The morning sun streamed through Elena's curtains, but she felt no warmth. Her body was awake, but her mind lingered in yesterday's storm—Damian's fury, Adrian's dominance, the clash that left her breathless.
Her phone buzzed.
Damian: I'm sorry about yesterday. Can I see you? Just to talk.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. Part of her wanted to ignore him, but another part—the girl who once trusted him completely—ached to believe in his apology.
Against her better judgment, she replied: Okay. Just talk.
---
The garden behind the academy was quiet when she arrived. Damian was already there, waiting beneath the old oak tree where they had once studied together. He looked softer now, composed, as though the fury from yesterday had been erased.
"Elena," he said, his voice gentle. "Thank you for coming."
She nodded cautiously.
"I lost control yesterday." His eyes dropped to the ground. "That's not who I am. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that."
His contrition seemed genuine, but Elena's chest still tightened. "You were… intense," she admitted.
"I was jealous." He looked up at her, his expression raw. "But that doesn't excuse it. I should have trusted you instead of trying to pull you away from him like that."
Elena blinked, startled by his honesty. This was the Damian she remembered—the boy who had always spoken with kindness.
Still, a whisper of doubt lingered. Was it real? Or just another mask?
---
They walked slowly through the garden. Damian kept his hands to himself this time, his movements careful, almost rehearsed. He talked about old times, about professors, about the music he'd been writing. His voice was soothing, a balm to her shaken heart.
For a while, she almost forgot the sharpness in his eyes from yesterday. Almost.
"You seem… different," she finally said.
He smiled faintly. "Different bad, or different good?"
"Different like…" She hesitated. "…like I don't know which version of you is real anymore."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Damian's smile faltered. His jaw tightened, but he quickly forced the softness back into his face. "That hurts to hear," he murmured. "I've always been real with you, Elena. Always."
Something in the way he said it made her shiver.
---
Later that evening, Adrian appeared without warning, as he always did. She was leaving the library when his shadow stretched across her path.
"You saw him," Adrian said, not a question but a fact.
Elena stiffened. "He apologized."
"Of course he did." Adrian's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "That's how he keeps you close. Sweet words after sharp edges. A cycle he'll repeat until you don't know which way is up."
Her hands tightened around her books. "You act like you're innocent."
"I never said I was." His eyes gleamed, cutting through the dim light. "But at least I don't lie to you about what I am."
The truth in his voice made her falter.
---
Days passed, and Damian's gentleness continued. He brought her coffee during study sessions. He helped her carry her notes. He laughed at her jokes, the way he always had.
But every now and then, when he thought she wasn't looking, she caught flashes—his smile fading too quickly, his hands clenching, his eyes narrowing with a possessive edge.
It was like glimpsing the wolf beneath the shepherd's clothing.
One afternoon, as they parted ways, he caught her hand—not forcefully, but firmly enough to anchor her.
"Elena," he said softly, "please don't let him poison you against me. Whatever he says about me… it isn't true."
Her breath hitched. "But yesterday—"
"That wasn't me." His voice shook with conviction. "It was just… fear. Fear of losing you. I swear, I'll never let it happen again."
For a moment, his vulnerability tugged at her heart. The Damian she once admired shone through, and she wanted so desperately to believe him.
But then his grip tightened just a fraction too much.
And her doubt returned.
---
That night, Elena lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Her heart was a battlefield.
Damian was light and familiarity. Adrian was darkness and danger.
But both were circling her like predators, and she was starting to realize—neither of them would ever let her go.