Elena woke with a dry mouth and a pounding head. For a moment the room made no sense — soft light filtering through sheer curtains, a vase of white orchids on a lacquered table, the kind of expensive quiet she had only ever seen through a shop window. She pushed herself upright and the world lurched.
"Help! Somebody —" Her voice tore out of her like a raw animal. Panic rose hot and fast. She scrambled to her feet, legs shaky, and banged on the door with trembling fists. "Help me! Let me out! Please!"
The lock clicked. The door opened almost lazily and he was there — the man from the club, the one everyone whispered about. Taller than in the crowd, closer, his suit impeccable, the lines of his face sharper in the calm light. He smiled like a blade.
"Hi, cupcake," Damian said, as if greeting an old friend.
Elena's entire body went cold. She hurled herself forward, desperation giving her courage. "You moron! What have you done to me? Let me out of here now! What do you want from me?"
He didn't flinch. He folded one hand over the other on the back of a chair and watched her with amused, dangerous curiosity.
"A lot," he answered smoothly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Her laugh was a brittle, broken sound. "A lot? You kidnapped me! Do you know what you've done? My aunt—she's alone. She'll be worried sick. Let me go. Please — I have to go. Please."
Damian's eyes flicked over her face, taking in the rawness — mascara streaked on her cheeks, the bruise of a sleepless night beneath her eyes.
There was something like pity in the brief shadow that crossed his features, but it was gone before she could hold onto it.
"Why should I let you go?" he asked, voice low. "You were about to sell yourself to your landlord
He leaned forward, the flicker of candlelight catching the planes of his face. "I saved you from that."
Her breath hitched, anger and shame tangling together. "Saved me? By drugging me and bringing me here? That's not saving. That's kidnapping."
He gave a short, humorless chuckle. "Do you think I do not know a desperate animal when she walks into a trap?"
Elena's eyes widened. "You've been watching me?"
"Maybe." The single word landed like a stone.
"How could you—" She stopped. The knowledge that she had been observed — that her humiliation had been cataloged like a fine purchase — made bile rise in her throat. "You watched me because you wanted to watch me suffer," she said. The hurt was a hard edge. "That's cruel."
He turned and left the room as easily as though he had never entered it — but before the door closed, he paused and added, almost conversationally, "And Elena—do not try to run again. I do not appreciate being made to chase things that belong to me."
The click of the door was the last sound. Elena sat on the edge of the bed, the card cold in her palm, the orchids' perfume sweet and unreal. Her life had changed in a single night — saved from degradation by a man who had watched her breakdown and then decided to possess it.
She still stood up, not wanting to give up.
Elena's fists bruised against the door, the sound echoing through the luxurious room. "Let me out! Please, somebody—" Her voice cracked with desperation.
At last, the lock clicked. The door swung open and a maid stood there, head slightly bowed, hands folded neatly in front of her.
the maid said softly, her tone careful. "The Master instructed me to open for you."
Elena didn't wait. She shoved past and ran, her bare feet slapping against the polished marble floors. The mansion seemed endless, hallways sprawling with art-lined walls, chandeliers glittering overhead. Panic blurred everything.
She turned corner after corner until she saw a door that looked like it might lead outside. Her fingers fumbled at the handle when a deep voice rolled through the hall.
"It's not that way, cupcake."
She froze, shivers running through her spine. The nickname sounded almost gentle, but the way Damian spoke it made her feel as though he owned even her shadow.
She turned and saw him leaning casually against the staircase railing, his eyes dark and amused, like a predator letting its prey think it could escape.
Before she could speak, a man in a black suit appeared with her phone in his hand. He extended it toward her. It was switched off."
Elena snatched it, clutching it as though it was her lifeline.
"My driver will drop you off, he said walking away.
Elena's chest heaved. She didn't trust him—not for a second—but she wanted nothing more than to leave. She followed the driver, who led her down to the garage.
Her breath caught. Dozens of gleaming cars lined the vast space—sleek black Lamborghinis, gleaming silver Rolls-Royces, and a blood-red Ferrari that looked like it had never touched dust. The scent of leather and expensive polish filled the air.
The driver opened the back door of a black Bentley and Elena slid inside, pressing herself into the corner as though she could make herself invisible. She didn't relax until the car pulled away and the mansion disappeared behind the iron gates.
When the driver dropped her off, Elena rushed upstairs, her chest aching with each breath. She flung open the apartment door.
Empty.
The air was still. The small blanket her aunt always covered herself with was folded neatly on the bed. Elena's heart thundered. "Auntie?"
She darted out into the hall. "Did anyone see my aunt? Please!"
A neighbor stepped out of his doorway, scratching his head. "I saw her earlier. She left… but she was asking for you. She looked weak."
Elena's stomach dropped. "No… no, no, no."
She nearly lost her balance, stumbling down the stairs. On the street, she was about to scream in frustration when another neighbor shouted, "Elena! She was taken to the hospital! Someone called an ambulance!"
The words hit like a thunderbolt. She bolted into the street, waving frantically for a taxi.