CHAPTER SIX:CLOSER THAN SAFETY
1189 Words
I learned something important that night.
Damian Voss did not sleep.
At least, not the way normal people did.
I woke to the quiet hum of the mansion, the kind of silence that felt watched. My room was dim, moonlight slipping through the curtains, painting pale lines across the floor. For a moment, I thought I was alone.
Then I heard it.
Breathing.
Steady. Controlled.
I sat up too fast, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Damian was seated in the chair near the door.
Watching.
“You’re awake,” he said calmly.
“I—” My voice came out rough. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
He stood slowly, as if he didn’t want to scare me. That alone scared me more.
“There was movement near the east gate,” he said. “I didn’t want to leave you alone.”
I pulled the blanket tighter around myself. “So you decided to sit in my room in the dark?”
“Yes.”
“You could have told me.”
“You sleep lightly,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
I laughed quietly, nerves spilling over. “That’s ironic, considering you’re the reason I barely sleep at all.”
Something flickered across his face. Not anger. Not amusement.
Guilt.
“I didn’t plan for this,” he said.
“For what?”
“For you to look at me like I’m the danger.”
“You are the danger,” I said softly. “Just not to me. Not yet.”
His jaw tightened. He moved closer, stopping a few feet away.
“Get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow will be worse.”
That should have been the end of it.
It wasn’t.
“Damian,” I said before he could turn away.
He stopped.
“Do you ever regret it?” I asked. “This life?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Then, quietly, “Every day.”
That answer stayed with me long after he left the room.
The next morning came with rules.
More rules.
Two guards outside my door. Another trailing me through the halls. I wasn’t allowed near windows without clearance. I wasn’t allowed to answer calls unless Damian approved them.
I finally snapped during breakfast.
“I’m not a hostage,” I said, pushing my plate away.
Damian didn’t look up from his phone. “You are exactly that.”
“That’s not what we agreed on.”
“We agreed you would stay alive.”
“I’m breathing, Damian. That should count for something.”
He finally looked at me then, eyes dark, unreadable.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “They won’t come for me directly. They’ll come for you. Slowly. Quietly.”
“Then teach me,” I said. “Don’t cage me.”
The room went still.
Rosa froze near the doorway. Even the guards seemed to hold their breath.
Damian stood.
“You want to learn?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then stop arguing and start listening.”
I met his gaze, refusing to back down.
“I won’t be afraid of you,” I said.
Something dangerous sparked in his eyes.
“You should be.”
“Then why aren’t I?”
That did it.
He moved toward me, fast, stopping just inches away. I could feel his heat, smell his cologne, sense the tension coiled tight beneath his skin.
“Because,” he said quietly, “I don’t let myself hurt things I want to protect.”
My breath caught.
“That’s not comforting,” I whispered.
“It’s the truth.”
Later that day, Damian took me somewhere unexpected.
The underground training room.
It smelled like metal and sweat. Weapons lined the walls. Targets riddled with bullet holes stared back like silent warnings.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Insurance,” he said.
“For who?”
“For you.”
He handed me a small gun.
I stared at it. “You want me to—”
“To know how to use it,” he finished. “Not to enjoy it.”
My hands shook as I took it.
“I don’t belong here.”
“No one belongs here,” he said. “They survive here.”
He stood behind me, adjusting my grip carefully, his hands firm but respectful.
“Breathe,” he murmured near my ear. “Don’t fight the recoil.”
I hated how close he was.
I hated how safe I felt.
The shot echoed loud and sharp. I flinched, but the bullet hit the target.
I stared.
“You did well,” Damian said.
“I hated it.”
“Good,” he replied. “That means you’re still human.”
His words settled deep.
That evening, everything changed again.
A message came in.
Damian read it once, then crushed his phone in his hand.
“What?” I asked.
“They’ve made a move,” he said.
“Who?”
“The De Santis family.”
My stomach dropped. “The man from before?”
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said grimly, “they’re done watching.”
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Damian grabbed my wrist. “We’re moving.”
“Where?”
“To the panic wing.”
“That sounds reassuring.”
He didn’t smile.
We barely made it inside the reinforced room before the first explosion shook the walls.
I screamed.
Damian pulled me into his chest, shielding me instinctively as alarms blared.
“It’s okay,” he said firmly. “I’ve got you.”
The second explosion was closer.
“This is my fault,” I whispered, shaking.
“No,” he said sharply. “This is mine.”
He cupped my face, forcing me to look at him.
“I brought you into this,” he said. “And I swear to you, Isabella—no one takes you from me.”
His thumb brushed my cheek, grounding me.
In that moment, surrounded by chaos, fear, and steel walls, something inside me broke open.
“I trust you,” I said.
The words stunned us both.
His breathing hitched.
“That’s dangerous,” he said.
“I know.”
But I meant it.
Hours later, when the danger passed, the mansion was scarred but standing.
Damian walked me back to my room himself.
“I’ll stay,” he said quietly. “Tonight.”
I hesitated. “You don’t have to.”
“I do.”
He sat in the chair again, closer this time.
Before sleep took me, I asked one last question.
“What happens after ninety days?”
The silence stretched.
Then, honestly, “I don’t know.”
That scared me more than any gun.
Because I realized something terrible and true
The contract was supposed to protect us.
But it was already binding us in ways no paper ever could.
And if this continued…
Ninety days would never be enough.
- Writer
