Chapter 20: On The Edge
1015 Words
The moment their lips meet, everything else fades away.
The danger.
The secrets.
The fact that this is the worst possible idea.
None of it matters.
Not when Elara’s back is pressed against the wall, her fingers tangled in Damien’s hair.
Not when his hands grip her waist, sliding under her shirt, his palms hot against her skin.
She exhales into his mouth, her breath uneven, her body arching into him.
Damien doesn’t hold back.
His mouth moves over hers, deep and demanding, his hands pulling her closer, tighter, rougher.
Elara moans, feeling herself losing control, letting herself drown in the way he touches her, the way he kisses her like he’s been starving for this.
Damien presses his body against hers, pinning her in place. His lips trail down her jaw, lower, until they find the curve of her neck.
Elara gasps.
His teeth graze her skin, sending a sharp shiver down her spine.
It’s too much.
Too intense.
And yet—
She doesn’t want him to stop.
Her fingers slide down his back, gripping his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.
Damien groans against her skin, his breath hot, his grip tightening.
His hand moves to her thigh, his fingers dragging upward, dangerously slow.
Elara’s head tilts back, her lips parting—
Then—
Reality crashes down like a slap to the face.
What the hell is she doing?
She can’t do this.
Not with him.
Not now.
Not when she’s one step away from completely falling apart.
“Elara,” Damien murmurs, his lips brushing her collarbone.
Her pulse jumps.
His voice is rough, thick with need.
And that’s exactly why she has to stop.
She grabs his wrists and places both hands on his chest and gently pushes him away. “Wait… we can’t.”
Damien freezes.
For a second, his grip tightens like he doesn’t want to let go.
Like he doesn’t want this to stop.
Then he finally exhales and pulls back.
His eyes are dark, blazing with heat and frustration.
Elara presses a hand to her lips, her breath shaky.
She doesn’t meet his gaze.
Because if she does—if she looks at him right now—
She knows she’ll lose all control.
Damien doesn’t move far. His fingers graze her hip, his breath still warm against her face. “Why not?” His voice is husky, low, almost daring her to say something she doesn’t believe.
Elara swallows hard. She doesn’t trust herself to look at him, not when her body is still tingling from his touch. “Because this… whatever this is… it’s a mistake.”
Damien chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. He drags a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. “Funny. It didn’t feel like a mistake a second ago.”
Her lips part, but no words come out. He’s right. It didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like something she’s been running from for too long.
And that’s exactly why it needs to stop.
She takes a step back, putting space between them. “You have only two more weeks here, Damien. You’ll leave, and I’ll still be here. This can’t happen.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, she sees something flash in his eyes—something raw, something real. “What if I don’t want to leave?”
Her heart stutters. “What?”
“What if I stay?” His voice is softer now, but there’s an edge to it, as if he’s testing how much of him she’ll let in.
Elara shakes her head, forcing a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have an empire to get back to. A life.”
He steps closer again, slowly, like a predator testing its prey’s boundaries. “And what if I don’t want that life anymore?”
She stares at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious. Because if he is… it’s dangerous.
“You don’t mean that,” she whispers.
Damien exhales sharply and looks away. He leans against the dresser, arms crossed, shoulders tense. “I don’t know what I mean anymore, Elara.”
The way he says her name sends a thrill through her chest. But she doesn’t let it show. She won’t.
Soon silence stretches between them, thick and unspoken.
Elara finally exhales, rubbing her hands over her face, grounding herself. “I think you should go to bed,” she mutters, not looking at him. “It’s late.”
Damien doesn’t move.
Instead, his eyes shift, something catching his attention on the small wooden dresser across the room.
A photograph.
She follows his gaze and her stomach drops.
Shit.
Before she can stop him, Damien strides over, picks it up, and studies it with a furrowed brow.
The picture is old, slightly worn at the edges. It’s of a younger Elara, no older than sixteen, standing between a man and a woman.
Her parents.
Her mother has the same dark hair, the same soft brown eyes. Her father, tall and broad-shouldered, has a protective hand on Elara’s back.
They all look happy.
A life long before the chaos, before the nightmare that forced her to disappear.
Damien turns the frame slightly. “Your parents?” he asks.
Elara swallows, nodding once.
Damien’s jaw tightens as he looks at the man in the photo. “Your dad… he looks familiar.”
A cold sweat breaks over her skin.
She already knows what’s coming.
Damien is a billionaire. A businessman. Someone who moves in circles where her father’s name once held power.
It was only a matter of time before he connected the dots.
“Elara…” Damien’s voice drops an octave. “Your last name. What is it?”
Her lungs seize.
She should lie.
She should tell him it doesn’t matter.
But something in Damien’s sharp gaze pins her in place, demanding an answer.
And for the first time since she went into hiding—since she buried her past—
She realizes she might not be able to outrun the truth anymore.
- Writer
