THE BLOOD-RED MESSAGE
1203 Words
Chapter 33
When Elena awoke at dawn, Damian was gone again. And in his place, on the pillow beside her, lay a single rose. Its petals glistened as though freshly cut.
Her blood ran cold.
Elena stood frozen at the edge of the bed; her breath caught in her throat. The single rose on the pillow glowed in the pale morning light like a wound—its petals lush and crimson; its stem cruel with thorns.
Her first thought was that Damian had left it, some cryptic gesture of love or possession. But no. Damian’s gifts could never be so fragile. His affection came in sharp edges, in stolen moments, in a protective hand at the small of her back. Not roses.
This wasn’t him.
Her pulse thundered in her ears as she reached out, fingertips brushing the petals. They were damp, not with dew, but with something darker. She pulled her hand back, heart lurching as she realized it was blood.
“Elena?”
The voice snapped her head around. It was Marco, one of Damian’s most trusted men. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes that revealed little. She had seen him countless times, always at Damian’s side.
Marco stood in the doorway; his expression carved from stone. He took in the scene with a single glance, then crossed the room swiftly. His hand plucked the rose from the pillow, his jaw tightening.
“Where did this come from?” His voice was low and urgent.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, her throat dry. “I woke up, and it was just… there.”
Marco’s eyes flicked to the window, then to the door. He moved with the precision of a soldier, checking locks and corners. But Elena already knew what he would find: nothing. Whoever had left the rose had come and gone like a ghost.
Her stomach knotted. “Damian will want to see it.”
Marco hesitated, then nodded. “He will. But first, you need to understand something. This—” he held up the rose between two gloved fingers, “—is not just a threat. It’s a message. They’re telling him they can reach you anywhere. Even here.”
The penthouse was supposed to be untouchable, guarded by walls of glass and men with guns. But now she realized nowhere was safe.
When Damian returned later that morning, Elena was pacing the living room; her nerves frayed to threads. The moment she saw him, relief washed over her, followed swiftly by anger.
“Where the hell were you?” she demanded angrily.
He froze, taking in her flushed cheeks, the tremor in her hands. His eyes narrowed, dark as storm clouds. “What happened?”
She gestured toward the table, where Marco had left the rose sealed inside a glass container. Damian’s gaze landed on it. His jaw clenched, his eyes burned, and the veins in his hands stood out as he reached for the glass.
“Who?” He hissed, more to himself than to her. His fingers curled into a fist, and the glass trembled before he forced himself to set it down.
Elena moved closer, her voice unsteady. “Damian… this was left on our bed. How did they get in?”
He looked at her then, truly looked at her, and she saw it: fury, yes, but beneath it, something deeper. Fear.
“They didn’t get in,” he said finally. His voice was flat, deadly. “Someone let them in.”
The words hit Elena like a blow. “You mean—”
“I mean there’s a traitor. Inside these walls.”
---
The hours that followed blurred into chaos. Damian’s men swept through the penthouse, checking security feeds, analyzing locks, questioning every guard who had been on duty. Voices rose and fell, clipped and tense. Elena sat curled on the couch; her arms wrapped around herself, trying to stay invisible in the storm.
She could feel Damian’s eyes on her even when he wasn’t looking. His presence was a gravity pulling at her, his silence a blade cutting through the room.
At last, Marco approached him with a tablet in hand. “Don. We reviewed the footage. There’s nothing—no breach, no alarm. It’s clean.”
Damian’s hand slammed against the table, rattling the glass that held the rose. “Then find the crack. There is no such thing as clean.”
The men dispersed again, leaving Damian and Elena alone. She rose slowly, hesitantly. “Damian…”
He turned toward her, and she saw how tired he was. The lines around his eyes, the weight in his shoulders.
“Do you believe me?” she asked quietly. “That I had nothing to do with it?”
The question hung heavy in the air. His silence stretched, unbearable, before he closed the distance between them in two strides. His hand cupped her face, firm and unyielding.
“I would kill you before I doubted you,” he said, his voice raw. “And I would die before I let them touch you.”
His lips crashed against hers, fierce and desperate. The kiss tasted of anger, of fear, of something darker than either of them could name. Elena clung to him, her nails digging into his shirt, as though she could anchor herself against the storm.
---
That night, Damian refused to leave her side. He followed her into the bedroom, into the shower, into the fragile silence of the hours before dawn. His touch was everywhere—possessive, unrelenting, as though by holding her, he could erase the threat that loomed over them.
And Elena, for all her fear, surrendered to it. Because in his arms, even the shadows felt distant.
But when sleep finally came, it was restless. She dreamed of roses again—roses falling from the ceiling, roses spilling from drawers, roses blooming in the cracks of the walls. Each one dripping with blood.
She woke with a start, gasping for air. Damian’s arms tightened around her instantly, his voice a murmur against her hair. “It’s just a dream.”
---
The next morning, the atmosphere in the penthouse was taut as wire. Men came and went, their eyes sharp, their hands never straying far from their weapons. Marco reported in hushed tones, his expression grim.
Damian stood at the center of it all. A dark force of will, his commands sharp, his anger barely restrained.
But when his eyes found Elena, the world narrowed. He crossed to her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His touch was gentle, but his words were steel.
“You don’t leave this place. Not until I say so.”
Her chest tightened. “And if they can get in anyway?”
His gaze burned into hers. “Then I’ll burn the city down until there’s nowhere left for them to hide.”
Elena believed him.
- Writer
