The storm broke over the Voss estate in the dead of night. Rain slashed against the windows like nature itself was enraged, wind howling through the crevices of the ancient mansion as if mourning something already lost. Elena stood at the glass doors of the balcony, her hands clenched at her sides. Below, the gardens were awash with shadows, twisted and bent by the fury of the elements.
She couldn't sleep. Not after what Damien had revealed. Not after the moment in the library when his walls cracked and she saw the man bleeding behind the mask. The memory of his trembling hand in hers, of the way he whispered her name like a prayer, haunted her.
She pressed her forehead to the cold glass, needing the chill to anchor her. It didn't work. Her mind spun with questions, each one sharp and unforgiving. Could she believe him? Could she trust that everything he'd done—the lies, the distance, the brutal choices—had been for her protection?
The door creaked.
She turned slowly, her breath catching. Damien stood in the doorway, drenched from the storm, hair slicked back, shirt clinging to his frame. His eyes, impossibly dark in the low light, locked onto hers with the intensity of a thousand unsaid words.
"You shouldn't be out there," she said softly.
"Neither should you," he replied. "But here we are."
A moment of silence stretched between them, taut and fragile.
He stepped inside, dripping water onto the polished floor, and closed the door behind him.
"You left the library without a word," he murmured.
"I needed air."
"And did it help?"
She shook her head.
Damien approached her slowly, as though she might bolt if he moved too fast. "Elena... I didn't come to fight. I came to finish what we started."
She crossed her arms. "You mean the truth? Because I'm still waiting for all of it. You gave me just enough to confuse me, to make me wonder if I've been wrong about you all this time."
He took a step closer. "You haven't. I've done terrible things. But I swear to you, Elena, nothing I did was ever meant to hurt you."
"But it did."
"I know." His voice cracked. "And if I could take it back—"
"You can't."
He nodded. Acceptance shadowed his face.
Elena looked away. "Tell me everything, Damien. Tonight. Right now. No more cryptic warnings. No more games. I want the truth. About Lucien. About your father. About why you disappeared that night. I want it all."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he walked to the hearth and lit the fire, its glow casting flickering light across his haunted features.
"My father was a tyrant," Damien began. "But you already knew that. What you didn't know was that he made a deal—a blood pact—with Lucien's father. In exchange for saving the company from financial ruin, my father promised Lucien's father... me. Or rather, he promised control."
Elena frowned. "Control of what?"
"My inheritance. My role in the empire. And eventually, control over who I could marry. Lucien's father wanted to fuse the families in more than name. When I fell in love with you, it was seen as a betrayal."
She sucked in a breath. "So they tore us apart."
"Lucien did more than that." Damien's jaw clenched. "He forged documents, framed me for embezzlement. I was arrested that night, Elena. The night of the gala."
Her eyes widened. "You never left me?"
He shook his head. "I was in a cell. And when I got out, my father was dead, and Lucien was already tightening his grip on everything. The only thing I could do was disappear and plan. I had to become dangerous enough to beat him."
Elena stepped back, the weight of the revelation staggering. All this time... she'd believed he'd abandoned her. Hated her. But he'd been fighting a war.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because I knew the moment you saw me again, you'd see the cracks. And I needed you to believe in the lie—just long enough to keep you safe."
Her heart twisted. "Do you have any idea how much that hurt me?"
"Every second of every day," he said, voice breaking. "But I'd rather be your villain than your coffin."
Tears filled her eyes. Damien closed the distance and reached out, but paused.
"May I?"
She didn't answer with words. She stepped into his arms and held him like the world was ending.
They stood that way for a long time, the fire crackling, the storm outside raging. Finally, Elena pulled back.
"So what now?"
"Now, we fight back. Together."
He led her to the table by the fireplace, spreading out documents from his coat pocket.
"This is what I've been working on. Evidence of Lucien's corruption, embezzlement, manipulation. He's been laundering money through dummy corporations under your name, Elena. If he succeeds, he drags you down with him."
She stared at the papers in horror. "He's framing me?"
"It's always been about control," Damien said. "And revenge. He wants to own you, ruin me, and rebuild the empire in his image."
Elena's eyes hardened. "Then let's burn it down before he gets the chance."
Damien grinned. "Now that's the Elena I remember."
They worked through the night, building a plan, a strategy, a lifeline out of the storm. When dawn broke, pink light spilling through the windows, they were still at it—shoulders touching, minds in sync.
For the first time in years, they were on the same side.
Elena stood and stretched, exhaustion tugging at her limbs, but her eyes alive with fire. "So what's the next move?"
"We go to the masquerade tomorrow night. Lucien will be there. We drop the evidence anonymously, blow the whole thing wide open, and destroy him publicly."
She nodded. "Then I'll wear red again. Let the devil know I'm coming."
Damien laughed softly. "You've always been his favorite rival."
Their eyes met.
Not lovers. Not enemies. Allies.
The air shimmered between them, the echo of old flames stirring, stronger now—tempered by truth.
"When this is over," she whispered, "what happens to us?"
Damien's voice was steady. "We start again. No lies. No war. Just us."
She reached for his hand. "Then let's make it to the end. Together."
He pressed a kiss to her palm, reverent and slow. "Together. Always."
Outside, the storm began to fade.