The city pulsed with a quiet hum outside the tall glass windows of Damon's executive office. But inside, it was unusually still—at least within him. Damon sat at the head of the boardroom table, his phone resting on the surface beside his notes. His gaze kept straying toward it, a small smile tugging at his lips whenever it buzzed.
He couldn't help it.
Ever since their connection deepened over the past two days—soft kisses, vulnerable confessions, the unspoken pull between them—something inside him had shifted. Lighter. Calmer. Hopeful.
"…and as projected, Q2's earnings show a marginal increase over the last fiscal—"
A buzz.
He glanced down instinctively. Nothing new.
"…Mr. Blackwood?"
Damon blinked, jerking his attention back to the table. A graying board member across from him cleared his throat pointedly.
Damon straightened, his composure slipping into place like armor. "My apologies, Roger. Please, continue."
Roger resumed, but Damon's fingers tapped a silent rhythm on the table. His mind was no longer in the meeting.
When the meeting finally adjourned, he didn't linger. He rose smoothly and walked back to his office, his smile returning like a reflex.
Just as he shut the door, his personal assistant, Ariella, knocked and stepped inside.
She carried a flat envelope. "Sir, this was delivered about an hour ago. The secretary gave it to me right after the meeting."
Damon took it, distracted, but the moment his fingers brushed the thick paper, something shifted. The envelope was unmarked, but heavy. Deliberate.
He opened it.
Inside were glossy photographs—close-up, clear, and unmistakably recent.
Eliana.
Walking out of a boutique, sunlight on her hair, holding a shopping bag, her eyes shielded by sunglasses. Another photo—taken from behind a car window, perhaps. Then another, and another.
His fingers trembled slightly as he flipped the last one over.
A message was scrawled in ink on the back, sharp and aggressive:
"I'm coming for you. I know your secret."
The blood drained from Damon's face.
He turned sharply to Ariella. "How long ago was this delivered?"
She stepped back, startled. "I-I just told you. About an hour ago. The secretary—"
"You waited an hour?" His voice cut through the room, low but laced with fury. "Why the hell didn't you bring it the moment you got it?"
"I—Yoh were not to be disturb during the board meeting," she stammered. "The secretary handed it to me right after—"
"Get her in here. Now."
Ariella hurried out. A moment later, the secretary, a nervous woman named Leah, stepped in.
"It came through the delivery company, Mr. Blackwood," she said. "It looked… personal. I didn't open it."
"Did you see who dropped it off?"
"No, sir. Just a uniformed man. He signed and left."
Damon dismissed her with a nod, then grabbed his phone.
He called Eliana.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
No answer.
He tried again. Still nothing.
A pulse of dread crawled up his spine.
He didn't think. He didn't speak. He just grabbed his keys and stormed out.
---
Back at the mansion, Eliana wandered through the wide, sunlit halls, curiosity tugging at her.
She wanted to know this space. To feel more… at home in it.
Kate, one of the maids in charge of laundry services, walked slightly ahead, hands clasped neatly in front of her.
"This wing is more private," Kate explained gently. "Not many guests come this way."
Eliana paused in front of a heavy wooden door.
Damon's study.
Kate opened it slowly. Inside, the room was elegant—rich mahogany bookshelves, a sleek desk, and warm lighting. Papers were stacked in tidy piles, and books lined every wall. There was a framed photo on the corner of the desk. She picked it up.
A much younger Damon, standing beside an older woman. His mother?
"Do you know if he uses this often?" Eliana asked.
"Not lately," Kate said. "He mostly works at the office now."
Eliana nodded thoughtfully, then wandered into the next room.
"This is your studio," Kate offered.
"My studio?" Eliana blinked.
The room had white walls, soft light, and a canvas on an easel, half-covered with a cloth. Eliana stepped closer, lifting the cloth gently.
A painting stared back at her—bold, expressive brushstrokes in warm hues. Something about it tugged at her, like an echo of a dream.
Her breath hitched. "Did I… paint this?"
Kate hesitated. "I wouldn't know, ma'am. I was hired after your accident. But I heard you loved collecting artwork. Some said you painted, others weren't sure."
Eliana traced a line on the canvas, her voice soft. "It feels like mine."
They moved on, walking past another door. Eliana slowed.
The locked room.
She tilted her head. "This one's always locked."
Kate nodded quickly. "Yes, miss. Mr. Damon has the only key."
Eliana stared at the door for a moment, something churning in her chest. But she didn't press.
Not today.
They stepped out into the garden. Birds chirped lazily in the trees, and the air was fresh with the scent of roses.
"I'd love a glass of juice," Eliana said as she reached for a chair. "Would you mind?"
"Of course, I'll be right back," Kate replied, heading inside.
Eliana was just about to sit when the sound of screeching tires pierced the peace.
She turned.
Damon's car swerved into the driveway, the engine roaring before it cut off sharply.
He jumped out, eyes wide, frantic.
"Eliana!"
She stood, confused. "I'm here… Damon?"
He didn't stop until he reached her, gripping her arms.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine. What's—"
"Did anyone come to the house today? Any visitors?"
"No… Damon, you're scaring me."
"Did you leave? Even for a minute?"
"No. I've been here all day with Kate. What's going on?"
His eyes scanned the perimeter, jaw tight. Then he looked back at her.
"I got a parcel. Photos of you. From yesterday. Someone's watching you. Us."
Her breath caught. "Photos?"
He nodded grimly. "And a message. A threat."
Her voice barely came out. "From who?"
"I don't know for sure."
She swallowed hard. "Is it… Sabastine?"
He stilled at the fear in her voice. "We don't know that for sure."
She seemed frightened.
"Eliana," he said softly, taking her hand. "You don't need to be afraid. Not here. Not with me. I promise I'll keep you safe."
She looked into his eyes, searching. "Why would someone do this?"
"There's more to this," he said quietly. "Something I haven't uncovered yet. But I will."
She nodded slowly, still shaken.
"Come," he said gently. "Go inside. I'll join you soon."
She hesitated. "You'll tell me if anything changes?"
"I promise."
She squeezed his hand, then walked back toward the house.
Damon turned toward the security booth.
"Bennett!"
The guard stepped out quickly. "Sir?"
"I want a full sweep of the grounds every hour. No one gets in unless I say so. No exceptions."
"Yes, sir."
He turned to the gate. "Mr. Rufus!"
The older gatekeeper approached. "Yes, Sir?"
"If anyone unfamiliar tries to enter—delivery, guest, even press—you call me first. Understood?"
"Understood, sir."
Damon nodded, jaw still clenched.
He walked a few steps away, pulling out his phone.
He typed quickly.
Damon: I got a threat. Photos. We need to meet. Now.
He hit send.
The message went to Jimmy.
Then he slipped the phone into his pocket, looked back toward the house, and let out a slow, measured breath.
Whatever peace had come with Eliana's smile this morning had shattered.
And he wasn't about to let her slip into danger again.
Not now. Not ever.