CHAPTER 6
1651 Words
The Echo Behind the Door**
Amara froze.
The world narrowed to the sound of Damian’s voice vibrating through the phone — sharp, unsettled, almost wounded.
“Amara… don’t move. Who’s in that room with you?”
Her throat closed.
Her fingers trembled so hard that she almost dropped the phone. The air behind her felt too still, too heavy, as though someone had stolen all the warmth from it.
“I—I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “I just came in… and I hear breathing behind me.”
There was a shift in the air. Something subtle. A fabric brushing against something. A slow exhale that wasn’t hers.
Her heart rammed against her ribs.
Damian spoke again, lower now, almost like he was trying not to startle her. “Amara, listen to me. Walk backwards. Slowly. Keep your eyes on the wall. Don’t turn around.”
“I… I can’t,” she whispered. “My legs—Damian, my legs are shaking.”
“Angel…” His voice cracked faintly. “Please. Just move.”
Somehow, she trusted him more than she trusted her own voice right now.
So she did.
One step.
Another.
Her back brushed the cold wall, and the sound behind her grew clearer — like someone trying to breathe through a clogged throat.
Her skin crawled.
“Damian,” she whispered, every syllable trembling. “Why are you so afraid? Do you know who it is?”
Silence.
Then—
“Just get out,” he said. “I’m on my way.”
“Damian—”
The phone cut.
The abruptness wasn’t an accident.
That was fear.
Amara swallowed and reached for the door handle when—
A whisper.
So close her blood iced.
“Leaving so soon, princess?”
Her fingers turned numb.
She didn’t turn.
Her body refused to. All she could do was stare at the reflection in the glass door beside her.
A shadow.
Tall.
Slim.
Wearing black.
She couldn’t make out a face, only the outline of someone tilting their head at her — studying her.
Her stomach cinched.
“Damian wouldn’t like that,” the voice whispered. Smooth. Almost amused.
She finally found her voice. “Who are you?”
A soft chuckle filled the room, dark and wrong.
“Someone who watches. Someone who knows things about your billionaire prince.” A pause. “Including the things he hides from you.”
Her knees weakened.
“I don’t know you,” she said. “Leave before I scream.”
“Oh, you can scream,” he murmured. “But Damian told you not to turn around. You really listened to him, hmm?”
Amusement dripped from the words.
“But he never said I couldn’t come closer.”
Her breath fractured.
A step.
Too close.
She felt heat near her shoulder — the presence of someone leaning in.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
“I just wanted to see,” the stranger whispered, “what kind of woman can make Damian Cross panic.”
Panic.
Amara shut her eyes. Did she hear right?
Damian… panicked?
The stranger shifted. She felt air sweep near her cheek, like he was inches away.
“You don’t belong here,” he continued softly. “You’re a wound waiting to split him open.”
A pause.
“Maybe that’s why he keeps you.”
A violent shiver ran through her.
“What do you want?” she whispered.
A low hum. “You’ll find out soon.”
And then—
The sound of a sliding window.
A cold burst of outside air.
By the time she turned around — because fear finally snapped and forced her to — the room was empty.
But the window was half open.
And a thin black glove lay on the floor.
Her lungs strained for air.
What just happened?
She didn’t even remember leaving the studio.
One moment she was staring at the empty room, and the next she was outside on the sidewalk, her chest tight and her phone clenched so hard her knuckles whitened.
Cars passed.
People walked by.
But she felt utterly, terrifyingly alone.
Then she saw him.
Damian’s car pulled up so fast it was almost reckless.
The back door flew open, and he stepped out in one sharp movement.
His face—
She had never seen him like that.
Not controlled, not collected, not cool.
He looked unhinged.
Eyes wild.
Breath heavy.
Fury and fear tangled violently beneath his calm exterior, breaking through the cracks.
“Amara!”
Her knees almost gave out at the sound of his voice.
He reached her in three strides and grabbed her shoulders, scanning her face like he expected to see bruises. His hands shook — actually shook — as they cupped her cheeks.
“Are you hurt? Did he touch you? Did he—”
She shook her head quickly, tears rising without her permission.
Her throat ached.
“No,” she whispered. “He didn’t touch me. He just… he talked. He watched me. He knew things, Damian. He said you panic—”
Damian’s jaw twitched so hard it looked painful.
He pulled her into him abruptly, arms locking around her as though she might vanish.
“God, Amara…” His voice was rough, raw. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve warned you.”
She felt his heartbeat hammering against her cheek.
Fast.
Frantic.
Desperate.
“Damian…” she whispered. “Who was he?”
But Damian didn’t answer.
He just held her tighter.
Too tight.
As if letting go would break him.
When he finally pulled back, he held her face between his palms again, his eyes burning into hers.
“Get in the car,” he said softly. Too softly. “We’re leaving.”
She didn’t argue.
She didn’t even have the strength to.
Once inside, he sat close beside her instead of in front. His finger hovered inches from her cheek, like he wanted to touch her again but didn’t trust himself.
“Tell me exactly what he said,” he murmured.
So she did.
Every word.
Every whisper.
Every breath she swore she felt on her skin.
As she spoke, Damian’s expression shifted — from tension to fury to something much darker.
He leaned back, exhaling shakily. “He wasn’t supposed to come near you.”
Cold swept through her.
His tone.
His choice of words.
“Damian… who is he?”
His eyes closed for a moment.
And when he opened them again —
there was a shadow in them she had never seen before.
“He’s someone from a past I wanted to protect you from.”
A pause.
“But he’s not what you should be afraid of, Amara.”
Her breath caught.
“Then what should I be afraid of?”
He looked at her then — truly looked at her — and there was a truth in his gaze that made her stomach drop.
“I’m the one who brought danger to your door.”
Her heart twisted painfully.
“Damian… tell me who he is.”
He swallowed. Hard.
And when he spoke, the words fell like broken glass.
“He’s my brother.”
Amara’s blood ran cold.
Brother?
Before she could process it, Damian continued, his voice thick.
“He’s not just my brother… he’s the reason my life is the way it is. The reason I built walls. The reason I don’t let people close.”
His hands trembled.
“And now he’s found you.”
Her stomach twisted.
“Damian, why— why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
“Because I knew he’d use you against me,” Damian whispered. “And he doesn’t just watch. He destroys. He manipulates. He finds what you care about most… and turns it into a weapon.”
A horrible realization crawled through her.
“That’s why you looked so scared when I told you…” She swallowed hard. “When I said someone was in the room.”
He nodded once, tormented.
“I’ve been preparing for him to resurface for years. But not like this. Not with you involved.”
Amara’s voice cracked. “What does he want?”
Damian leaned closer, his forehead touching hers gently — a fragile touch that felt like a confession.
“He wants everything I never gave him.”
A pause.
“And he always starts by taking what I care about.”
Her breath hitched.
“Damian…”
His voice dropped to a whisper, heavy and trembling.
“He’s coming for you, Amara.”
Her heart dropped.
Completely.
The air thickened around them, the car feeling too small, too quiet, too dim compared to the storm brewing in Damian’s eyes.
And then—
his phone vibrated.
Damian glanced at the screen.
His face blanched.
Her stomach plunged. “What is it?”
He handed her the phone.
On the screen was one message.
From an unknown number.
Amara’s blood froze as she read it.
“You left your studio in a hurry, princess. Don’t worry. I took what I needed.”
A picture followed.
Her studio window.
Wide open.
Her sketchbook missing from the table.
And a shadowed figure holding it.
Her breath shattered.
But it was the final line of the message that made her heart collapse into fear:
“You’re more valuable than Damian told you.”
The phone slipped from her hands.
Damian caught it before it fell, but he couldn’t catch the look on her face — the terror she couldn’t hide.
He whispered her name once, gently.
But she wasn’t hearing him.
Because suddenly, she wasn’t afraid of the stranger anymore.
She was afraid of the truth—
What if Damian’s brother wasn’t the real danger?
What if the danger was the secret Damian was still not telling her?
- Writer
