The Billionaire's Secret Heirloom

Chapter Four – Twenty-Four Hours

Aurora Haye’s POV

Damien’s words kept replaying in my head like a curse: “It doesn’t open without you.”

I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling while the city outside woke up. My phone buzzed twice in the night with unknown numbers. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

By morning, my head throbbed. My stomach twisted. Every time I looked at that chest, I heard Damien’s voice again, calm and merciless: “Twenty-four hours. Pack your things. Decide if you want to live.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to smash the chest to pieces and throw it into the river. But I couldn’t. Because deep down, I knew he was right.

And that terrified me more than anything.

By noon, I was pacing my apartment, wringing my hands like a lunatic.

What if he was lying? What if this was just some elaborate scam?

But then the memory of the knock on my door, the strange text, and the way his eyes never once wavered when he spoke—those doubts crumbled.

Someone else really was out there. Watching me. Waiting.

I grabbed my phone and called the only person I could think of, Nia, my best friend since high school.

“Girl, it’s ten in the morning; why do you sound like you’ve been running from the cops?” she groaned as she answered.

“I can’t explain everything right now,” I whispered. “But I… I think I’m in danger.”

Silence. Then a rustle. “What the hell do you mean ‘danger’?”

“I can’t say on the phone. Just… don’t come here, okay? Don’t. Promise me.”

“Aurora—”

“Promise me, Nia!”

A beat of hesitation, then: “Fine. But you’re freaking me out.”

“I’ll explain soon,” I said, though my throat burned with the lie. “I just… I need time.”

I hung up before she could press further. My chest felt hollow.

By evening, I’d convinced myself Damien wasn’t coming back. That maybe I could wait this out, pretend none of it happened.

I was wrong.

It started with the sound soft and deliberate, coming from the hallway outside my apartment.

My blood turned to ice.

I crept to the door and pressed my ear against it. Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Not Damien’s. He’d moved with precision and confidence. This sounded different, like someone who wanted me to hear them.

The footsteps stopped right outside my door.

Then—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three slow knocks.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Another knock, louder this time.

“Miss Haye,” a voice drawled. Male. Rough. Not Damien. “We know you’re in there.”

I stumbled back from the door, panic flooding every nerve.

“Open up,” the man said, calm but cold. “We’re not here to hurt you. Just want to talk.”

My body screamed not to believe him.

I grabbed my phone, my hands shaking, and dialed 911… only to hear static hiss in my ear. No signal.

Panic clawed at my throat. My phone worked this morning. Someone had jammed it.

I backed toward the chest, my only pathetic weapon being the lamp on the table. My breath came fast and shallow.

Another voice joined the first one. “Clock’s ticking, sweetheart. Don’t make us break the door.”

Tears burned my eyes. This was it. I was trapped.

And then—

The sound of another knock. Sharper. Harder.

Not on my door…on the wall beside it.

I froze.

A second later, the hall outside erupted in chaos. A crash, a grunt, a curse. Fists hitting flesh. The heavy thud of bodies slamming into walls.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, trembling.

The fight ended as suddenly as it began. Silence. Then a single set of footsteps.

Closer.

The lock clicked. My door swung open.

Damien stood there, dressed in black, his knuckles split and bleeding. His eyes swept the room, then locked on me.

“Still think you don’t need me?”

I couldn’t breathe.

Behind him, two men lay sprawled in the hallway, groaning. One tried to crawl; Damien’s boot caught him in the ribs without hesitation.

I flinched.

He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, the air thick with his presence.

“Your time’s up,” he said, voice low. “You’re coming with me.”

“I… I didn’t ask you to—”

“You didn’t have to.” He gestured toward the chest. “They found you faster than I expected. You’d be dead if I were two minutes later.”

My knees nearly buckled. He was right. I hated that he was right.

“Why me?” I whispered. “Why are they after me?”

His gaze softened… barely. “Because of what you are.”

I shook my head. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“You will.” His tone was final, with no room for argument.

He reached for my arm, firm but not cruel. “Pack only what you can carry. Clothes. Nothing else.”

“I’m not leaving with you.”

“You don’t have a choice anymore.”

The words sliced through the air, and deep down, I knew he was right.

I stared at the chest. My life unraveling before me. And I whispered the only truth left in me.

“I’m scared.”

For a moment, Damien didn’t answer. He just studied me, his eyes unreadable. Then, softer than I expected, he said:

“Good. Fear keeps you alive.”

That night, I packed a single bag while Damien stood guard at the door, silent and unyielding. Every sound from the street made me jump; every shadow felt like a threat.

By the time we left, the chest locked and hidden under his arm, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:

My life was no longer mine.