Chapter 5
868 Words
Alex POV;
I didn’t run. I didn’t cry. Even though the tears almost dropped.
I stood tall, the letter at my feet, Damian’s gaze locked on mine like a storm held in place by sheer will.
“What did my father owe you?” I demanded, my voice tighter than my fists.
My ear and mind waiting to get all information.
His eyes didn’t waver or either did he flinch. “That’s not your concern.”
“It is now,” I snapped, anger in my tone. “You bought me like a chrsp property. You brought me here under a lie. You forged my signature and locked me inside this mansion like a doll on a shelf. So yes, Damian, I’d say it’s very much my concern.”
For a second, something flickered behind his cold stare. Not anger. Not arrogance.
Pain.
Real and raw.
He looked away first.
“There are things you don’t understand,” he muttered, jaw clenched. “Things I’ve done. Things your father did.”
“I’m not afraid of the truth nor the fact.”
“Maybe you should be.”
He left me standing there, silence echoing in the space he once filled.
And for the first time, I realized—he wasn’t just dangerous because of what he did.
He was dangerous because of what he was hiding away.
---
That night, a knock came on my door.
A maid handed me a box, and before I could ask anything, she was gone.
Inside: a crimson gown, impossibly sleek, and a note.
Wear this. We leave at eight.
It wasn’t a request.
It was an order.
Not just any type of order, but an arrogant one at that.
---
The limo was silent.
Damian sat beside me, dressed in black like the world was a battlefield. His hand rested near his lap, not touching me but close enough I could feel the tension crawling off his skin.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
He didn’t look at me. “A gala. You’re the bride, remember?”
My jaw tightened. “And what does that mean to you? Trophy? Pawn?winner?“
His voice was like ice and emotional filled. “Tonight, it means survival and you have to play along!“
---
The gala was held in a mansion larger than his. Glittering chandeliers. Walls dressed in gold. Laughter that felt like knives.
Everyone turned when we entered.
Not at him.
At me.
Their eyes sliced through the silk of my dress, their smiles too tight, too fake. I heard the whispers.
“She’s the one.”
“The bride…”
“Poor thing. She has no idea.”
Damian kept his hand on my back like a leash disguised as affection. But his grip wasn’t tender—it was a warning.
A reminder: don’t run, this is all a game.
I barely kept balance in the gala, my cheeks aching from forced smiles. I didn’t belong here. They knew it. I knew it. The walls knew it. Everyone eyes knew it.
I drifted away from Damian when he stepped into a conversation, needing air—freedom.
That’s when a man approached me. Late thirties. Clean-cut, tailored suit, too calm, and way more handsome.
He didn’t say a word to me.
Just slipped a folded note into my hand, brushed his fingers against mine, and disappeared into the crowd even before I could say any words.
My heart thudded.
I opened it under the table when no one was watching.
You’re the key to his destruction. They’re coming for you.
My fingers trembled as I shoved the note into my clutch. I looked around—but the man was gone.
I just couldn't take that off my mind after going through the first line.
He noticed my change in mood,” what'd up with you?“ I looked elsewhere, not trying to get an eye contact with him.
“I'm less comfortable here, I need to go back.“ My voice was barely above a whisper.
He stood up, holding my hands and walking out the crowd.
The ride home was different.
We were halfway to the car when the world exploded.
Gunshots cracked through the air—sharp, close, loud. People screamed. Glass shattered.
I ducked instinctively, my ears ringing.
But before I hit the ground, something slammed into me—heavy, warm.
Damian.
He tackled me down, shielding me with his body.
Then I felt it—hot liquid, soaking my dress.
Blood.
“Damian?” I gasped, eyes wide, flabbergasted.
His face was pale, lips parted in shock.
A bullet had hit him.
“No—no, no, no—” I screamed, cradling him, my hands slick with red.
“Help!” I shouted, but no one came. Chaos reigned, gun shot still all over the place.
His eyes fluttered open. He grabbed my wrist with shaking fingers, pulling me closer.
His voice was barely a whisper.
“Don’t trust… anyone…”
He coughed out, blood staining his lips.
“…not even me.”
And then his eyes rolled back, and his body went limp in my arms as sirens wailed in the distance.
- Writer
