Chapter 3
1192 Words
I stared at the note again, my mind refused to accept what my eyes saw.
Damian’s handwriting… but not his voice or his heart. This is not the man I knew.
Something cold and furious twisted inside me.
Sienna was pacing in front of the sofa, muttering every curse she’d ever learned, but Lorenzo was still. He stood near the windows, his broad shoulders tense, his jaw tight enough to c***k a granite.
The silence between us was too long until it felt dangerous.
Finally, I forced myself to speak. “This isn’t him.”
Sienna stopped pacing. “Of course it isn’t him! Damian wouldn’t just…”
“I’m not talking about what he wrote,” I said quietly. “I’m talking about the handwriting.”
Lorenzo turned slightly, eyes narrowing. “You said it looks like his.”
“It looks like his,” I agreed. “But Damian writes fast. His letters tilt more. This…”I lifted the paper.
“This looks like someone imitated him perfectly well.
Lorenzo’s jaw clenched as if he’d already considered that possibility, then he shoved it down.
“Who has access to his handwriting?” I asked. “Who even knows enough to try copying it?”
Sienna folded her arms. “Someone who wants us to stop searching.”
Someone who wants me to stop searching.
A chill crawled down my spine.
I sank deeper into the sofa, gripping the note so tightly that it wrinkled. “Lorenzo,” I whispered. “If someone forced him to write this… what if he’s in danger?”
His expression darkened in a way that terrified me more than the note. He looked like he had two halves, one that cared too much, and one that refused to show it.
“We’re not assuming anything yet,” he said.
But his voice was too tight, I felt he was lying to himself or to me, I wasn’t sure.
Sienna sat beside me and pulled my hair gently behind my ear. “Elena, be optimistic.”
I was, but at the same time very scared.
Lorenzo finally pushed off the window and walked toward us. The room seemed to shrink around him; he had that kind of presence that demanded stillness.
He crouched in front of me, not too close but
Near enough to see the faint crease between his brows and the hint of exhaustion beneath his eyes.
“Elena,” he said slowly, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Do you understand?”
“You keep saying you want to protect me,” I whispered. “But from what, Lorenzo? From who?”
His gaze held mine. I saw the fear of a man who already knows the answer but wouldn’t say anything.
Before I could speak again, his phone buzzed sharply in his hand.
He stood instantly, reading something on the screen, his entire posture shifted.
“What is it?” Sienna demanded.
He didn’t answer.
He walked a few steps away from us and spoke quietly into the phone this time.
The more he listened, the darker his expression became.
The room felt thick, pressing against my ribs. I was gripping the robe so tightly my knuckles hurt.
When he finally hung up, he didn’t look at either of us immediately.
Which meant the news wasn’t good.
My heart pounded. “Lorenzo… please. What happened?”
He dragged a hand across his jaw before turning to face me.
“We found Damian’s car.”
My breath caught.
“Where?” Sienna asked.
“Abandoned,” he replied. “Near Pier 91.”
That made no sense because I know Damian hated the docks as it was messy and chaotic.
“Was he there?” I whispered.
“No.”
“Any signs of a struggle?”
He hesitated.
“Lorenzo.” “Tell me what I should know.”
He met my eyes, and for a moment, the truth flickered there.
“There was a trace of blood,” he said finally. “On the driver’s side door.”
My stomach collapsed. I felt myself slipping, and falling slowly.
Lorenzo crossed the distance in one stride and caught me before I could drop, his hands gripped my arms with surprising gentleness.
“Elena. Look at me.”
I tried so hard but I couldn’t.
“Look at me,” he repeated, softer this time.
I lifted my eyes, and I caught his dark, fierce eyes deep into mine.
“You are not alone,” he said. “I’m not letting anything happen to you or Damian.”
The way he said my name steadily, pulled something inside me back from the edge.
His hands were warm, grounding me when the world was breaking apart. His thumbs rested near my elbows, subtly rubbing circles, as if trying not to touch me too much but needing to touch enough.
I suddenly became very aware of how close we were.
His breath brushed my forehead.
His body heat warmed the inches between us.
His grip lingered just a second too long.
I swallowed hard.
Sienna stood beside me, clearing her throat loudly. “Okay. We need a plan, but first we need coffee. All of us. Immediately.”
Sienna just shattered the moment.
Lorenzo let go of me immediately, and he stepped back as if burned.
I breathed in slowly, grounding myself.
Because despite the fear and the confusion, something else simmered beneath the surface, subtle but undeniable.
The way Lorenzo looked at me wasn't pity.
It wasn't an obligation. But something he was clearly trying to suppress.
He walked to the kitchen, shoulders tense. “I’ll make coffee.”
Sienna waited until he was out of earshot before leaning close and whispering, “Why was he holding so close?
I blinked. “He wasn’t”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, “he absolutely was.”
Heat flushed up my neck.
I didn’t want to think about that. Not now. Not when Damian could be hurt and when everything I believed about my life had just imploded.
But Lorenzo’s touch still lingered on my skin, like my body remembered something my mind refused to acknowledge.
He returned minutes later with coffee, placing a cup into my hands without meeting my eyes. “We’re going to the docks,” he said. “I want you to stay in the car when we get there.”
“I’m not staying anywhere,” I countered. “I’m going with you.”
His head lifted, his gaze locking onto mine.
“Elena”
“I’m done being protected,” I whispered. “I’m done being fragile. I’m done waiting for news. I’m going with you.”
He stepped closer again, lowering his voice.
“Then stay behind me,” he murmured. “No matter what we find.”
I nodded.
Sienna grabbed her bag. “Then let’s go.”
We left the penthouse together.
And as the elevator doors closed around us, one truth pressed against my chest:
Someone was watching and Lorenzo Blackwood was far more dangerous than I ever realized.
- Writer
