chapter 8
1304 Words
Chapter 8 – The Stranger’s Shot
The world went white.
The second gunshot thundered through the night like the heavens themselves had fractured open. Lightning swallowed the terrace, thunder roared, and Isabella’s scream tore from her throat—raw, piercing, ripped straight from her soul.
For a suspended heartbeat, everything was still. Damian’s men froze. Ethan’s body jerked in her arms. Her chest seized, her heart splintered—because she didn’t know who had fallen this time.
Rain poured harder, drowning the marble in rivers of red. Her shaking hands clutched Ethan, desperate to feel his breath, his pulse. “Ethan—no, no—don’t leave me—”
But his ragged inhale tore through the storm, shallow, broken—but there. He was alive.
A shadow staggered in front of her. One of Damian’s men collapsed to the ground, blood splattering across the terrace. His gun clattered from his hand as he fell face-first into the rain, unmoving.
Not Ethan. Not Damian.
Someone else had been shot.
The silence that followed was more terrifying than the gunfire.
“Who the hell—” another guard hissed, spinning, searching the shadows.
And then—
A voice. Cold. Commanding. Familiar.
“Drop your weapons.”
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Isabella’s heart stopped. She knew that voice.
From the storm’s veil emerged a figure, dark coat whipping in the wind, gun raised and steady. His steps were unhurried, each one slicing through the night like a blade.
Ethan’s hand fisted in her sleeve, bloodied but trembling with shock. “No… it can’t be… he was dead..... I buried him with my own hands".
Damian’s eyes narrowed, his gun rising again, posture coiled like a predator ready to strike. His men shifted uncertainly, glancing between their fallen comrade and the figure advancing on them.
The man stepped into the light. Rain streaked down the hard planes of his face, shadows carving him into something sharp, lethal and unforgiving.
Isabella’s breath caught in her throat. Her mind screamed denial even as recognition slammed hard into her chest.
“Adrian…” she whispered.
The name broke from her lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.
Her brother.
The brother she had buried.
The brother who wasn’t supposed to be alive.
Ethan froze, disbelief etched into his pale face. Damian’s lips curved in a humorless smile, though his eyes blazed with something unreadable—anger, yes, but also calculation.
“Well,” Damian murmured, his voice cutting through the storm. “The ghost has return.”
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Adrian’s gaze flicked briefly to Isabella—sharp, protective, devastating—and then locked on Damian. His voice was low, dangerous, full of venom.
“Step away from her or the next bullet will be for you.”
Damian chuckled, the sound cold, echoing through the terrace. He tilted his head, his gun never wavering. “You come back from the grave just to make demands? You should’ve stayed buried.”
“Drop your weapons,” Adrian repeated, louder this time.
The storm crackled between them, the terrace trembling under the weight of three men bound to Isabella in ways that felt like chains and daggers both.
Isabella’s lips trembled as she looked between them—Damian with his ruthless claim, Ethan bleeding but unbroken, Adrian risen from the dead like vengeance itself.
Her heart was a battlefield.
Damian finally lowered his gun, just slightly, his smile curling. “So this is your savior, dove? A ghost? A shadow?” His voice darkened, venomous. “He can’t protect you from me either.”
Adrian’s voice sliced like steel. “Try me.”
The storm roared, thunder splitting the sky.
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The standoff broke in an instant.
Damian’s men fired.
Adrian moved like a phantom, dragging Isabella down behind a column as bullets shattered marble and stone. The sound was deafening, ricochets sparking fire against the rain-slick terrace. Isabella’s body shook violently as Adrian shielded her, his coat whipping around her like armor.
“Stay down!” he barked, returning fire with precision, every shot calculated, lethal.
Ethan groaned, slumping against the column, blood staining the ground. His breath hitched painfully, but his eyes burned with defiance. “Don’t—let him—take her…”
Damian stood calm in the chaos, his presence towering even as bullets flew. He didn’t flinch, didn’t cower. He strode through the storm, his eyes never leaving Isabella. she felt a chill run in her body as if he wants to claim her whole.
And when the gunfire ceased, when smoke and rain choked the air—his voice rose again, steady and damning.
“This doesn’t end tonight, Isabella.”
His gaze cut into her soul. “You’re mine. And no ghost will change that.”
He signaled his men. In seconds, they melted back into the shadows, dragging the wounded with them. The storm swallowed Damian whole—but his words lingered, seared into her chest.
Mine. Always mine.
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The silence that followed was deafening.
Adrian lowered his gun, his chest rising and falling with steady control. Isabella’s heart thundered, her body trembling violently as she clutched Ethan’s bloodied shirt.
“Adrian…” Her voice cracked, broken with disbelief. She reached for him, her fingers shaking as if afraid he’d vanish if she touched him. “How… how are you here? You were—”
“Dead?” His jaw tightened, his eyes unreadable. “I should be. But I’m not. Not yet.”
Her tears spilled hot and unrelenting. “Why didn’t you—why didn’t you tell me?”
His gaze softened for the first time, shadows flickering. “Because if Damian knew I was alive, he would’ve used me to break you sooner.”
The storm raged, but the silence between them was louder.
Ethan coughed violently, blood staining his lips. “Isabella—don’t—don’t trust him…” His voice was weak but desperate. “He left you. He left us both when we needed him the most.”
Isabella’s soul twisted. Ethan bleeding in her arms. Adrian alive but cloaked in secrets. Damian’s shadow still lingering over her skin like chains she couldn’t break.
Her world had shattered into jagged pieces and every piece cut her deeper.
she was lost between the truth and fake world. As if world had put it's weight on her fragile body.
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Adrian knelt beside her, his presence overwhelming. His gloved hand brushed over hers, steadying her trembling grip on Ethan’s wound.
“You can’t stay here,” Adrian said firmly. “He’ll come back. Stronger. Ruthless. We need to move before his men surround the villa.”
“I’m not leaving him!” Isabella snapped, her body curling protectively around Ethan.
Adrian’s gaze hardened. “Then we carry him. But you need to understand something, Isabella—” His eyes burned, fierce and unrelenting. “Damian won’t stop until you’re his. Not until one of us is dead.”
Her tears fell faster, her throat closing tight.
She looked at Ethan, pale and broken but alive. She looked at Adrian, alive when he shouldn’t be, a ghost turned flesh. She felt Damian’s invisible chains still clamped around her heart.
Her voice was a whisper, hoarse and terrified. “Then who saves me?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “I will.”
But as the words fell, a dark voice echoed in her mind, low and endless.
Damian’s.
Mine. Always mine.
And she knew—no matter where she ran, no matter who held her hand—Damian’s shadow would follow.
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Isabella is pulled between three men and three truths: Ethan bleeding but loyal, Adrian alive but secretive, and Damian retreating but unbroken. The question is no longer just survival. it’s whether she can ever truly escape Damian’s claim… or herself.
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- Writer
