The café Lucas chose was far too ordinary for someone like him—quiet, dimly lit, the kind of place where secrets clung to the walls. Elena sat across from him, fingers curled around a cup she hadn’t touched. Her pulse pounded in her ears, but she kept her voice steady.
“You said you’d tell me the truth.”
Lucas leaned back, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “Not the whole truth. Just the part you can survive hearing.”
Her breath caught. “So tell me what Damian’s hiding.”
Lucas studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You really don’t know who he is, do you?”
“I know him,” she snapped. “Maybe better than you think.”
A humorless smile tugged at his lips. “No, Elena. You know the version he lets you see.”
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Damian Blackwell wasn’t always the charming
