Episode five: His rules, Her silence
787 Words
The night after the bullet, Elena didn’t show up to work.
She told herself it was because she needed rest, or because she had errands to run—but deep down, she knew she was hiding. Not from Damian.
From herself.
Because the way he looked at her… the way she wanted him to look again—it wasn’t just wrong. It was dangerous.
When she returned the next evening, the club felt different again. Tighter. Like the walls were watching her.
The hostess barely made eye contact as Elena checked in. The other staff avoided her in the hallway. And the two guards near the back room? They actually nodded at her. Like they knew something.
Something she didn’t.
She tried to ignore it. Focus. Serve drinks. Breathe.
Until she overheard the whispers.
Two men in the corner booth. Suits. Cigars. Quiet voices.
“She’s the girl, right? The one he—”
“Yeah. Blackwood’s new obsession. Word is, someone left a threat, and the guy who delivered it…”
“What?”
“Let’s just say he won’t be walking again.”
Elena froze.
She turned slowly, catching only the back of their heads before she slipped away, pulse thudding. The story didn’t need details. She knew who they were talking about.
She found Damian near the balcony upstairs, where only the highest VIPs were allowed. The view looked out over the Thames, but he wasn’t looking at it. He stood with his back to the glass, sleeves rolled, jaw clenched.
“You had him hurt,” she said without greeting.
He didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
Her stomach tightened. “Why?”
“Because he delivered a threat to you.”
“You didn’t even tell me that part.”
“No,” he said, calm and cold. “Because you didn’t need to worry about it. I handled it.”
“That’s not your choice.”
He finally turned to her, and in the dim lighting, his eyes looked almost black. “It became my choice the moment someone thought they could threaten what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours,” she said quietly.
“Not yet.”
She took a step back, then another—because the heat in his voice wasn’t a bluff. It was a warning. A promise.
“You don’t get to decide that,” she said.
“You walked into my world, Elena. And in this world, protection looks different.”
“That’s not protection. That’s punishment.”
He moved toward her then. Slowly. Deliberately.
“You want me to pretend I’m a good man? Is that it?” he asked, voice low. “You want me to call the police and wait while they ‘look into it’? I don’t live in that world. I am the solution.”
She said nothing.
Because deep down, she knew he wasn’t wrong.
“I don’t want someone to fight my battles for me,” she whispered.
Damian stopped just in front of her. His eyes searched hers—intense, unreadable.
“You don’t have to want it,” he said. “You just have to survive.”
His fingers brushed her cheek then—light, hesitant, almost like he was afraid of crossing some invisible line. She didn’t pull away.
“You’re used to protecting yourself,” he murmured. “I see it. I feel it. But you don’t have to be alone in that anymore.”
Her voice shook. “Why me?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t wild. It was slow. Controlled. Possessive in the quietest, most terrifying way. Like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth. Like he’d wanted to do it from the very first night, and now that he had—he wasn’t sure he could stop.
When he pulled back, their foreheads touched, breaths mingling.
“You scare me,” she said, barely audible.
“You should be afraid of everything but me.”
She stared at him. “I’m not sure I can tell the difference anymore.”
He pulled back slightly, hand still resting on her jaw.
“I’ll never hurt you, Elena,” he said. “But I’ll hurt anyone who tries.”
Later that night, Elena stood in the alley where the bullet had been found.
It was quiet now. Empty.
She bent down and ran her fingers over the pavement. Clean. No trace. Just the cold stone beneath her skin.
She felt like that street—wiped, cleared, polished on the surface… but still holding echoes underneath.
And she didn’t know if Damian was saving her…
Or slowly pulling her into a world she’d never escape.
- Writer
