My breath hitched even before I locked the door behind me. Damien's penthouse corridor was silent, empty of staff or echoes. I pressed my back against the rich mahogany wood and stared at the closed door. Everything shifted inside me when I saw the screen, the wall of my private moments, the lipstick message. MINE. It felt like a declaration of ownership and a threat I could not ignore.
Damien was right behind me. I heard his steps first. Then his hand on my elbow, steadying, grounding.
"I answered," I said quietly, words trembling on my lips.
He held up my phone, scanning the screen. The candle was gone. The video cut, leaving only darkness. But the damage had been done.
"How is this still happening?" he said, voice low.
"I don't know. But he knows too much." My heart hammered in my chest. "He's seen us in private."
He gently took the phone and slipped it into his jacket pocket. His fingers lingered. "He watched that photo. Now he watched you there. We have to assume he's inside both our lives."
My vision blurred with fear I could not control. "You said you would handle it."
He nodded. "I will. And I will start by calling the police."
He stepped back and reached for his sleek office phone just outside your suite. I realised then that he was not just angry or protective. He was furious. Those eyes that had once drawn me in now looked like they might absorb the darkness of anyone who dared come for us.
I took a shaky breath. "Will you stay with me?"
He paused. Then said, "I'm giving instructions. But you should go down and speak with Detective Mercer."
I nodded even though my mind shook.
He led me to the elevator and we rode down to the lobby in silence.
Security guard at the front desk snapped to attention and they parted for us like we were something bigger than an executive and his assistant or maybe something more personal and dangerous.
The minute we reached the floor, the weight of unseen eyes felt even heavier. Security lines drifted toward us. I felt like I was moving through invisible threads that would snap and pull at any moment.
Detective Mercer stood near the visitors' lounge, checking his notes. He glanced at Damien then at me.
"Ms Hart," he said. He still called me Ms Hart. Always Ms Hart.
Damien didn't hesitate. "Detective Mercer. This is Selene. She will provide a full statement about the photo and video."
I swallowed and stepped forward.
Mercer gave me a folder. "Describe exactly what happened tonight."
I took a breath and I spoke.
I described the phone call the photo the threat the video of me sleeping in a stranger's candlelit room. I described the private penthouse. Damien looked on, expression like granite.
Mercer listened and took precise notes. He asked questions I asked myself in the dark of night. How long had it been going on? Who might gain from targeting me? Does this connect to the project? Or to your personal life?
I thought of something.
"It could be connected to that acquisition. Hemlock. Evercrest."
Mercer paused. "We will look into it. You must consider whether the project makes you a target."
Damien spoke then, voice calm but ruthless. "You will not dismiss her as collateral."
Mercer glared at him. "We will do what is needed."
I stared at Damien. I felt something fierce in his gaze. He stepped closer to me, nearly touching.
I needed him.
But not like this.
I needed to be safe and strong and not owned by him now or ever.
"Thank you," I whispered to Mercer.
He nodded. "Expect a team in your building and work address by morning."
We left the lobby together.
The penthouse was darker than before. The only light came from a cluster of city lamps below. I felt raw. Exposed.
I wandered into the living room.
Damien joined me and sat on the sofa, tension in his stance.
"Do you need to stay here?" I asked.
He didn't soften. He only said, "Not alone."
The words landed like an anchor in my throat.
He always knew exactly what to say.
My phone buzzed again.
A single text from an unknown number:
Goodnight, Selene
I set it on the coffee table like it burned me.
Damien's chair creaked. He slid closer to me. Neither of us touched each other. We didn't need to.
That space between us was full of unspoken need, of boundaries shattered just hours before, but now replaced with something thicker and more important than lust.
Something called trust.
"Stay with me," he said.
I didn't hesitate.
Because tonight I needed more than protection.
I needed to know that even when we forgot where we began, we didn't lose each other.
The city waited outside.
And somewhere in its shadows, our enemy watched too.
Just as I began to drift off on the sofa beside Damien, lulled by the quiet thrum of the city and the impossible comfort of his presence, a sharp knock jolted me upright.
Three precise taps.
Then silence.
Damien was already on his feet, moving toward the front door without a word. He didn't look back at me.
I followed, pulse hammering in my throat.
He opened it and froze.
I couldn't see who stood on the other side until I stepped into the hallway behind him.
A woman. Tall. Dressed in black. And striking in a way that made something in my stomach coil.
Her voice was smooth, practised.
"You didn't think I'd come back, did you?"
Damien didn't move. His shoulders were tense. Every line of his body screamed restraint.
"I told you," she added with a slow smile, "no matter how far you run… I always find you."
Then her eyes shifted.
Right to me.
And that smile twisted into something colder.
"You must be the new one."
I didn't know her name. I didn't know why she was here.
But the way Damien looked at her?
I knew exactly what she was.
She was the past he hadn't told me about.
And somehow, I knew she wasn't here to leave quietly.