The sleek black car sliced through the city streets, the hum of its engine the only sound in the oppressive silence between Lila and Damian. She couldn't help stealing glances at him as he drove, his profile sharp against the dim glow of passing streetlights. He looked calm, almost unnervingly so, but Lila knew better. There was a tension in his grip on the steering wheel, in the tight line of his jaw.
Lila's hands fidgeted in her lap, clutching her phone like a lifeline. The ominous note flashed in her mind again, its blood-red ink searing her thoughts.
"Do you think... they've been watching me for a while?" she finally asked, breaking the silence.
Damian didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was low, deliberate. "I don't think they started with you. This is about me."
"But why involve me?" Her voice cracked, betraying her fear. "I'm nobody, Damian. Just your assistant. Why would anyone—"
"Because they think you matter to me," Damian interrupted, his tone sharp.
The words landed like a punch to her chest. Lila blinked, unsure if she'd heard him correctly. "I—matter to you?"
His gray eyes flicked toward her, their intensity silencing her. "That's what they believe. And it's enough to make you a target."
Her heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. "Then tell me who 'they' are. Who are we dealing with, Damian?"
His jaw tightened. "Not tonight."
Frustration bubbled up inside her. "You keep saying that, but when? When will you actually trust me with the truth?"
"When I know you can handle it," he said, his voice like steel.
Lila leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. "Great. So I'm just supposed to sit around, waiting for you to decide when I'm ready? While someone stalks me and leaves me threats?"
Damian didn't respond, his focus fixed on the road ahead.
---
The elevator ride to Damian's penthouse was quiet, the tension between them simmering just below the surface. As the doors slid open, Lila stepped into the vast space, her breath catching at the sight.
The penthouse was sleek, luxurious, and sterile. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city, but there was something cold about the place—like a fortress built to keep the world out.
"You live here?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
"It's safe," Damian replied, shrugging off his jacket.
"Safe," she repeated, her tone bitter. "Right. That's comforting."
He turned to her, his eyes narrowing. "You think this is a game, Lila? That I'm overreacting?"
She flinched at the sharpness of his tone but held her ground. "No, I don't. But you can't expect me to just... adapt to this overnight. My life was normal a week ago. Now I'm here, in your penthouse, being told I'm a target because of you."
Damian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I get it. This is a lot. But right now, the only thing that matters is keeping you safe. Everything else can wait."
His words softened the edge of her frustration, but not entirely. "Fine," she said quietly. "But don't expect me to just sit here and be okay with it."
---
Later, Lila sat curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over her shoulders. Damian had retreated to his study to take a call, leaving her alone with the eerie quiet of the penthouse.
She stared at her phone, debating whether to call Kelly. After a moment, she dialed, the familiar voice on the other end bringing a small sense of comfort.
"Lila! Finally. What's going on?"
Lila hesitated, glancing toward the study. "It's... complicated."
"What does that mean?" Kelly pressed.
"I'm staying at my boss's place," Lila said, lowering her voice. "There have been... threats."
"Threats?" Kelly's voice rose. "Lila, you need to call the police!"
"They can't help," Lila said bitterly. "This isn't some random prank. It's... connected to Damian."
"Damian?" Kelly repeated, her tone skeptical. "And you're staying with him? Lila, this sounds sketchy as hell."
"It's not like that," Lila insisted. "He's trying to protect me."
Kelly sighed. "Just be careful, okay? I don't trust him."
Lila bit her lip, her gaze drifting toward the study door. "I'll be fine. I think."
---
When Damian reappeared, his expression was darker than before. He poured himself a drink and leaned against the kitchen counter, his posture tense.
"What is it?" Lila asked, standing from the couch.
"Nothing you need to worry about," he said, taking a sip.
She crossed her arms. "Damian, stop shutting me out. If this is about me, I have a right to know."
His eyes met hers, cold and unyielding. "The threats are real," he said finally. "And they're coming from someone connected to my business."
"What kind of business are we talking about?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"The kind that makes enemies," Damian replied, his tone flat.
"That's not an answer," she said, frustration creeping into her voice.
"It's the only answer you're getting," he said, his tone final.
Lila opened her mouth to argue but stopped when she saw the flicker of something in his eyes—something vulnerable.
"Just trust me," Damian said softly. "I'll keep you safe."
---
That night, Lila lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep was impossible. Every sound, every shadow seemed magnified, her nerves stretched taut.
A faint creak echoed down the hallway. She sat up, her heart pounding. "Damian?" she called out, her voice trembling.
No answer.
Sliding out of bed, she crept toward the door, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet. The hallway was dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners.
As she reached the living room, she froze. A figure stood by the window, silhouetted against the city lights.
Her breath caught in her throat. "Damian?" she whispered again.
The figure turned, and her blood ran cold.
It wasn't Damian.