chapter 3
1145 Words
Chapter 3 – The Stranger Beyond the Gates
The storm raged all night, but Isabella barely slept. Every clap of thunder jolted her awake. Every time lightning flashed against the heavy curtains, her mind replayed Damian’s words: Lock your balcony doors tonight. I don’t like uninvited guests.
She’d laughed bitterly at herself at first. Why should she even listen to him? He was the reason she was here, trapped, cornered like prey. But something in his tone had unsettled her—an edge that hadn’t felt like one of his games.
And then… she had seen it. That silhouette beyond the iron gates, half-hidden in the storm. She still couldn’t tell if it was real or her imagination.
By dawn, her nerves were raw. Her reflection in the vanity mirror showed tired eyes, shadows beneath them. She pressed her palm against the cold surface, steadying her breath. I won’t break. I can’t.
The sound of the lock turning jolted her. She spun around.
Damian stepped inside, dressed in a crisp black shirt with the top buttons undone, his sleeves rolled up, veins corded along his forearms. He looked far too composed for someone who had probably slept even less than she had.
He paused, his eyes scanning her. “You didn’t sleep.”
“Why do you care?” she muttered.
He shut the door with quiet finality, his gaze lingering on her face. “Because if you collapse in this house, I’ll have to pick you up. And you’d hate that.”
She stiffened. “You’re right. I would.”
His lips twitched as if amused by her defiance, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he strode toward the balcony doors, checking the locks himself. Isabella crossed her arms, her voice sharp.
“You think I’m going to run?”
“I think you’re smart enough not to.” His tone was matter-of-fact, not mocking. He turned back to her. “But last night… did you see it?”
Her throat tightened. “See what?”
“The shadow by the gates.”
Her breath caught. So it hadn’t been her imagination. “You saw it too?”
Damian’s jaw tightened, though his expression stayed controlled. “Yes.”
Her chest went cold. “Then who was it?”
“That,” he said quietly, stepping closer, “is what I intend to find out.”
He stopped only a foot away, the storm light from the windows throwing sharp lines across his face. His proximity unsettled her. His scent—dark wood and smoke—wrapped around her senses, making it hard to think clearly.
“You’re hiding something,” she whispered, unable to stop herself.
His gaze flickered to her lips for the briefest second before locking back on her eyes. “So are you, Isabella.”
Her heart skipped, panic and heat tangling inside her. She shoved him back slightly, enough to create space. “Don’t twist this on me. I don’t know anything.”
He didn’t move further, but his smirk returned, faint and infuriating. “Not yet. But you will.”
She glared at him. “Why do you do this? Drag me into your world, chain me here, and then act like some dark savior when it suits you?”
His jaw flexed. For once, his voice was raw. “Because, Isabella… the world outside these gates wants to eat you alive. And I’m the only monster strong enough to stop them.”
The words rattled her, silencing her protests. Something in his eyes was different—not arrogance, not cruelty, but something fierce. Protective.
She turned away, shaken. “I don’t need your protection.”
“You will,” he murmured.
Before she could reply, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered curtly, pacing toward the balcony doors again. Isabella watched him, his voice low, sharp, commanding.
“Yes. I saw him too… No, don’t touch him yet. Let him think he’s invisible… I’ll handle it myself.”
Her stomach knotted. Whoever the shadow was, Damian wasn’t surprised. He was planning. Calculating.
When he hung up, she snapped, “Tell me what’s going on. Who was outside?”
His eyes darkened. “You don’t need to know. Not yet.”
“Not yet?” she repeated, frustration breaking through. “This is my life, Damian! I deserve to know!”
His temper flared. He strode toward her, gripping her chin firmly but not painfully, forcing her to look into his storm-dark eyes.
“Your life,” he said in a voice like steel, “is mine to protect. Mine to control. You don’t get to argue about the rules of survival in this house.”
Her pulse hammered in her throat. The intensity of his grip, the heat in his voice—it was maddening, terrifying, addictive.
She forced herself to whisper, “Then maybe I’d rather die than live under your rules.”
For a moment, silence seared between them. Then Damian released her abruptly, stepping back, his jaw rigid, his chest rising and falling like a man holding back something violent.
“You don’t mean that,” he said finally, his voice low.
“I do,” she whispered, though her voice cracked.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. He turned on his heel and left the room without another word, slamming the door shut behind him.
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The day dragged on, tense and silent. Servants brought food she barely touched. She paced, restless, her mind burning with questions. Who was the shadow? Why did Damian look more rattled by that figure than anything else?
When night fell again, Isabella tried to stay awake, but exhaustion claimed her. She drifted in and out of uneasy dreams until a sound jolted her awake—a faint scrape, like metal against stone.
Her eyes flew open. The balcony doors.
Her heart raced. Slowly, she slipped out of bed, clutching the heavy lamp from her nightstand like a weapon.
Lightning flashed—and she saw it.
A man. Outside. On her balcony.
She froze. His outline was tall, broad-shouldered, but not Damian. His movements were slower, deliberate, as though he’d been waiting all night for her to sleep.
Her pulse hammered in her ears. “Who’s there?” she whispered shakily.
The figure stepped closer, his face half-lit by the storm. And in that moment, Isabella felt her blood run cold.
Because she knew him.
A face from her past. A ghost she thought she’d never see again.
Her lips parted in shock. “You…”
The man pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. But his eyes were wild, desperate.
Before she could scream, the balcony doors rattled violently—someone else was trying to force them open from outside.
Her blood turned to ice.
There weren’t just one intruder.
There were two.
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- Writer
