Chapter three
875 Words
Elena avoided the gallery the next day. She couldn’t face Claire’s questions or Damian’s shadow. Instead, she wandered the side streets of Montmartre with her sketchbook trying to lose herself in lines and colors.
But even as she drew, her mind replayed Damian’s vow. I’ll always be near. Watching.
When she returned to her apartment that evening, a package sat at her door. Her stomach twisted. She hadn’t ordered anything.
Hands trembling, she carried it inside and ripped it open.
A brand-new phone lay inside, sleek and expensive. A note rested on top:
Use this. It’s safer. ~D
Her breath caught. She hadn’t given him her address. He had found it anyway.
She marched to the window, intending to toss the phone into the street. But a knock at the door froze her.
“Elena?”
It was Claire.
Relief flooded her as she opened the door. Claire held up a bottle of wine and two glasses. “You’ve been hiding all day. Spill.”
Elena managed a shaky laugh. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
They settled on the couch. The wine helped Elena’s nerves, but Claire’s sharp eyes missed nothing.
“This is about that man,” Claire said. “The one from yesterday.”
Elena’s throat tightened. “His name is Damian. We… have history.”
“History that makes you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Claire sipped her wine. “Is he dangerous?”
Elena hesitated. “Not to me. But to everyone else.”
Before Claire could answer, Elena’s phone buzzed on the table. Not the new one—her old one.
She picked it up and her heart nearly stopped.
Don’t trust the people around you. They can’t keep you safe. Only I can. ~D
Elena’s grip tightened on the phone. Her eyes darted to the window, half-expecting to see him watching.
Claire frowned. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Elena lied quickly. She shoved the phone aside, her chest aching.
But when she went to bed that night, she couldn’t sleep. Damian wasn’t gone. He was closer than ever.
Elena stared at the ceiling in the dark, her heart pounding. She knew Damian wasn’t just making threats. He was already here, moving in the shadows, deciding how much of her life he’d let her control.
The following week, Claire insisted Elena attend a small gallery event. “Your work is hanging on those walls. You need to be there,” she said firmly.
Elena almost refused. But she knew hiding wouldn’t make Damian disappear.
She dressed simply wearing a black dress, her hair tied back and told herself she would stay an hour, no more.
The gallery buzzed with quiet conversation, glasses clinking as people admired the art. Adrian Leclerc, the gallery owner, greeted her warmly.
“Miss Rivers.” His smile was kind. “Your pieces are drawing attention. People are asking about the artist.”
Elena flushed. “That’s… good.”
“You deserve it,” Adrian said. His eyes lingered, steady and reassuring. “I hope you’ll let me feature you more.”
For a moment, Elena felt light. Maybe Paris could be a fresh start.
Until the air shifted.
She didn’t need to turn. She felt him.
Damian.
He stood across the room devastating in a dark suit, drink in hand. His gaze was locked on her, unyielding, dangerous.
Adrian followed her line of sight. His brow furrowed. “Friend of yours?”
Elena’s throat dried. “No. He’s—” She stopped. How could she explain Damian Cross in a single word?
Adrian studied her, then Damian. Tension crackled between the two men instantly though no words had been exchanged.
Damian didn’t wait long. He crossed the room like a storm. “Elena.”
Her name rolled from his tongue like a claim.
Adrian stepped slightly forward. “Good evening. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Damian Cross.” His handshake was firm, his stare colder. “And you are?”
“Adrian Leclerc. The gallery owner.”
Something sharp flickered in Damian’s eyes. He looked at Elena. “So this is why you’re here. Playing artist in Paris, smiling at strangers.”
Her spine stiffened. “This is my life now.”
His mouth curved, humorless. “No, Elena. This is your distraction. Don’t mistake it for freedom.”
Adrian bristled. “With respect, she doesn’t need your approval.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed dangerously but Elena cut in before sparks ignited. “Stop it. Both of you.”
Her voice shook, but she forced steel into it. “This is my choice. My art, my life. Neither of you gets to dictate it.”
For a second, silence pressed down. Then Damian leaned closer, his voice low enough only she could hear.
“Choices come with consequences, Elena. And you’re not ready for his.”
Her blood ran cold.
Elena’s heart hammered as Damian walked away, leaving his warning behind. She looked at Adrian, steady and kind. Two men, two worlds. One promised safety, the other chaos.
But as her phone buzzed in her purse with another message from Damian, she realized the truth—chaos was already here.
- Writer
