The silence stretched so long I thought it might break me in half. My heart pounded so hard it hurt, my breath shallow and uneven. I wanted to fight, to scream, to tell him no. But the truth was, I couldn't.
Because saying no wasn't freedom. It was another kind of death.
Finally, my lips parted, my voice weak, trembling. "I… I'll do it."
The words tasted like ashes, bitter and heavy, but they were the only ones I had.
His eyes flickered, sharp and knowing, as if he'd been waiting for me to give in. Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, his mouth curving—not in surprise, not even in triumph, but like everything was unfolding exactly as he had planned.
"You'll move in with me. My world is not safe for you alone," he said, his tone smooth, commanding.
Move in with him? My stomach dropped. My throat closed tight. I could barely wrap my mind around it.
Live in his world. Live under his roof. Belong to him.
My hands curled into fists in my lap. Fear clawed at me, but another thought burned stronger—what choice did I really have? If I walked away, I had nothing. If I stayed, at least I had a roof, a chance, a sliver of hope.
I nodded, the motion small, shaky. "Okay," I whispered, though my voice sounded foreign to my own ears.
"Good girl," Damian murmured, his eyes glinting like steel. The praise wasn't soft—it was sharp, cutting, like another chain slipping around my wrists.
I thought saying yes to Damian's deal would solve my problems. That it would give me time to breathe, time to stand back up.
But the moment the words left my mouth, I felt it—the trap snapping shut around me.
Because nothing about this man was simple. Nothing about this world was safe.
And as I looked into his eyes, I felt a chill race down my spine.
I had just stepped into the dark.
And I didn't know if I'd ever find the way back out.
Damian's gaze didn't waver. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest, as if he were already thinking three steps ahead of me.
"Go back to your apartment," he said finally, his voice steady, commanding. "Take only what matters. Leave the rest."
My brow furrowed in confusion. "What… what do you mean?"
His eyes narrowed slightly, like I should've already known. "Clothes. Don't bother. You won't need them. I'll see to that myself."
The room tilted for a moment, my stomach dropping. He would choose what I wore? He would strip me even of that small freedom?
My lips parted, but the words tangled in my throat. I wanted to argue, to say those clothes are mine, they're all I have. But the truth hit me harder: they were old, torn, second-hand. Nothing compared to what a man like him could buy with a flick of his hand.
Still, it felt like another piece of me was being taken away.
"Twenty minutes," Damian continued, his tone clipped, final. "My driver will go with you. If you're not done in that time…" His eyes sharpened, cutting into me like glass. "Then don't bother coming back."
A chill spread down my spine. Twenty minutes to pack up my entire life. Twenty minutes to erase the years I had spent surviving inside those walls.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "Twenty minutes isn't enough.."
"It's more than enough," he interrupted smoothly, his voice sharp as a blade. "If your life doesn't fit into that, then you don't understand what survival means."
I pressed my shaking hands against my knees, digging my nails into the fabric of my dress to keep myself steady. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was cruel, but the words died before they could reach my lips.
Because he wasn't wrong.
My life was small. Fragile. Breakable. Maybe it really did fit into twenty minutes.
Damian didn't give me time to think. He pressed a button on the edge of his desk, and the door opened. A tall man in a black suit stepped inside, silent as a shadow. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, his face unreadable, his eyes like cold stone.
"This is Marcus," Damian said simply. "He'll take you. He'll watch you. And he'll bring you back to me."
I stood slowly, my legs trembling beneath me. My bag slipped off my lap, and I clutched it to my chest like it could shield me. My whole body screamed to run, but there was nowhere left to go.
As I turned toward the door, Damian's voice followed me, low and dangerous.
"Remember," he murmured, his gaze burning into my back. "You belong to me now. Don't make me regret giving you this chance."
The words wrapped around me like chains, heavy and cold.
And as Marcus motioned for me to follow, I knew the truth..
I wasn't just packing a bag.
I was packing away my old life.
And once I walked out that apartment door, there would be no way back.
Marcus followed me out of Damian's office, his footsteps steady, heavy, controlled. He didn't speak once, and the silence pressed on me harder than his words.
By the time we reached the car, my palms were damp, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might split. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows, but all I could think about was the clock. Twenty minutes.
When the car stopped in front of my apartment, my chest squeezed tight. The place I had called home suddenly looked smaller, weaker—like it already belonged to someone else.
Marcus opened the door. His face was stone. "Twenty minutes," he said, flat and sharp.
I nodded, clutching my bag, and rushed up the stairs. My keys slipped in my sweaty hand before the lock finally clicked.
The moment I stepped inside, memories slammed into me. The crooked frame above the couch, the blanket on the chair, the smell of old coffee—it all screamed mine. And yet, I had to walk away.
My bag hit the couch with a thud. I forced myself to move. Cash. Toothbrush. Phone charger. My mother's necklace. I shoved them in, my hands shaking so hard I almost dropped the zipper.
The clock ticked louder in my head. Fifteen minutes. Ten.
Every item I left behind felt like I was tearing out a piece of myself. Clothes. Books. The blanket that had kept me warm. My chest ached, but there was no time.
Five minutes.
I zipped the bag, the sound final. My eyes swept the room one last time—my bed, my walls, my life. My throat burned.
Then a knock shook the door. Marcus's voice was low, firm. "Time's up."
I froze, my bag strap digging into my palm.
Because once I stepped out that door, there was no coming back.