Elena stared at Damien, her heart pounding in her chest. His words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. She wanted to demand answers, to know exactly what she'd gotten herself into, but the icy look in his eyes silenced her before she could speak.
Damien leaned back in his chair, the tension in his jaw betraying the calm facade he wore. He tapped his fingers on the desk, the sound like a ticking clock in the silent room.
"You're going to tell me everything you overheard at the gala," he said finally, his voice low and firm.
"I already told you," Elena said, struggling to keep her voice steady. "I didn't understand what you were talking about. It was just... something about making sure no one ties it back to you."
Damien's eyes narrowed. "That's it?"
"Yes," she insisted. "I swear."
He studied her for a long moment, and Elena felt like she was under a microscope. Finally, he nodded, though the tension in his expression didn't ease.
"Then you need to understand something, Elena," he said, his tone dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You've stumbled into a world you don't belong in. A world where mistakes like yours can cost lives."
She swallowed hard, her palms damp. "What does that even mean? What kind of deal are you involved in?"
Damien's lips curled into a bitter smile. "The kind you don't want to know about."
Before she could press further, the door opened again, and Marcus stepped inside. He carried a tablet, which he handed to Damien without a word. Damien's eyes scanned the screen, and his frown deepened.
"Is this confirmed?" he asked, his voice sharp.
"Yes," Marcus replied. "It's all there. They're making their move."
"What move?" Elena blurted out, her fear overcoming her caution.
Damien ignored her, his focus on Marcus. "Put the team on alert. No one makes a move until I say so."
Marcus nodded and left the room, leaving Elena more confused and frightened than ever.
"What's going on?" she demanded, standing from her chair. "I deserve to know."
Damien stood as well, his towering frame making her feel small and insignificant. "You deserve nothing," he said coldly. "You're a liability. The only reason you're still here is because I'm trying to protect you."
"Protect me?" she snapped, her fear giving way to anger. "From what?"
"From the people who will kill you if they think you're a threat," Damien said, his voice like ice. "The people who already know your name, your face, and where to find you."
Elena's breath caught in her throat. "What are you talking about?"
"They've already traced you to the gala," Damien said, his gaze piercing. "And they're watching you now."
Her knees went weak, and she sank back into the chair. "This can't be happening," she whispered.
"It is," Damien said bluntly. "And the only way you survive is by doing exactly what I say."
Elena looked up at him, her fear and anger warring within her. "Why should I trust you?"
"Because," Damien said, leaning down until his face was inches from hers, "I'm the only one who can keep you alive."
Before she could respond, the lights in the room flickered. Damien's head snapped toward the window, his body going tense.
"Marcus," he barked into a concealed earpiece. "Do we have a breach?"
Elena's stomach dropped as she realized the full weight of his words. Someone was coming for her.
Damien straightened, his expression deadly calm. "Stay here," he ordered, moving toward the door.
"No way," Elena said, standing. "I'm not staying alone."
Damien turned back to her, his gaze steely. "You'll do as I say, or you'll die. Your choice."
As he stepped out of the room, Elena felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She was alone in the office, but the shadows seemed to press in on her, thick with danger.
A sudden noise from the far corner of the room made her jump. She spun around, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The office was empty—or was it?
"Damien?" she called, her voice trembling.
The lights flickered again, and a shadow moved across the room.
"Damien!" she shouted, backing toward the desk.
The door burst open, and she let out a scream—only to see Damien standing there, his expression grim.
"They're here," he said, his voice low. "And they're not playing games."