The Man I Didn’t Know
723 Words
Ava’s eyes flew open.
The room was drenched in darkness, save for the silver glow of the city lights bleeding in through the penthouse windows. Damian’s side of the bed was cold.
She pushed herself up slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs. Somewhere beyond the bedroom, something shifted—a faint scrape, like leather on marble.
It could be Damian.
It could be someone else.
Slipping out of bed, she grabbed the silk robe from the chair and cinched it tight, her bare feet making no sound on the polished floor. The air felt charged, heavy, as though the penthouse itself was holding its breath.
Another sound—a soft click. Not from the door. From the balcony.
Ava’s pulse spiked. Damian always locked the balcony doors. Always.
She moved toward the living room, her fingers curling around the edge of the wall for support. A shadow shifted near the glass. Then another.
And then—footsteps. Inside.
Ava backed up, the robe’s hem brushing her calves. Her mind screamed to run, but the hall behind her felt like a trap. She reached for the small lamp on the console table, ready to swing if needed.
The footsteps grew louder, deliberate.
A tall, broad figure emerged from the darkness—and then another, smaller but just as menacing. Masks. Gloves. Eyes that glinted with cold precision.
They weren’t here by accident.
Ava’s breath caught in her throat.
One of them spotted her. “She’s here!”
Before she could scream, she bolted. Down the hallway, through the kitchen, past the massive dining table that suddenly felt like an obstacle course. Her bare feet slipped on the smooth floor, but she caught herself on the island counter.
The front door—too far. The only chance was the service exit at the far end.
But they were fast. Too fast.
A hand brushed the back of her robe—she yanked forward just in time, fabric ripping. The sound shot adrenaline through her veins. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.
She slammed into the service door, twisted the handle—locked.
A curse tore from her lips.
Then—like a gunshot in the night—Damian’s voice roared from behind them. “Touch her, and you’re dead.”
Everything froze.
He stepped into view, a black shirt clinging to his frame, eyes like shards of ice. He didn’t look like the charming man Ava had shared wine with last night. He looked lethal.
The taller intruder swung a knife toward him. Damian caught his wrist mid-air, twisting until the man dropped the blade with a metallic clang. The smaller one lunged—Damian kicked him back against the wall with bone-shaking force.
“Get out,” Damian growled, low and dangerous. “Or I make sure you leave in pieces.”
The intruders hesitated. One clutched his arm, the other his ribs. A glance passed between them, and then they bolted for the balcony. In seconds, they were gone—swallowed by the night.
Ava’s knees buckled. Damian was there before she hit the floor, pulling her into his arms. His heart was pounding as hard as hers.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice softer now.
“You… you left,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I woke up and—”
“I didn’t leave you.” He tipped her chin up, his thumb brushing away the tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “I would never leave you.”
She searched his face, but his expression was unreadable. A storm was brewing behind those eyes, something fierce and unspoken.
“What was that? Who were they?” she asked.
His jaw tightened. “It’s not safe here anymore.”
“Because of you?”
Silence.
He looked toward the balcony, his gaze scanning the shadows as if expecting them to return. “Pack a bag. Now. We’re leaving.”
Her heart thudded. “Damian—”
“No questions. Not yet.” His tone was final, but there was something in it—a thread of fear, or maybe desperation.
She didn’t know what scared her more—what had just happened, or what he wasn’t telling her.
And as he locked the balcony doors, she knew one thing with absolute certainty.
This was only the beginning.
- Writer
