Damon's POV
Adrion's mansion glowed in the low amber lights of dusk, warm and alive with the scent of cinnamon and aged whiskey. A stark contrast to my own estate—a palace carved out of obsidian, silent halls echoing with ghosts that bore only my name.
But this place… Atlana's laughter filtered through the rooms like wind-chimes in spring. She had softened Adrion, transformed him from a warlord into a husband. And yet, even now, I could see it in his eyes—he feared losing her more than death itself.
Love. Such a useless, deadly thing.
Adrion leaned against the mahogany table, arms crossed, watching me with that all-knowing look.
"How did it go?" he asked, eyes drifting to the bloodied cut across my knuckles.
I dropped into the chair across from him. "The deal is done. The Serpents get their weapons next Friday."
"And that?" He gestured to my hand.
I gave him a smile laced with cruelty. "A minor interruption."
"what ?".
"Did something happen ?"
I smirked . Just taught her a lesson.
His expression darkened. "Alina?"
I nodded slowly, deliberately.
"She went to the club," I said, tasting the memory like smoke on my tongue. "With him."
"Kevin."
I didn't correct him. That name didn't deserve to be on my tongue. I continued, quieter now, like confessing a sin. "One of those drunken bastards touched her. I made sure he won't again."
Adrion's voice cut like a whip. "You killed him."
I looked away. "I protected her."
"No, you marked her again, didn't you?" he hissed. "You can't keep breaking her just to play savior afterward. You're obsessed."
"I am." The words felt raw, but I didn't flinch. "And I don't want to be. But I am."
Adrion stared at me, quiet now. The flicker of worry behind his eyes didn't go unnoticed.
"I locked the boy in the service room," I added coldly. "He was dancing with her. And then—just like that—gone. No one saw a thing. My men are ghosts."
"Jesus," Adrion muttered.
"I saved her," I said again, this time to myself.
Adrion sighed, almost pitying me. "No, Damon. You saved yourself—from the idea of her belonging to anyone else."
I didn't argue. Because I wasn't sure if he was wrong.
Kevin's POV
When the door finally opened, it was morning.
I stumbled into the light, vision still blurred from the blow to my head. The memory of Alina's terrified eyes—her disappearing form on the dance floor—flashed in my mind like a scream.
I called her. Voicemail.
Again. Voicemail.
I drove faster than I ever had in my life. Her house was quiet. Too quiet.
The door was locked. I knocked, then banged, heart thundering.
It was her grandmother who opened it, eyes widening.
"Kevin? What—?"
"Is Alina here?"
"She left early. Said there was a big café order today. Didn't she tell you?"
I froze.
So she was home. But something didn't add up.
"Thank you," I whispered, hugging her tightly before rushing to my car.
I needed to see her.
Now.
Alina's POV
I hadn't slept.
The night had stretched endlessly—an unraveling of shadows that pressed against my chest like a weight I couldn't shake. My bed, once a haven, felt like a cage of cold sheets and colder thoughts. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him.
The mask. That curve—smooth and still, like it wasn't worn by a man but by something darker. The void behind it. And his hand… the way it moved. Confident. Possessive. Like I wasn't mine anymore.
I hadn't eaten. Couldn't. Even the idea of food twisted my stomach. I poured black coffee, let it sit untouched. I showered. Then again. Hot water and soap and trembling hands, trying to scrub away the ghost of him—his breath behind my ear, his leathered grip around my wrist. But it wouldn't come off. It stayed, seeping beneath my skin like something permanent.
So I came here.
To the café. Before the sun. Before the noise. Before I could hear my own scream echoing back at me.
I told myself I came to work. That Noah's cake needed to be finished, that someone needed me. But deep down, I knew the truth. I wasn't being dutiful. I was running.
Running from the memory of leather and blood. Running from the dead man in the alley, the one whose eyes I never saw but whose fall I'll never forget. Running from the part of me that had shattered and didn't know how to scream.
The cake sat before me—two soft tiers of sky-blue fondant, dotted with delicate gold stars. A child's dream, pure and innocent. Meant for a boy too young to understand how heavy the world could be. I pressed sugar petals into place with trembling fingers, trying to keep my hands moving even as my mind spun in tight, merciless circles.
He saved me.
That man… Damon.
He'd appeared out of nowhere, pulled me away from the drunk whose hands had gripped my arms too tightly. He didn't ask questions. Didn't hesitate. He held me like I might break. His voice—steady, low—had wrapped around my panic and quieted it. He drove me home. He looked at me like I mattered.
And yet…
There was blood. A body. A murder.
And silence.
I bought a newspaper that morning, hands shaking as I flipped through it. I searched for any mention of the alley. The body. The man with the mask. But there was nothing. Not a single word. Like it had never happened.
The café bell jingled.
I flinched.
Customer.
I froze, breath held in my throat.
But then—
"Alina."
My head snapped up.
Kevin.
My heart stumbled against my ribs.
I hadn't searched for him. I should have. I should have screamed his name in that club, should have pushed through the crowd, should have fought until I found him—but I didn't. I'd let fear carry me out. Let the masked man steal my breath and run with it. Guilt burned in my throat.
I ran toward him.
My hands found his—both of them—and held on like I might fall if I let go.
"Kevin—what happened? Where did you go?" My voice cracked under the weight of everything I hadn't said.
His face was pale, his eyes tired, a bruise blooming faintly near his temple. Something in me cracked.
"I was so scared…" I whispered. "I thought I lost you."
He exhaled slowly. "I just… blacked out, Alina. That's all."
My eyes widened. "Blacked out? Kevin, are you sure you're okay? No one hurt you? No one touched you—?"
"No, no. Nothing like that. I promise." He tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "When I woke up, I was in the server room. The door was locked. I didn't even know how I got there.
"The server room?" My voice felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. "You were unconscious? Locked in?"
He nodded. "Yeah. And when I got my phone, I saw all your missed calls… and a message. From you. That you were home and safe." He paused. "But that message… it didn't feel right. Something was off. So I ran to your house to check."
My heart stopped. A message? From me?
But I hadn't sent anything.
It came to me like a whisper.
It was him.
The room tilted. I sank to my knees. The air felt too thick to breathe.
Tears slipped free.
"Kevin… someone's after me." My voice broke, trembling. "He said he's watching me. Said he knows my every move. He said…" I swallowed, my entire body shaking. "He was the one who came to my room that night. Who touched me."
Kevin didn't speak right away. He knelt beside me, placed a hand gently on my back.
"Sshh… Alina, it's okay. Don't panic. I'm here." His voice was calm, grounding. "I'm right here. Tell me what happened. All of it."
And so I did.
I told him everything.
The club. The mask. The alley. The murder. The whispers. The way he touched me like I wasn't real, like I was something he already owned.
By the time I finished, my throat was raw and dry. I could barely get the words out.
Kevin looked shaken. But not afraid.
"We should go to the police," he said softly.
I shook my head.
"No. No, Kevin… what if he's powerful? What if he's someone with connections? The alley murder—it wasn't even in the news. Not a headline, not a whisper. That means he has reach. Influence." I paused. "He could hurt us. Hurt my family. Hurt you."
Kevin's jaw clenched.
I drew in a shaky breath. "There was someone else. The man who helped me. The one who drove me home. His name is Damon. He… he was kind. Gentle. If he hadn't been there, I don't know what would've happened."
Kevin handed me a glass of water and sat beside me, silent. Trying to comfort me. To distract me. But the fear didn't go. It just curled up in my chest and stayed.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. I didn't know anymore.
Then, quietly, I whispered, "Kevin… I don't think I can stay in that house." My voice broke again. "I can't breathe there. I keep thinking he'll come back. Help me find a new place. Please."
He nodded without hesitation. "Of course. I was thinking the same. We'll find somewhere safe. Together."
Silence again.
But not peace.
I stood, brushing away the tears. "I can't fall apart now. Not today. I need money if I'm going to shift. I need to finish this order. It's from a rich family. A big one. If I do this right, it might help."
Kevin looked at me, uncertain. "You need rest, Alina. I can handle it—"
I shook my head. "No. You should rest. You've been through enough. I'll manage."
But he stood with me. "Then we do it together." His voice was firm. "I'm not leaving you alone. Not this time."
I nodded.
For a moment, the air stilled. Not safe. But not alone.
And for now, that was enough.
Damons POV
She was coming.
Fate, or perhaps his own design, had delivered her again—this time, wrapped in frosting and innocence.
Noah's birthday.
A celebration dripping with money, excess, and masks. Of course, he had made sure the order for the cake and confections went to her café. He'd bought out every other vendor in the city just to funnel the order through hers.
Alina would walk into his world tomorrow.
And she wouldn't even realize the cage door had already closed behind her.
Damon leaned back in his leather chair, the firelight licking shadows up the walls of his study. The guest list was a blur. The décor, the performances, the excess—it was all noise. The real event wasn't the boy's birthday.
It was her arrival.
He'd orchestrated everything like a symphony of sin, every note designed to corner her soul.
She'd step into his mansion with trembling hands and a forced smile, wearing that apron of hers like it could shield her from wolves. But the moment she passed the gates, she'd be his again.
His to watch. His to haunt. His to comfort.
And she wouldn't even know it.
He would be the masked man—the shadow she feared. Her nightmare come to life in silk gloves and silence. He could already imagine her eyes widening, her breath hitching when she felt him watching. That same fear. That same helplessness.
And when the fear carved through her again, he would remove the mask and become the opposite.
He would be Damon—the cold-eyed billionaire with a soft voice, gentle hands, and a question in his gaze instead of violence. The one who offered her water, who told her she looked pale. The one she might one day lean toward when the mask became too much to bear.
Two faces.
One obsession.
He'd dance on that line—between monster and man—until her mind broke trying to figure out which one she wanted to escape from… and which one she wanted to run back to.
"She's not afraid of the dark," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "She's afraid of what I make her feel in it."
He poured himself a glass of whiskey, untouched.
He didn't drink when she filled his thoughts. He needed clarity to stalk the edges of her mind. He needed precision to craft madness she wouldn't be able to name.
"Tomorrow," he whispered, his smile crooked with anticipation. "Tomorrow, little dove, you'll come bearing cakes… and leave with bruises on your soul."
The storm was ready. He was ready. And she… She had no idea the man she feared wore the same smile as the one who might save her.
I would play the part. I would offer her a glass of wine, ask about her studies, let her laugh—if she still remembered how. And when her guard dropped, even for a second, I would be there to catch it. To hold her gaze an inch too long. To speak in riddles only she could hear.
Because I know the way her mind works. I live there.
And the most dangerous part?
She wants me to stay.
Even if she doesn't admit it.
Not yet.
But soon.
Very soon.