The silence stretched thick as velvet between them.
Damien leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window of the penthouse, watching the city glitter below like it belonged to him. Maybe it did. Maybe everything did.
Except her.
Not yet.
Elena sat on the opposite end of the room, arms crossed, back rigid, heart pounding. His offer—a marriage built on control, not love—still echoed in her skull like a curse.
"You haven't said yes," he said finally, voice low and precise.
"Is that really surprising?" she snapped. "You show up after four years, drop a marriage ultimatum on me like you're proposing lunch, and expect me to be grateful?"
Damien's lips curved slightly. "I expect you to be smart."
She stood, pacing. "Don't you dare insult my intelligence. You're blackmailing me."
He moved like a panther—quiet, smooth, dangerous—closing the space between them in seconds. "I'm giving you options. One leads to ruin, the other to survival."
"Marriage to you is survival?" Her laugh was bitter. "You really think being your wife is the lesser evil?"
Damien's eyes darkened. "I think it's the only thing that will keep you breathing after what's coming."
Her heart skipped.
Something flickered in his gaze—something cold and real. This wasn't just about obsession. There was something else. A threat she hadn't seen yet.
"What aren't you telling me?" she asked slowly.
Damien stepped back, jaw tense. "Lucien is watching you. He's made inquiries."
"Lucien?" Her blood chilled. "Why would your brother care where I am?"
"Because he knows," Damien said. "About us. About what we were. And he's always wanted what I had."
She clenched her fists. "And now you think marrying me will… what? Protect me from your family?"
"It'll make you untouchable."
"You're insane."
"Maybe," he admitted. "But I'm the only thing standing between you and a man who doesn't care how he breaks his toys."
She shivered.
Lucien Voss had always been charming—smiles like silk, words like poison. She'd met him once, years ago. His eyes had unsettled her then.
They terrified her now.
Elena sat slowly, her voice quieter. "Why now, Damien?"
He looked away.
She waited. For a lie. For the truth.
Finally, he said, "Because I made a mistake letting you go. And I don't make the same mistake twice."
Her throat tightened.
She wanted to scream at him, throw something, run. But she didn't. Because somewhere deep inside, something else stirred.
Longing.
She hated it.
"I need time," she whispered.
"You don't have it," he said. "Lucien's already moving."
She stood again. "You're not giving me a choice."
Damien stepped forward. "I'm giving you protection. A name. Power. All you have to do is sign the contract."
Contract.
She stared at the folder on the glass table between them, like it might bite.
It probably would.
"What's in it?" she asked.
He tilted his head. "A one-year marriage. Public, legal, binding. After that, we can walk away. No strings."
She narrowed her eyes. "You don't strike me as a no-strings kind of man."
"I'm not. But I'll pretend for you."
She looked at the contract. At him. At the door she could walk out of.
And then back at the man who had shattered her once and now stood there like a weapon forged just for her destruction.
"I want terms," she said quietly.
Damien smiled, slow and sharp. "I'm listening."
"No sex. No touching. No expectations."
He blinked. "That's funny."
"I'm serious, Damien."
His smile faded. "Then we'll be married in name only. But you'll still be mine."
"Not yours. Not ever again."
He didn't argue. But the look in his eyes said: We'll see.
—
The wedding was scheduled for Friday.
Four days.
Four days to kill the woman she used to be.
Four days to become something colder, sharper, untouchable.
Elena stood at her apartment window, staring out at the storm gathering over the city. Kira sat on her couch, legs crossed, arms folded, jaw slack.
"He wants to marry you?" Kira blinked. "After everything?"
Elena nodded.
"And you're considering it?"
"I'm not," Elena lied. "I'm surviving."
Kira narrowed her eyes. "That man doesn't want a wife. He wants a trophy he can lock in a glass case."
Elena's voice was hollow. "Maybe that's better than becoming Lucien's next obsession."
"Damien and Lucien are both poison, Elena."
"I know."
"So why drink either?"
"Because poison is the only thing that kills monsters."
Kira stared at her best friend—this woman who used to laugh and dance and kiss like it meant war—and saw a stranger.
"You sure you can survive this?" Kira asked softly.
"I already died once," Elena said. "This time I won't feel it."
—
Friday came too fast.
The wedding was private. No guests. Just lawyers, two witnesses, and Madam Voss.
Elena wore black.
Madam Voss said nothing as she signed the marriage license, but her frosted glare screamed judgment. You're not one of us. You never will be.
Damien, in contrast, looked calm. Composed. Handsome in a cruel way.
He slid the ring on her finger like sealing a pact with the devil himself.
And maybe he had.
When it was done, he leaned in and whispered, "Congratulations, Mrs. Voss."
Elena didn't flinch.
She only whispered back, "You just made the biggest mistake of your life."
He smiled. "No. That was losing you the first time."
—
That night, the penthouse was quiet.
Elena stood at the bedroom doorway, staring inside. A king-sized bed. Velvet sheets. Shadows and silence.
"I want the guest room," she said without turning.
Damien stood behind her, tie loosened, whiskey in hand. "The guest room doesn't have a lock."
"I don't need one."
"I do."
She turned slowly. "You afraid of me, Mr. Voss?"
"No," he said, eyes burning. "I'm afraid of what I'll do if I touch you again."
Their stares collided.
Fury. Hunger. History.
He stepped back first.
"Sleep wherever you want," he s
aid. "But remember—you're mine now."
"I'm no one's."
"We'll see."
And as she walked away, Elena realized something chilling:
She wasn't afraid of Damien.
She was afraid of wanting him back.