A MESSAGE IN CRIMSON
1025 Words
Chapter 28
The next day, Damien dropped her off at the bookstore. Elena didn’t mind the quiet rhythm of work anymore. The bookstore, with its faint smell of paper and dust, had become her refuge—a place where the world outside seemed at least a bit less dangerous.
She had grown used to Damian’s presence lurking on the edges of her days. Sometimes he lingered in plain sight, parked across the street in that sleek car of his. Other times he appeared inside, leaning against the counter with a smirk that made her pulse quicken.
As customers walked in and out of the bookshop, she had to admit that somehow, just somehow, she hoped Damien would stop by to check up on her. This is how attached she had become to him. Despite the fact that he dropped her off at work in the morning, she still missed him badly.
That evening, she stayed later than usual, stacking new shipments, losing herself in the comfort of alphabetizing. The city outside was already deep in shadow by the time she switched off the lights and locked the front door.
The street felt… wrong.
Too quiet.
Elena pulled her jacket tighter and hurried across the pavement, her steps echoing louder than she liked. Damian’s car was parked at the curb, its dark windows glinting beneath the streetlamp. She felt her chest loosen just a little at the sight of him inside—one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, like he had been waiting there for hours.
But then her eyes caught something she almost missed.
Her feet froze.
A single red rose lay across the hood of Damian’s car.
Its stem stretched diagonally across the glossy paint, its petals fresh, glistening as if kissed by dew. But in the dull yellow glow of the streetlight, Elena thought—no, imagined—that the droplets weren’t water. They seemed darker and heavier.
Her breath hitched.
Damian was already opening the driver’s side door, sensing her hesitation. His sharp eyes followed her gaze, and for a fraction of a second, his entire body stilled.
He walked around the car slowly, deliberately, every movement edged with controlled fury. Without hesitation, he picked up the rose. He twirled it once between his fingers, as if testing its weight, then let the stem drop. The flower landed in the gutter with a careless flick of his wrist, petals scattering across the damp pavement.
“Get in,” he said, his voice a command that brooked no argument.
Elena swallowed. “What does it mean?”
His eyes met hers—cold, unreadable, but with a sharpness that told her the question had no simple answer. “It means,” Damian said quietly, “they’re done watching.”
The words sank into her bones like ice.
She slid into the car, her heart hammering so hard she thought the sound might echo in the enclosed space. Damian closed his door with controlled force, the sound loud in the silence. He didn’t start the car right away. His hands gripped the wheel, knuckles whitening, as if he was fighting to hold back something darker.
Elena dared a glance at him. His jaw was locked, his profile sharp against the dim streetlights. He looked like a man carved out of stone, but she had learned enough to see the storm beneath the stillness.
“Damian,” she whispered, “what aren’t you telling me?”
He finally turned the key. The engine roared to life; a low growl that vibrated through the seats. As the car pulled away from the curb, his answer came—not gentle, not reassuring, but final.
“That rose wasn’t for you.”
Her brow furrowed. “Then—”
“It was for me. A message.” His grip tightened, the leather groaning beneath his hands. “They’re reminding me they can touch the things I care about.”
Elena felt her chest constrict. “And what does that make me?”
His eyes flicked at her briefly, then went back to the road. “It makes you mine. Which means you’re untouchable.”
The words should have soothed her, but instead they left her trembling.
The drive was thick with silence; the city lights flickering like ghosts. Elena pressed her hands into her lap to hide their shaking. Every nerve screamed with fear, Part of her wanted to pretend that as long as Damian was near, nothing could hurt her.
When they reached the tower of glass and steel that housed his penthouse, Damian led her upstairs without a word. The air inside was cool, sterile, and expensive. Normally this place felt like a cage to her—it was too polished, too impersonal. But tonight, even the coldness felt safer than the street outside.
The instant the locks clicked behind them, Damian turned. He didn’t speak. He simply pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she thought she might break apart. His heartbeat thundered against her ear, fast and fierce.
“They won’t touch you,” he said at last, his voice hoarse, almost broken. “Not while I’m breathing.”
Her hands curled into his shirt, clinging to the solidity of him. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to bury every fear, every image of that rose, in the safety of his embrace.
But as she stood in his arms, Elena realized something terrifying.
This wasn’t just about her anymore. Whoever had left that rose hadn’t wanted to frighten her. They wanted Damian to know they were coming.
And she was caught in the crossfire.
The rose and with droplets of blood on it that was left on Damien’s car today obviously meant enemies were done testing the waters. They had observed long enough to know that both she and Damien had feelings for each other.
Elena didn't dare to think about what would happen next
- Writer
