The law office was quiet after hours, but Damian remained at his desk, staring at the glowing screen without really seeing it. His colleagues had left long ago, the hum of computers replaced by the distant drip of rain against the windows. Case files sat neatly stacked in front of him, but not a single sentence made sense.
All he could think of was Elena.
He pulled out his phone again for the hundredth time that night. The message he had sent her hours ago still sat there, unacknowledged.
> Are you safe? If he hurts you, tell me. I'll come.
Delivered. Not read.
Damian's lips pressed into a thin line. He had seen the look in her eyes the last time they met—tired, cornered, but still trying to smile like she was fine. She was anything but fine. And the thought of her trapped in Adrian's orbit… it made his blood run hot.
Adrian. The name itself felt heavy, like a curse. That man was everywhere—whispered about in business meetings, written about in news articles, feared in hushed conversations. To most people, Adrian was a phantom of power, a storm in a suit. To Damian, he was something worse.
He was the reason Elena's light was dimming.
Damian leaned back in his chair, shutting his eyes. Inevitably, his mind drifted to the past—memories of Elena before the world had cornered her.
---
He was sixteen again, standing under the old campus tree, watching Elena wave her hands around as she argued with a teacher about turning in an assignment late. She had been breathless, hair escaping her braid, trying to explain that her younger brother had been sick.
The teacher had scoffed, ready to dismiss her excuse. But before Damian realized it, he had stepped forward, placing himself between her and the teacher.
"She was helping me," he had lied smoothly, shocking even himself. "I needed her notes to prepare for the debate team."
Elena's eyes had widened, her lips parting in surprise. The teacher had grumbled but finally let it go.
Later, Elena had tugged on Damian's sleeve, cheeks pink. "You didn't have to do that," she had whispered.
He had shrugged, trying to hide the warmth in his chest. "I didn't want you to get in trouble."
That was the first time he realized he couldn't stand to see her struggle alone.
---
Another memory surfaced—rain pouring over the city as students rushed home. Damian had spotted Elena huddled under the awning by the school gate, her flimsy umbrella snapped by the wind. Without thinking, he had run to her, holding out his own.
"Come on, I'll walk you."
She had hesitated, clearly worried about troubling him, but he had smiled. "Don't argue. You'll catch a cold."
They had walked home pressed together under the small umbrella, their shoulders bumping with every step. Her laughter, when he made a joke about their shoes soaking through, had stayed with him for years.
Back then, her laughter had been effortless.
Now, when he saw her, it was guarded.
---
Damian's eyes opened slowly. His phone buzzed on the desk, pulling him back to the present. A news notification lit the screen: Adrian Blackthorne Spotted at Exclusive Gala—Accompanied by Mystery Woman.
His stomach twisted. He didn't need to open it to know who that woman was. Elena.
The image burned in his mind—her in one of Adrian's expensive gowns, standing under the weight of flashing cameras, looking every bit the possession of a man who wasn't fit to touch her.
Damian stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket. He couldn't sit still any longer.
The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle, the streets gleaming under neon lights. Damian's car cut through the city, his hands gripping the wheel tight. He didn't know exactly what he was going to do, but he knew where he was going.
Adrian's penthouse.
It wasn't hard to find—the building was infamous, its glass exterior towering like a blade against the night sky. People said no one entered without Adrian's permission, and those who did rarely came out the same.
Damian parked across the street, the sight of the skyscraper tightening his chest. It wasn't just a building. It was Adrian himself—imposing, impenetrable, untouchable.
And somewhere inside… Elena.
He stepped out into the drizzle, shoving his hands into his pockets. He told himself he wasn't reckless enough to storm in. He had no plan, no weapon against Adrian's power. But standing there, looking up at the glowing windows high above, Damian's heart clenched.
"Are you safe?" he whispered to the sky, as if Elena could hear him.
A memory came back—the group photo from school. Elena, smiling in the center, while he stood behind her, invisible. Always just behind. Always almost.
He was tired of almost.
For once in his life, he wanted to stand beside her.
The doorman eyed him suspiciously, but Damian didn't approach. He knew barging in would end badly. Instead, he lingered across the street, watching, waiting.
His phone buzzed again. Another client email. He ignored it. His work, his reputation, none of it mattered right now.
What mattered was Elena.
He imagined her inside, curled up in some corner of Adrian's world, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. And his chest burned with anger.
Adrian might have money. He might have power, shadows, whatever unholy force ran through his veins. But Damian had something Adrian would never understand.
Love.
Not possession. Not obsession. Not the need to control. Just love—steady, patient, unyielding.
And if Elena reached out for it, he would be there. Always.
The drizzle turned to rain again, soaking through his jacket, but Damian didn't move. He stood there for hours, rooted to the pavement, a solitary figure against the storm.
Above him, the penthouse lights flickered. He swore he saw a shadow cross the window.
"Elena…"
His voice was swallowed by the rain.
But inside the penthouse, Elena stirred, restless in her dreams. A warmth brushed against her heart—familiar, distant, like sunlight trying to break through clouds.
She sat up suddenly, heart racing, though she didn't know why.
Across the street, Damian whispered a vow to the storm:
"I won't let him take you. Not completely. Not while I still breathe."
And though the city roared on around him, Damian stood firm, a sun that refused to set—even against the devil's night.