the hem of that gown skimming her thighs, the way her hands shook, the faint split still visible on her lip from my slap.

My jaw locked. Infuriating. She was infuriating.

I grabbed my phone, scrolled to a name I knew would answer without hesitation, and hit call. She picked up on the first ring.

“Come over,” I said, voice flat, stripped of anything but command.

A pause, then a small laugh, eager. She agreed, just as I knew she would.

I ended the call before she could say more, tossing the phone aside. The glass door of the liquor cabinet caught my reflection, cold eyes staring back, unflinching.

The truth was plain, and it tasted like ash: the woman I wanted was the one I couldn’t have.

So tonight, I would settle for someone else.

I really want to fuck tonight more than ever…I can't have her, for now.though I would do anything to bend her over the table and fuck her till she can't stand straight. Oppsss. Here we go again.

Daydreaming and obsessing over a murderer.