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Damian left the mansion, his jaw tight. The memory of her flushed face, the shy tremor in her voice, the way she had looked away when his eyes lingered too long it replayed like a song he couldn't silence.
He stepped into his car, The black sedan pulled away from the mansion, winding through the city . Soon, : a gated underground compound, guarded by men whose loyalty was etched in blood and fear.
The gates clanged shut behind him.
Inside, the air was thick with the stench of sweat, gun oil, His men straightened the moment he walked in, their conversation dying mid-sentence.
Damian didn't need to raise his voice; his presence alone was command enough.
"Report," he ordered.
His right-hand man, stepped forward. "The shipment from the docks arrived, but there's a problem. Someone's been leaking information. The police nearly intercepted it."
Damian's eyes narrowed. A chill spread through the room, sharper than any blade. "Who?"
He hesitated. "We're still investigating. But… it looks like someone from within."
"Bring him," Damian ordered.
Two guards dragged in a trembling man, his face already bruised. "I-I didn't mean to—" he stammered.
Damian didn't let him finish. He struck him once, clean and precise. The man crumpled to the floor, blood smearing the concrete.
"You don't get to mean anything," Damian said coldly. "You either obey, or you disappear."
He turned to walk away—when suddenly, a shot cracked through the air.
Pain seared across his side, hot and blinding. The world tilted for a heartbeat. His men shouted, dragging the traitor back as Damian staggered, pressing his hand Blood seeped between his fingers, staining his shirt crimson.
"Boss!" They caught him before he could fall.
"Shut up," Damian hissed through clenched teeth. His vision blurred, but his pride wouldn't let him collapse in front of them. "I'm fine. It's nothing."
But it wasn't nothing. Each step felt heavier,
"Get the doctor," Viktor barked at the others, his tone sharp with urgency.
Damian's hand tightened around his side, blood still warm beneath his palm. His lips curved in a humorless smile.
The doctor got in minutes later and treated his palm.
After the doctor was done, damian called his right hand man.
"Torture him till he begs for his own death" he said and left the warehouse.
***
The heavy doors swung open, and Damian stepped into his mansion. His shirt clung to his body, the dark fabric hiding most of the blood,. His eyes, however, still burned with the same unreadable face.
The living room was dimly lit, but he was surprised to find Elena there. She sat curled on the couch, her phone on the table, the screen black from inactivity. The moment she saw him, she stood, her face pale with worry.
"Why are you not asleep?" His voice was deep, steady, though pain pulsed in his side.
Elena's eyes filled with tears, her chest tightening. "How am I supposed to sleep when I don't even know if the one person I care about in this world is okay?"
That stunned him more than the bullet wound had. The one person?
He opened his mouth to respond, but her sharp intake of breath cut him short. She had noticed the way he clutched his side.
In an instant, she was in front of him, her hands pressing against his hands as her eyes scanned his body.
"Damian…" her voice cracked. "You're bleeding. What happened? Did you get into a fight?"
A shadow of a smile tugged at his lips, arrogance shielding the weakness he would never admit. "if I'd gotten into a fight, I'd still win. I always win."
She glared at him, relief and anger clashing in her eyes. "You're so full of yourself, Damian Volkov."
His smirk deepened. "Ah, there it is. The sharp tongue is back. For a moment, I thought my cupcake had turned into a crybaby."
"Don't call me that!" she snapped, but her trembling hands betrayed her. She grabbed his arm, her heart racing at how heavy his steps were.
He hissed of pain, but his gaze never left her face. There was fire in his eyes, but something softer lingered too.
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Just let me go, Damian. You've taken what you wanted from me."
His head tilted, curiosity flickering in his stare. "And what do you think I wanted from you, Elena?"
Her lips parted, but no words came. Her heart hammered in her chest as tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn't answer—not when the truth terrified her.
"Please, Damian," she breathed again, this time weaker, as if begging for her own sanity.
For the first time, his smirk faltered. He studied her, as though trying to decide whether she was a puzzle or a wound.
And then, before she could read him, Elena turned away. Her footsteps echoed as she walked down the hall, her back rigid, her tears hidden from him.
Damian leaned back against the couch, one hand pressed over his bleeding side, the other rubbing his jaw.
She thought he had already taken what he wanted,