"Are you okay?"
Damien's deep voice broke through, his voice calm but laced with concern. He bent down, offering his hand to help her up.
Elena trembled slightly, her breath shaky, as she placed her hand in his.
There was a deliberate softness in her touch as she rose to her feet, leaning into the moment of vulnerability.
"Thank you for saving me," Elena whispered, her voice weak, her body still trembling as though the encounter had left her deeply shaken.
In truth, her mind was already calculating the next move, knowing exactly what kind of response she needed to draw from Damien.
She knew very well that nothing made a man feel more powerful or protective than rescuing a helpless woman.
It was a classic move, a technique as old as time.
But Elena was far from helpless. This was just the beginning, and her plan was to become more than just a damsel in distress.
"Don't thank me," Damien replied, his tone gentle, as if trying to soothe her fragile state.
"No woman should ever be treated like that." His words were almost a murmur, but they carried a weight that matched the strength in his tall frame.
His voice was unexpectedly soft, the contrast startling against his formidable appearance.
Elena looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She allowed one to slip down her cheek, ensuring it landed perfectly at the corner of her lips, the perfect touch to sell her vulnerability.
Damien's hand lingered on her arm, his thumb gently rubbing her skin as if trying to provide solace.
He then led her to a bench beneath a large, ancient tree, its branches stretching wide over the cemetery, casting long shadows in the early morning light.
Once seated, he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a handkerchief. "Here," he said, offering it to her.
Elena took the handkerchief with deliberate slowness, ensuring her fingertips brushed lightly against his.
She felt the spark of physical contact—whether it was from the chill in the air or the calculated seduction that lay beneath her every move, she didn't care.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible, as though she were too fragile to speak louder.
She dabbed at her eyes, wiping away the fake tears. Her fingers trembled slightly as she acted, and though the tears were an illusion, the anxiety rising in her chest was not.
Damien was powerful, intelligent, and perceptive—if he even for a second suspected her true intentions, everything would unravel.
"Who was that man?" Damien finally asked, his voice steady but edged with a hint of controlled anger.
He removed his sunglasses folding them neatly, and placed them in his pocket, revealing those intense blue eyes that seemed to look straight through her, right into her soul.
For a moment, Elena's breath hitched in her throat. He was striking, far more than she had anticipated—the sharp angles of his jawline, his perfectly proportioned face, and the ocean-blue eyes that could make anyone feel exposed.
If her heart wasn't filled with revenge, perhaps she might have considered the possibility of falling for him.
"He's…he's my ex-husband," Elena said, her voice shaking. "He was just released from prison last week."
She spoke with a carefully calculated tremor, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, letting the morning light catch the redness on her cheeks.
She made sure Damien would notice, would be drawn in by the sight of her apparent distress.
It worked. Damien reached out, his fingers brushing against her skin, and gently cupped her face.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice thick with concern. His thumb moved across her cheek, tracing the redness as though trying to erase the pain with a simple touch.
Elena nodded, letting out a soft, almost pitiful sound that was a mix between a whimper and a moan.
The moment lingered in the air between them, his touch warm and surprisingly tender. She hadn't expected him to be so gentle.
It took her by surprise when he leaned in, his breath brushing against her cheek as he blew on the reddened skin. Elena's eyes widened, and for a second, her carefully rehearsed performance wavered.
She had anticipated some form of tenderness but not this. His protective instincts were more deeply ingrained than she had imagined.
A gust of cold wind swept through the cemetery, ruffling the leaves and sending a chill through Elena's body.
She shivered, hugging herself instinctively, though this time, it wasn't entirely part of the act.
Damien noticed, his gaze never leaving her, Without a word, he shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
It was heavy and warm, and the scent of him lingered in the fabric—a mixture of expensive cologne and something distinctly masculine.
Elena's lips twitched into a small smile. Damien was falling deeper into the trap she had so carefully set, and soon, he would be too entangled to escape.
"Thank you," she murmured again, her voice laced with gratitude.
"No, don't mention it," Damien replied, standing up slowly. He scanned the cemetery, as though making sure they were truly alone now.
After a while, when Elena had composed herself—or at least pretended to—he helped her to her feet.
Together, they walked toward the cemetery gates, the weight of the moment still hanging between them.
As they neared the exit, Elena subtly pulled out her phone, her thumb flying over the screen as she sent a quick, cryptic message: Now.
The timing had to be perfect. And it was.
Just as they stepped out of the cemetery gates, the man from earlier appeared again, his footsteps heavy, his expression wild.
His acting was impeccable. He stormed forward, grabbing Elena roughly by the wrist. She cried out, her voice laced with genuine fear this time, but not of the man.
Her fear was of failure, of the plan falling apart. She had come too far for that.
Damien's protective instincts kicked in immediately. "What do you think you're doing?" he shouted, his voice booming with anger.
In a flash, he yanked Elena away from the man, pulling her behind him like a shield. His fists clenched, and without hesitation, he sent a brutal punch to the man's face. The man staggered backward, falling to the ground with a thud, groaning in pain.
Damien stood tall, his body rigid as he towered over the man. "It would be wise of you to leave," he growled, his voice filled with menace.
Elena, still standing behind Damien, winked discreetly at the man, signaling him to follow through with the plan. The man scrambled to his feet, glaring at Damien before spitting out his final line.
"You think he'll always protect you?" the man sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "I'll see you at home." With that, he turned and fled, disappearing into the shadows.
Damien immediately spun around, his eyes scanning Elena's face for signs of distress. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softening once more, returning to that calming tone from earlier.
Elena hesitated for a brief second, then collapsed into his arms, her body trembling with sobs.
The tears fell freely now, real ones this time, born of the sheer intensity of the moment. "No, I'm not okay," she whispered between broken breaths. "I'm scared. I'm afraid."
Damien held her close, his arms wrapping around her protectively.
Little did he know, each sob, each tear was a carefully rehearsed step in Elena's dance of revenge.
And with every comforting word he spoke, Damien was sinking deeper into the web she had spun around him.