Episode3
1464 Words
Elira should have been terrified.
Instead, she was calculating.
She sat in the sunken living room of Damian Thorne’s penthouse, sipping black coffee from a porcelain cup that probably cost more than her entire year’s rent. He’d given her a bedroom, a closet full of designer clothes—none of which she’d asked for—and the illusion of choice.
But she wasn’t naive.
Everything in this place was a leash. Beautiful. Golden. Deadly.
Damian was at the other end of it.
She could feel him watching her. He pretended to be busy, standing behind the sleek granite kitchen island with his tablet and phone. But he was tracking her every breath.
Just like always.
He had always made her feel like prey—even when she was in love with him.
Especially then.
“I have a proposal,” he said finally, his voice crisp and low.
She didn’t look up. “Is that a code word for blackmail?”
“Let’s not make this ugly.”
“It’s already ugly, Damian. You kidnapped me.”
He ignored that, walking toward her with a measured calm that reminded her too much of the boardrooms where he’d gutted billion-dollar rivals without raising his voice.
“I want three things,” he said, stopping in front of her.
She crossed her legs, slowly. “How bold of you to think you’re in any position to ask for anything.”
“I’m not asking.”
Of course not.
“You stay here for one month. With me. No running, no lies. You tell me everything—his name, his life, his needs.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And the other two things?”
He crouched beside her, resting one hand on the edge of the sofa, his presence overwhelming.
“You let me be her father. You let me see her.”
“That’s two,” she said coolly. “What’s the third?”
His eyes locked with hers. “You come back to me.”
She stared at him for several seconds, and then—
She laughed.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t polite.
It was broken, cruel, and laced with pain.
“You think you can put me in a box for five years, break me, abandon me, and then invite me back like nothing happened?”
“I never abandoned you.”
“You abandoned us. You let your silence become the rope I hung myself with. You let her destroy what we had. You let me walk away.”
“Because you ran!” he snapped. “You didn’t give me a chance to fix it.”
“I shouldn’t have had to give you a chance,” she said, voice rising. “You cheated.”
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, he stood slowly, towering over her. “If I were really the monster you claim, I’d already have him.”
She stood too, matching him glare for glare. “If you try to take him from me, I’ll burn your empire to the ground.”
He smiled faintly. “There she is. The fire I remember.”
Her voice dropped. “You don’t know who I am anymore, Damian. I buried her the day I left.”
He leaned down, his lips nearly brushing her ear. “Then let’s dig her up.”
Flashback – Four Years Ago
Their last fight had not been a firestorm.
It had been ice.
Damian had come home late—again. This time smelling like perfume and regret.
Elira had waited at the dining table, her hand curled around a half-empty glass of red wine. A plate of untouched pasta had gone cold in front of her.
He walked in without apology.
“I’m tired,” he said. “Can we not do this tonight?”
She didn’t say a word.
He poured himself whiskey, loosened his tie. She watched it all—the careless way he ignored the distance that had grown between them.
“I saw her,” she finally said.
He stilled.
“In your car. Getting out. Wearing your coat.”
He turned slowly. “It’s not what you think.”
“You’re sleeping with her.”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
He sighed. “Elira—”
“You don’t even care anymore,” she said softly. “You don’t look at me like you used to.”
He looked at her then. Really looked.
And for a second—just one—she saw guilt.
But it wasn’t enough.
She stood, dropped the napkin she’d clutched in her lap, and whispered, “I’m leaving.”
His eyes darkened. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“I’m not. I’m done.”
She walked out that night with nothing but her phone, her car keys, and the life inside her that she hadn’t even known existed yet.
By the time he realized she was gone, she was halfway across the country.
Present day – Damian’s penthouse
He had a manila envelope in his hand.
It slid across the marble table between them, a quiet threat in disguise.
“What’s this?” Elira asked, eyeing it like it might bite.
“Proof that I can find him if I want.”
Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled it open. Photos spilled out.
Playground shots. A woman she knew—her neighbor—walking with her daughter . Her daughters
's tiny hand clutched around a juice box.
The photos were timestamped. Two days ago.
Elira’s blood went cold.
“You had someone follow her?”
“I had someone follow you before you disappeared again,” Damian said. “They found her. It didn’t take much.”
Elira’s heart raced. “She's a child.”
“She's my child.”
“No,” she hissed. “She's not your pawn.”
“She's not yours to hide.”
She shoved the photos back into the envelope. “You bastard.”
“I gave you a choice, Elira,” he said, calm again. Too calm. “Negotiate or watch me take control.”
“You’re threatening me.”
“I’m protecting what’s mine.”
She stood so fast the chair scraped against the floor. “You don’t even know her.”
“I want to.”
She stared at him, eyes burning. “You say that now. But what about when he doesn’t meet your expectations? When he makes a mess, or asks hard questions, or loves someone you hate?”
“I won’t fail her.”
“You failed me.”
A long silence followed.
Then, softly, he said, “Let me try again.”
Later that night
The penthouse was dark, lit only by the city lights spilling through the windows.
Elira couldn’t sleep.
She wandered to the library—a cavernous space filled with old books and silent memories. Damian’s world. His mind.
She ran her fingers along the spine of a biography. She remembered nights curled on this couch, reading while he worked across the room. There had been peace once. There had even been love.
But now, the air was colder.
Damian stood in the doorway, shirt half-unbuttoned, a shadow among shadows.
“You used to love this room,” he said.
She didn’t turn around. “I used to love you.”
He came closer, quiet as a ghost. “I never stopped.”
She turned then, slowly. “Do you even know how to love, Damian?”
“I’m learning.”
“It’s too late.”
“Not for him.”
Their eyes locked.
And for the first time, something shifted.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But a crack in the wall between them.
He reached for her hand. She let him, because she was tired, and he was warm, and the storm inside her had to rest sometime.
His thumb brushed over her knuckles.
“What’s her name?” he asked.
She hesitated.
Then whispered, “Amira.”
Damian’s eyes closed for a second, like the word hurt.
Or healed.
“Amira,” he repeated. “She sounds strong.”
“She is.”
“Where is her?”
“With the only person I trust.”
“I want to meet her.”
Elira swallowed. “And if I say no?”
“I’ll find her anyway.”
She pulled her hand back. “Then we’re still enemies.”
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, he whispered, “Then let’s be enemies in the same room.”
Her breath hitched.
She hated that she still wanted him. That her body remembered even when her heart was scarred.
Damian took a step forward. “I don’t want your silence anymore, Elira.”
She met his gaze, fire meeting fire.
“Then earn my voice.”
- Writer
