Tangled in His Empire

Chapter 11: The Locked House

Elara stared at Damien.

“Lock the doors?” she repeated. “That’s your answer?”

His face was still tight from the confrontation with Richard, but there was no panic in him. Only focus. Sharp, precise, immediate focus that made the room feel even smaller than before.

“Yes,” he said. “Now.”

Elara did not move.

“You expect me to just stand here and do what you say after that little performance?”

His gaze sharpened. “This is not a performance.”

“Then explain it.”

“Later.”

She gave a short, humorless laugh. “That is really starting to be your favorite word.”

Damien crossed the room in three quick steps and stopped in front of her. Up close, she could see the strain he had been hiding—just enough in the set of his mouth, the tension in his jaw, the hard line of his shoulders. He was still controlled, but not as perfectly as he wanted to be.

“Listen to me,” he said, lower now. “Someone was inside this house before Richard arrived.”

Elara’s breath caught. “What?”

“I don’t know how far they got, but I don’t want to assume they came alone.”

Her pulse jumped. “You think someone is still here?”

“I think it’s possible.”

She looked toward the hallway at once, suddenly very aware of how much dark space the house contained.

Damien saw it in her face.

“Lock the doors,” he repeated, more quietly this time. “Please.”

The word caught her off guard. He almost never asked. He ordered, instructed, directed—but he did not ask.

Elara turned and headed for the hall at once.

The first lock she reached was electronic. She pressed the panel beside it and heard the heavy click of the bolt sliding into place. The second door had a manual deadlock. She turned it, then moved to the sliding glass doors leading toward the garden.

Behind her, Damien was already checking the side corridor. Agnes appeared near the kitchen entrance, calm but alert, as if she had been waiting for this exact moment her entire career.

“Agnes,” Damien said, “did anyone enter the property tonight besides Vale?”

“No, Mr. Blackwood.”

“Did anyone have reason to know he was coming?”

Agnes hesitated. “Not that I’m aware of.”

Damien’s expression tightened.

Elara finished with the glass doors and came back into the sitting room just as he pulled out his phone.

She watched him for a second. “What are you doing?”

“Calling security.”

“You mean the people who should already know where everyone is?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It isn’t meant to be.”

He moved away to speak in a low voice, leaving Elara with Agnes in the hallway. The older woman gave her a polite but careful glance.

“You’re handling this well,” Agnes said.

Elara let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Most people yell.”

“I’m tempted.”

Agnes nodded once. “Understandable.”

That strange, dry acknowledgement almost made Elara smile. Almost.

Then Damien returned, phone still in hand, and looked directly at her. “We’re not staying here tonight.”

She blinked. “What?”

He did not repeat himself. “Pack a bag. Only essentials.”

“Where are we going?”

“Another location.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s all you need right now.”

Elara planted her hands on her hips. “Absolutely not. You do not get to drag me from one secret house to another without telling me why.”

Damien’s expression hardened. “I’m not dragging you.”

“You are very much dragging me.”

He took a step closer. “Elara.”

She met his gaze and held it. “No. I’ve had enough of ‘later.’ I’ve had enough of being told to trust you while you refuse to tell me what is actually happening.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.

For one second, he looked as if he wanted to say something he was trying very hard not to say.

Then Agnes spoke from the hall, very carefully. “Mr. Blackwood. The driveway camera just lost feed.”

Elara’s stomach dropped.

Damien’s head turned at once. “What?”

Agnes held out a tablet. “Five seconds ago.”

He crossed the room in two strides and took it from her.

The screen showed a frozen image of the front drive. Then, abruptly, the feed flickered to static.

Elara stared. “That’s not good.”

“No,” Damien said.

The word was flat. Controlled. Worse than panic.

He handed the tablet back and looked toward the windows.

Something in the house shifted. Not literally—no movement, no sound—but the atmosphere changed. The sense of being watched returned with force.

Elara felt it too.

“Tell me you’re not about to say someone’s outside,” she said.

Damien was already moving toward the front foyer. “Stay with Agnes.”

“I’m tired of that line too.”

“Stay. With Agnes.”

She started after him anyway, but he turned and caught her wrist.

The touch was brief. Firm. Unmistakably intended to stop her.

Elara looked down at his hand, then up at his face.

He released her at once.

“Do not come outside,” he said.

That was not the same as stay with Agnes, and she noticed.

Damien disappeared through the front hall before she could press him again.

Elara stood frozen for half a second, then looked at Agnes. “Are you seriously going to tell me not to follow him?”

Agnes’s expression remained calm, but her eyes sharpened. “If I were you, Ms. Voss, I would wait.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It is.”

Elara did not wait.

She moved into the foyer just in time to hear the front door open and Damien step out into the night.

The air that rushed in with him was colder than it should have been. The garden lights were on, dimly illuminating the path beyond the steps, but the property line faded quickly into shadow.

Damien scanned the grounds with a sharp, practiced look.

Then he went still.

Elara stood in the doorway, half hidden by the frame, and followed his gaze.

At the far end of the drive, near the gate, something dark moved.

Too quickly to identify.

Just enough to know Damien had seen it too.

He lifted one hand slightly, signaling without looking back at her.

Stay.

Elara’s heart beat harder.

The figure beyond the gate disappeared into the darkness.

Damien said something quietly into his phone, eyes still on the drive.

Then he turned and walked back inside.

The moment he saw her in the doorway, his expression changed.

Not anger.

Not surprise.

Something more complicated.

“Did I not make myself clear?” he asked.

Elara narrowed her eyes. “You saw someone.”

“Yes.”

“And you came back in instead of chasing them.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

His jaw tightened.

“Because I wanted to make sure you were still inside.”

She stared at him.

“That’s what mattered to you?”

“Yes.”

It should have made her angry.

It did, a little.

But it also did something else. It made her realize that whatever was happening, he was prioritizing her before the mystery. Before the threat. Before his own pride.

That only made it more unsettling.

“Who was it?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You know that’s not acceptable.”

“Neither is waiting until someone gets close enough to decide the answer.”

Elara frowned. “What does that mean?”

He looked at her for a second too long, then turned to Agnes. “Call my team. Tell them to meet us at the city apartment.”

Agnes nodded once and moved toward the kitchen.

Elara followed Damien into the sitting room, frustration making her voice sharper. “You said another location. Now you’re saying city apartment. Which one is it?”

“The city apartment.”

“You have so many places that every answer sounds like a code.”

“That’s because it is a code.”

“Unhelpful.”

Damien set his phone on the table and began checking messages with quick, efficient movements. “Pack only what you need.”

“No.”

He looked up. “Elara.”

“I am not leaving this place until you explain why your ex-boardroom ghost just showed up at the house and why the cameras conveniently died the second he got close.”

Damien’s face did not change, but she could feel the tension in the room tighten further.

“Richard is not my ex-boardroom ghost,” he said.

“That is not an improvement.”

“No.”

She crossed her arms again. “Then what is he?”

Damien’s eyes lifted to hers, and for the first time that night his control slipped just enough for her to see the answer beneath it.

“He is someone who knows more than he should.”

Elara stared at him. “That’s not enough.”

“It’s all you get right now.”

“Damien—”

The front door opened again.

Both of them turned.

Agnes stood at the threshold of the hall, pale but composed. “Mr. Blackwood,” she said quietly, “the team is here.”

He nodded once. “Good.”

She hesitated, then added, “And there is something else.”

Damien’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Agnes looked at Elara briefly before returning her gaze to him. “The package arrived.”

The room went utterly still.

Elara looked between them.

“A package?” she repeated.

Damien’s face had gone flat.

“Where is it?” he asked.

“In the study.”

Elara’s stomach dropped at his expression.

“What package?” she asked, but no one answered.

Damien moved toward the hall at once.

Elara followed.

“Seriously?” she snapped. “You can’t keep doing this.”

He did not stop. “Stay behind me.”

“No.”

He looked back at her, and she saw it then—the hard edge in his eyes, the urgency he was trying to hide, the way his body had already shifted into something protective and dangerous.

“Fine,” he said. “But don’t touch anything.”

“That is somehow less reassuring than being told to stay behind you.”

He did not answer.

The study was smaller than the sitting room, lined with dark wood shelves and a single desk near the far wall. One of Damien’s security men stood by the doorway, tense and alert. On the desk sat a plain black envelope and, beside it, a small box wrapped in white paper.

Elara’s skin prickled.

Damien stopped a few feet short of the desk.

“No one opened it?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

He stared at the package for a long second, then said, almost quietly, “Everyone out.”

The security guard hesitated. “Sir?”

“Out.”

The man left immediately.

Agnes remained near the hall, clearly unwilling to leave entirely but understanding enough not to interfere.

Elara looked at Damien. “What is that?”

He did not answer.

Instead, he moved closer to the desk and picked up the black envelope.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

He read it.

His face did not change.

That frightened her more than anything else had tonight.

“What does it say?” she asked.

Damien looked at the paper again, then folded it with deliberate care.

Then he set it down.

“Elara,” he said quietly, “we’re leaving now.”

She took one step toward the desk before thinking better of it. “No. You are not doing that again.”

His eyes fixed on hers.

“This is not a discussion.”

“Then make it one.”

He looked at her for a long beat.

When he spoke, his voice was low enough that she had to listen carefully.

“They know about the files,” he said.

Her breath caught.

“And,” he added, “they know about you.”

The room seemed to vanish around that sentence.

Elara stared at him. “Who?”

Damien’s expression was unreadable.

Then, at last, he said the name that turned the air to ice.

“Richard Vale did not come here tonight by accident.”