Chapter two
905 Words
The train rocked gently carrying Elena farther from London. She pressed her forehead against the cold glass, eyes fixed on the blur of countryside sliding past. Her heart still hadn’t slowed. Damian’s message haunted her.
You can run, but you’ll never escape me.
Her fingers clenched the strap of her bag. She had money, a new passport, and a plan to start over in Paris, far from Damian Cross’s reach.
But deep down, she knew better. Damian didn’t let go.
By the time the train rolled into Gare du Nord, exhaustion weighed on her bones. She slipped into the city unnoticed blending with the crowd.
Paris was noisy, alive, overwhelming but to Elena ,it meant freedom. She found a tiny studio apartment hardly bigger than her old walk-in closet but it was hers. No Damian, no shadows of his empire.
For the first time in years, she exhaled.
She bought canvases, brushes and paint from a street vendor. The smell of turpentine and fresh oils grounded her. If she had anything left, it was her art.
Maybe Paris could be her salvation.
Three weeks later, Elena’s first small collection hung in a local gallery. It wasn’t grand but people paused to look. Some even bought. Claire, the gallery assistant, became her first friend in the city.
“You’ve got something special,” Claire told her one evening as they closed up. “Your work… it feels alive. People feel it.”
Elena smiled faintly, pride tugging at her chest. “Thank you. I just… paint what I feel.”
“And what you feel,” Claire teased, “must be heartbreak. Whoever broke your heart, he must have been….”
The doorbell chimed, cutting her off.
Elena froze.
She knew before she turned who it was.
Damian Cross.
He filled the doorway like he owned it, dark suit perfectly tailored, storm-gray eyes locking onto her. Paris, freedom, fresh starts all gone in an instant.
“Elena.” His voice was soft, almost gentle. Too gentle. “You didn’t think I’d find you, did you?”
Her heart lurched. She gripped the edge of the counter for balance. “Damian, you shouldn’t be here.”
“You left me no choice.” He stepped inside, ignoring Claire’s stiff posture. “You vanish in the night, run to Paris, and expect me to sit still?”
Claire looked between them, eyes wide. “Elena… should I…”
“Go,” Elena whispered.
Claire hesitated, then slipped out the back leaving them alone.
Elena turned to face him, anger sparking through her fear. “You can’t just barge into my life. Not anymore.”
Damian’s jaw tightened. “Your life? Elena, you are my life. Did you think disappearing would change that?”
“You don’t own me.”
His eyes burned. “I never said I did. But don’t lie to me, Elena. You still feel it.”
Her throat closed. Damn him. He always cut straight to the part of her she wanted to hide.
“Even if I do,” she forced out, “it doesn’t matter. I left for a reason.”
He stepped closer, voice low, magnetic. “Tell me to my face you don’t love me. Look me in the eye and say it.”
Her chest heaved. She opened her mouth but no words came.
Damian’s hand lifted, almost touching her cheek, before he caught himself and pulled back. His restraint made her ache worse.
“You can’t,” he said quietly. “Because what we have doesn’t vanish. You can’t erase me, Elena. I won’t let you.”
Her nails dug into her palms. “This isn’t love. It’s control. And I won’t live like that again.”
He flinched, just barely. But then his eyes hardened.
“You think Paris makes you safe? My enemies don’t care what city you hide in. They’ll use you to get to me. And when they do, I’ll be the one to pick up the pieces.”
Fear prickled her skin. “You’re trying to scare me.”
“I’m trying to save you.” His voice cracked, a rare slip. “Even if you hate me for it.”
Her chest squeezed. For a second she saw the man beneath the empire- the one who had once held her like she was fragile glass. But then she remembered the endless lies, the chaos, the women whispered about in tabloids.
She shook her head. “I don’t need saving. Not from them. Not from you.”
“Elena….”
“No. Leave. If you care at all, leave me alone.”
Silence stretched. His eyes bored into hers, unreadable.
Finally, Damian exhaled, slow and heavy. “Fine. I’ll give you space.”
Relief flickered too soon.
“But understand this,” he added, voice like steel. “I’m not walking away. I’ll always be near. Watching. Protecting. You belong with me Elena. And deep down, you know it.”
He turned and walked out, the sound of the bell above the door echoing in the silence he left behind.
Elena sagged against the counter, trembling.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn’t want to look—but she did.
One new message.
Run all you want. You’ll still end up in my arms. ~D
Her knees nearly gave way.
She had escaped London. But Damian had followed.
And he wasn’t letting go.
- Writer
