You Can't Walk Away From This
684 Words
Luna Hart — POV
I thought coming home would make things feel normal again.
It didn’t.
Everything looked the same.
The small living room. The old couch. The quiet hum of the fan in the corner. My mum moving slowly around the kitchen like she always did.
Nothing had changed.
And yet—
Everything had.
“Luna, you’re not eating,” my mum said gently.
I blinked, realizing I had been staring at my plate for too long.
“I am,” I said quickly, forcing a small bite.
She didn’t look convinced.
She never does.
“You came home earlier than usual,” she added. “Did something happen at work?”
My grip tightened slightly around the spoon.
What was I supposed to say?
That I got dragged into something dangerous?
That strangers knew my name?
That a man I thought I understood turned out to be someone completely different?
“I just felt tired,” I said instead.
A lie.
But it was easier than the truth.
She studied me quietly, her eyes soft but searching.
“You’ve been carrying too much lately,” she said. “You don’t have to handle everything alone.”
That almost broke me.
Because that’s exactly what I was doing.
Handling everything alone.
“I'm fine, Mum,” I said softly.
She nodded, but I could tell she didn’t believe me.
After dinner, I cleaned up quickly and went to my room.
The moment the door closed behind me—
The silence hit differently.
Heavier.
My thoughts came rushing back.
Damien Cross.
The name echoed again in my head.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing.
How did I not see it?
How did I believe he was just… normal?
The way he spoke.
The way people reacted to him.
The way he moved.
It was all there.
I just didn’t want to see it.
A soft vibration pulled me out of my thoughts.
I froze.
Slowly… carefully… I reached for my phone.
Unknown number.
My heart started beating faster.
I hesitated.
Then answered.
“…hello?”
Silence.
Then—
“You shouldn’t have left him.”
My breath caught.
That voice.
Cold.
Familiar.
My grip tightened.
“Who is this?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
A soft laugh came through the line.
“You really don’t understand what you’re involved in, do you?”
Fear crept in slowly.
Cold.
Sharp.
“I’m not involved in anything,” I said.
Another laugh.
“You are now.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
My chest rising and falling too fast.
Because deep down—
I knew one thing.
Leaving didn’t end anything.
It only made things worse.
---
Damien Cross — POV
She left.
And I let her.
That was the problem.
I stood by the window, looking out into the dark, my thoughts sharper than usual.
Everything had escalated too quickly.
Too messy.
Too exposed.
“She’s back home,” one of the men reported.
“I know.”
Silence followed.
Waiting.
They were always waiting.
For instructions.
For control.
“For how long do we keep surveillance?” he asked.
I didn’t answer immediately.
Because the answer wasn’t simple.
“Constant,” I said finally.
“No gaps.”
“Yes, sir.”
The line went quiet again.
But my thoughts didn’t.
She thinks leaving keeps her safe.
It doesn’t.
If anything—
It makes her easier to reach.
My jaw tightened slightly.
That call earlier.
The message in her room.
The breach inside my house.
This isn’t random.
It’s coordinated.
And she’s at the center of it.
Which means—
She was never just a coincidence.
My phone lit up again.
Another update.
Movement detected near her location.
My eyes darkened instantly.
Too soon.
They’re moving already.
“Prepare the car,” I said.
“Yes, sir.”
I turned away from the window.
Calm.
Controlled.
But inside—
Everything had already shifted.
Because whether she likes it or not—
She’s not walking away from this.
And neither am I.
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