Chapter 9: They Came for Me
1012 Words
"They said they're here for Aria Bennett."
The words hit me like a punch to the chest.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
The room seemed frozen in time.
Then Damien's expression turned lethal.
Not angry.
Not furious.
Lethal.
The kind of look that explained why powerful businessmen feared him.
The kind of look that warned people to run.
Fast.
Unfortunately, whoever had invaded Blackwood Estate clearly hadn't received the warning.
"Get her to the panic room."
The order came instantly.
The injured guard nodded.
"Yes, sir."
"No."
The word left my mouth before I could stop it.
Both men turned toward me.
I folded my arms.
"I'm not hiding."
The guard looked horrified.
Damien looked ready to strangle me.
"Aria."
His voice carried a dangerous calm.
The kind that usually came before someone lost their temper.
"No."
I stepped closer.
"If they're here because of me, then I deserve answers."
Gunfire echoed somewhere downstairs.
Another explosion followed.
The mansion shook violently.
A chandelier crashed in the hallway.
I flinched.
Damien did not.
His gaze never left mine.
"You're impossible."
I lifted my chin.
"So I've been told."
For one brief second, amusement flashed across his face.
Then it disappeared.
Replaced by determination.
Before I could argue further, he grabbed my wrist.
My breath caught.
"Damien—"
"We're leaving."
"What?"
"The panic room."
"I said no."
"Tough."
The arrogant jerk actually picked me up.
Picked.
Me.
Up.
My feet left the floor.
"What are you doing?"
"Solving a problem."
I glared at him.
"You can't just carry people around."
"Watch me."
The guard laughed.
Actually laughed.
I immediately decided I disliked him.
---
The panic room was hidden behind a bookshelf.
Because apparently billionaires lived in spy movies.
The thick steel door closed behind us with a heavy thud.
Inside were surveillance screens, emergency supplies, communication equipment, and enough technology to run a small country.
I stared.
"Okay."
Damien glanced at me.
"Okay?"
"This is ridiculous."
A corner of his mouth twitched.
Despite everything happening outside.
Despite the gunfire.
The danger.
The chaos.
Part of him still found me amusing.
I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended.
A security monitor suddenly flashed.
Both of us turned toward it.
Several masked figures moved through the mansion.
Armed.
Organized.
Professional.
Not random criminals.
Not amateurs.
These people knew exactly what they were doing.
My stomach tightened.
One man stopped in front of a camera.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
As if he knew we were watching.
Then he lifted a photograph.
My photograph.
Fear crawled down my spine.
The message couldn't have been clearer.
They weren't here for money.
Or Damien.
Or Blackwood Holdings.
They were hunting me.
"Who are these people?" I whispered.
Damien's jaw clenched.
"I don't know."
The answer felt wrong.
Not because he was lying.
Because I genuinely believed he didn't know.
And that terrified me.
Because Damien Blackwood always knew everything.
Always.
A notification suddenly appeared on one of the screens.
Incoming Email.
The room fell silent.
Nobody should have access to the estate's private network.
Nobody.
Yet somehow someone did.
The email opened automatically.
A single sentence appeared.
Trade the girl for Olivia.
My blood turned cold.
Damien became completely still.
The message remained on the screen.
Bright.
Clear.
Terrifying.
Trade the girl.
Me.
For Olivia.
His sister.
My stomach twisted.
The kidnapping.
The bomb.
The surveillance.
It had never been random.
This had been the plan all along.
Another message appeared beneath the first.
You have twenty-four hours.
Then a final line.
Or your sister dies.
Silence filled the room.
I looked at Damien.
His face revealed nothing.
No emotion.
No reaction.
Nothing.
Which somehow scared me more.
Because men only became that calm when they were barely holding themselves together.
Twenty-four hours.
Twenty-four hours to choose.
His sister.
Or me.
The choice should have been obvious.
I wasn't family.
I wasn't even a friend.
I was a journalist who had barged into his life with accusations and questions.
Olivia was his sister.
The person he loved most.
The person he had spent days trying to rescue.
I already knew what I would do.
The decision wasn't difficult.
"Damien."
His eyes met mine.
"What?"
"You have to do it."
The words tasted bitter.
Painful.
Necessary.
His expression darkened.
"No."
I blinked.
"What?"
"No."
The answer came instantly.
Without hesitation.
Without consideration.
As if the possibility itself offended him.
I stared.
"Damien, they're offering Olivia."
"I heard them."
His voice was ice.
"Then why are you saying no?"
For the first time, emotion cracked through his carefully controlled mask.
Raw.
Powerful.
Terrifying.
"Because I'm not trading you."
My heartbeat stumbled.
The room seemed smaller.
Warmer.
Dangerous in a completely different way.
"You don't know that."
His gaze locked onto mine.
Intense.
Possessive.
Unyielding.
"No."
He took a slow step forward.
"But I know one thing."
Another step.
My pulse quickened.
"I won't hand you over."
The conviction in his voice stole my breath.
Nobody had ever looked at me the way Damien Blackwood was looking at me now.
Like I mattered.
Like losing me would destroy him.
Like I was something worth fighting for.
A loud beep interrupted the moment.
Another message appeared.
This time it wasn't text.
It was a video.
My stomach dropped.
Damien clicked play.
The screen flickered.
Then Olivia appeared.
Tied to a chair.
Bruised.
Terrified.
But alive.
Relief crashed through me.
Until a masked man stepped into view beside her.
He looked directly into the camera.
As if he could see us.
As if he knew we were watching.
Then he removed his mask.
The second Damien saw his face, all color drained from his features.
I turned toward him.
"What is it?"
Silence.
A terrible silence.
The kind that changed everything.
"Damien."
His jaw tightened.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then he whispered a name.
A name that sent genuine fear through him.
"Aiden."
My pulse accelerated.
"Who's Aiden?"
Damien's eyes remained fixed on the screen.
And when he finally answered, his voice sounded haunted.
"He's supposed to be dead."
- Writer
