A Place to Breathe
Damian didn't speak during the ride.
Neither did Luna.
The silence between them wasn't cold—it was heavy, wrapped in everything unspoken. Her red eyes stared out the window, her body small in the seat, as though she were afraid to take up too much space. Damian glanced at her more than once, jaw tight, hands gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
His car—sleek, black, and scentless—moved like a shadow through the streets until they pulled up to a tall iron gate hidden by trees. Beyond it stood a sprawling estate—elegant, modern, and quiet, guarded by nature and shadow. No paparazzi. No noise.
Luna blinked. "Where are we?"
"My home," Damian said quietly, tapping a code into the security panel. The gate creaked open. "You'll be safe here."
She didn't argue. Maybe she was too exhausted. Maybe she didn't believe she had anywhere else to go.
Inside, the house was a world of glass and stone, all clean lines and soft lighting. But unlike what she expected—sterile, cold billionaire chic—it felt… calm. The walls were adorned with dark paintings, and there was a faint scent of pinewood and rain.
"Come," he said.
He led her through the living room to a guest suite on the second floor. It was spacious, with warm gray walls, thick curtains, and a bed that looked like it belonged in a dream. There was even a fireplace flickering low, casting gold light across the room.
Luna turned in the doorway, unsure. "Why are you doing this?"
Damian hesitated. Then, with quiet honesty: "Because I know what it feels like… to want to disappear."
That silenced her.
He stepped back. "There's a bathroom. Clothes in the closet. Take a shower, rest. No one will bother you here."
She nodded, her voice small. "Thank you."
He met her gaze for a long moment—his eyes softer than they had ever been in the office. Then he left her to the silence.
---
Later That Night…
Damian stood alone in his study, the moonlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A whiskey glass sat untouched in his hand.
What am I doing?
He had brought humans home before—once, twice—but never like this. Never someone broken. Never someone real.
And never someone who saw him.
His wolf stirred uneasily inside him. Protective. Angry. Restless.
The girl didn't know it yet… but her pain had called to something deep in him.
And now that she was here…
He wasn't sure he could let her go.
---
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(Continued): What the Water Reveals
Luna woke slowly.
For the first time in what felt like years, her body wasn't sore from a lumpy mattress or aching floors. The blankets were soft. The air was warm. The silence was… peaceful.
She sat up, blinking at the golden morning light spilling across the room. For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then it all rushed back—the park, the blade, Damian's voice cutting through the silence like a lifeline.
She wrapped herself in the thick robe left at the foot of the bed and padded barefoot through the hall. The house was vast, quiet, almost reverent. She passed abstract paintings, bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes, and windows that overlooked trees wrapped in mist.
Curiosity tugged at her.
At the end of one hallway, she found a door slightly ajar. A faint glow spilled out, along with the soft sound of water.
She pushed the door open.
It was a private spa room—modern, elegant, and unlike anything she'd ever seen. A large hot tub steamed in the center, surrounded by polished black tiles and dim, golden lights. And in the water, back turned to her, was Damian.
He hadn't heard her.
He was half-submerged, his head tilted back against the edge, eyes closed. But what froze her in place wasn't his unexpected vulnerability…
It was his body.
Scars.
Dozens of them. Jagged, pale, crossing his back, shoulders, and chest—some thin like knife slices, others brutal and twisted, like claw marks.
She didn't mean to stare, but she couldn't look away.
Who could hurt someone like him? How had he survived it?
He shifted, sensing her. His eyes snapped open—and when he saw her in the doorway, his expression changed. Not anger. Not shame.
Just stillness.
They stared at each other through the mist.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, stepping back. "I didn't know you were in here—"
"It's okay," he said quietly.
She hesitated. "Your back…"
He looked away, water rippling around him.
"Not all scars fade," he said. "Some stay with you. Some become a part of who you are."
Luna stepped closer, drawn to the raw truth in his voice. "What happened?"
He let out a slow breath. "I've lived through wars you couldn't imagine. Led people who turned against me. Saved others who didn't want to be saved. This…" He gestured to the marks. "Is the cost."
There was a long silence between them.
Then Luna whispered, "You saved me."
He looked at her, eyes intense. "No. Not yet."
She opened her mouth, but no words came.
Instead, she turned to leave, giving him his privacy—but something in her chest ached.
Not just for herself anymore…
But for him, too.
---
Luna's POV:
Luna closed the door behind her gently, her breath catching in her chest.
She leaned against the wall of the hallway, her fingers tightening around the robe's collar. Her heart was still racing—not from fear, but from what she had just seen.
Those scars…
They weren't just painful—they were ancient. Like the skin itself had been through a battlefield a hundred times over. She had never seen anything like it. Not on a man like Damian—the powerful, composed, ruthless CEO the world feared.
What kind of life had he lived to wear marks like that?
She walked slowly back to the guest room, her feet feeling heavy. When she reached the bed, she didn't sit. She stood in front of the window, eyes tracing the trees that framed the distant city skyline.
For so long, she had thought she was the one cursed by life. The one fate had broken and abandoned.
But Damian… he carried something darker. Something buried beneath all his power and wealth.
He saved me, even when I didn't ask him to.
And she had seen it in his eyes—in the way he looked at her, not with pity but recognition. Like he knew what it was to be broken and still breathing.
She exhaled shakily and touched her own wrist.
It still trembled faintly. But the weight pressing on her chest… it was lighter now.
Maybe not gone.
But lighter.
She turned away from the window and curled up on the bed, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. For the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself cry—but not from despair.
This time, it was release.
And a quiet hope… that maybe she wasn't so alone after all.
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