Chapter Two
1099 Words
DAMIAN'S POV
I knew the painting the moment I saw it.
The colors were different. More chaotic. More emotional. But the scene… the scene was the same.
Blood on polished floors.
A woman falling.
My mother’s shadow standing over her.
A memory I had spent nineteen years trying to bury slammed straight into me, ripping the breath from my lungs. And then I saw her...the artist, standing a few meters away, unaware of the earthquake she had just caused inside me.
Elena Hart.
The girl who vanished.
The girl my mother insisted was “handled.”
The girl whose eyes haunted me even as a child.
I had imagined hundreds of versions of her face through the years. But none of them compared to the real thing. She was older now, obviously, but the softness in her features, the fierce intelligence in her eyes, it was all still there.
And she had painted the truth.
A truth she should not have remembered.
My chest tightened as I watched her. She smiled politely at strangers but looked uneasy every time she faced her own artwork. She didn’t know why she painted it. That much was obvious.
Which meant someone else was pulling strings.
Adrian’s name flashed in my mind, and I clenched my teeth. If he had gone behind my back again...
No. Not here.
Not now.
I forced myself to blend into the crowd, pretending to admire other paintings. But my attention never left her. The way she ran a hand along her wrist when she was nervous. The way she bit her lip when deep in thought. These tiny details made something tight coil in my chest.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I came to the gallery only because my mother insisted on having a Voss presence for the investors. I didn’t expect to run headfirst into a ghost.
And the moment Elena noticed me, her whole body tensed.
She felt something too.
That scared me more than anything.
⸻
An hour passed. Investors spoke to me. Donors shook my hand. But my mind stayed locked on Elena. Every time she moved, I tracked her without thinking.
Then she stepped outside.
Alone.
Vulnerable.
I moved after her, telling myself it was necessary. That I was protecting her. Not stalking her. Not replaying the image of her painting over and over like a loop I couldn’t escape.
She stood on the sidewalk hugging herself, her breath fogging in the cold air. For a moment, I just watched her from the shadows. She looked… fragile. Like she was carrying the weight of memories she didn’t understand.
I stepped forward. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Her eyes met mine, wide and searching. “Did you want something?”
Yes. I wanted to know how much she remembered. I wanted to know if Adrian had approached her already. I wanted to know if my mother had made a move.
But most of all, I wanted to know why seeing her again made something inside me crack open.
“Your painting,” I said instead, keeping my voice controlled. “Where did you get the inspiration?”
She shrugged. “Images that come to me.”
My pulse jumped.
“That specific image?” I asked. “The woman. The room.”
She frowned. “Why? Do you recognize it?”
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. She felt the lie.
Smart girl.
Dangerous girl.
I called her name before realizing she was yet to tell me her name.
She asked how I knew. I lied again. This night was a mess of mistakes.
When others stepped outside, I retreated. Not because I wanted to. Because if I stayed, I would say something I shouldn’t.
⸻
After she went back inside, I pulled out my phone and dialed Adrian.
He picked up on the first ring. “Boss?”
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Parking lot. I didn’t want to interrupt your fancy art thing.”
His tone grated on my nerves. Adrian and I grew up together. Same private schools, same circles. But somewhere along the line, he became… reckless. Manipulative. Too comfortable with my family’s darker dealings.
“Did you talk to her?” I asked.
“To who?”
“Elena Hart.”
He paused. “No. Should I have?”
Relief hit me harder than expected. “Stay away from her.”
“Why? What happened?”
“She painted something. Something she shouldn’t know.” I rubbed my forehead. “I need to think.”
“Look,” Adrian said, impatience leaking into his tone. “If she’s a problem, just say the word. I’ll handle it.”
A cold wave washed through me.
Handle it.
The same phrase my mother used.
“I said stay away from her,” I repeated.
Adrian hesitated before replying, “Fine.”
But his tone told me he wouldn’t listen.
He never listened.
I hung up and stepped out of the gallery, needing air more than anything.
i brought out my phone, searched for a name...Jack. He has always done the tough parts of my work for me...tough parts I didn't want to involve Adrian in.
I opened my message app and punched the letters
I'll send you the details of a woman, follow her and scare her...
I was about to punch the 'send' button.
And, that's when it happened.
A sharp crack.
A scream.
A sickening crunch.
My heart stopped.
“Elena.”
I sprinted toward the sound without thinking. Her car was crushed against a streetlight, smoke rising from the hood. Fear punched straight into my ribs as I yanked open the driver’s door.
She was slumped forward, unconscious, blood trickling down her forehead.
“Elena.” My voice shook. I cupped her cheek, checking for her pulse.
It was there.
Weak.
But there.
Without hesitating, I lifted her out of the wreck, holding her close. Her head lolled against my shoulder. She smelled like paint and jasmine.
Someone had tampered with her brakes. I knew it instantly.
This wasn’t an accident.
This was an attempt to silence her.
To erase her.
And I didn’t know who it was.
My mother.
Adrian.
Someone else connected to that night.
But one thing was certain:
Elena Hart was in danger.
And I was the only one who knew.
As I carried her to my car, one thought echoed through my mind like a vow I didn’t mean to make:
I won’t let you die again.
- Writer
