I stood frozen in the entryway, my body half-shielded behind Damien's but my mind sharp and fully awake. Every warning bell in my head was ringing and not one of them felt like an overreaction.
The woman at the door didn't flinch. Her dark eyes roamed over me with an ease that felt practised. Like she'd already measured me, weighed me, and found me lacking.
Damien didn't say a word. Not right away. His hand gripped the doorframe and his body tensed like he was preparing for a blow that hadn't landed yet.
The woman's smile curled a little higher.
"Still hiding behind silence," she said softly. "Some things never change."
I looked up at him. His jaw was clenched and his expression unreadable. But he wasn't shocked. That was the part that unsettled me most.
He knew her. Deeply. And not in a way that had faded with time.
"Selene," he said without taking his eyes off the woman. "Go upstairs."
"No."
The word left my mouth before I could stop it. His body turned slightly toward me then, the slightest flicker of warning in his eyes.
But I didn't care. I was tired of being told to keep quiet. To stay still. To play the role of someone who didn't matter when everything about me had already been tangled up in whatever this was.
The woman arched a brow.
"Well well. She has a mouth on her. How refreshing."
"Say what you came to say," Damien said, his voice low and calm in a way that didn't match the storm building in the room.
She tilted her head, arms folding across her chest. Her coat was expensive. Her lipstick was red. Not the romantic kind. The dangerous kind.
"Don't worry," she said. "This isn't a reunion. I'm not here to beg you back or ask questions about your new toy."
My spine stiffened.
She noticed.
She smiled.
"I'm here," she said, "because something's happening and I think you already know what I'm talking about."
Damien didn't move.
She stepped closer to the door.
"Someone's watching you. Again."
His jaw flexed.
"You're not the only one getting messages."
There was a pause. A thick silence filled with things I didn't understand.
"Someone sent me a photo this morning," she continued. "Of you. And her. Right here in this apartment."
My stomach dropped.
"They said if I didn't come warn you, you'd both regret it."
She looked me dead in the eye when she said it.
"You're in over your head."
I didn't flinch. I couldn't. Not with Damien beside me like a shadow carved from stone. Not with my pulse hammering in my throat and this stranger's words clinging to my skin like ice.
He didn't speak. He didn't move. I think that's what made it worse. He was always in control, always one step ahead. But now he was quiet. Still. As if he didn't know what to say.
The woman stepped back with a smirk that felt rehearsed. Like she'd already seen how this would play out.
"Be careful, Selene."
She said my name like it tasted familiar.
Then she turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the polished floors until she vanished down the hall.
I stood there frozen. My heart is racing. My thoughts are a mess. My mouth is dry.
I turned to Damien.
"Who was that?"
His gaze didn't shift. His eyes were still locked on the spot where she'd stood.
After a long pause, he finally answered.
"Someone I should've buried a long time ago."
And then he walked past me, heading deeper into the apartment like the ground behind him wasn't already on fire.
I stayed where I was, staring at the door.
Suddenly I wasn't sure who I was more afraid of.
The woman who'd just left, or the man I thought I was beginning to understand.
I turned to Damien.
"Who was that?"
His jaw tensed, his eyes still locked on the spot where she'd stood.
"Someone I should've buried a long time ago," he said quietly.
Then he turned and walked away, like the conversation hadn't just set off a thousand alarms in my head.
But I couldn't move. Not yet. My feet felt like they were cemented to the floor.
My phone buzzed again.
No name. Just another message.
Unknown Number:
You should ask Damien what happened in Prague.
I blinked. My stomach flipped.
I didn't know what scared me more.
The message itself
Or the fact that I had never told anyone that Damien and I were in Prague last week.
Not even my friends. Not even my mother.
No one should've known.
No one.
I stared down at the message on my phone, my breath caught somewhere between my chest and throat.
You should ask Damien what happened in Prague.
My fingers gripped the phone tightly, knuckles pale. I read it again.
And again.
The room around me faded. The ticking of the clock, the faint hum of the fridge, even the soft thud of Damien's footsteps retreating deeper into the apartment it all blurred beneath the roar of my thoughts.
No one knew we'd gone to Prague. No one.
I hadn't told Emma. I hadn't told my mother. I hadn't posted a single photo, not even a vague story or hint online. It wasn't just a coincidence, it was surveillance.
My pulse thundered.
I turned sharply, following the sound of Damien's footsteps, and found him standing at the bar in the kitchen, pouring a glass of something amber. His back was to me, his shoulders tight.
"Damien," I said, and my voice didn't sound like mine. It sounded sharper. Raw. "Someone just messaged me."
He didn't turn.
"I figured."
My feet moved on instinct, carrying me closer.
"They mentioned Prague."
That made him stop.
His head lifted, just slightly, but he still didn't face me.
"They said I should ask you what happened there."
A beat of silence.
Then another.
And then finally he turned around.
His face was unreadable, but his eyes… they weren't cold. They were haunted.
"That's not something I ever wanted you involved in," he said, voice low. "And I need you to trust me when I say this. Whoever sent that message isn't just trying to scare you. They're trying to unravel everything."
"Then tell me," I said, stepping closer. "Tell me what they're trying to unravel."
Damien looked at me for a long time. Too long. Like he was trying to memorise me before something broke.
"I can't protect you if you keep pulling at threads that were meant to stay buried," he said.
My throat tightened.
"Too late," I whispered. "They're already unravelling. And I'm in the middle of it."
His jaw clenched. He downed the drink in one smooth tilt of the glass.
Then he said, "There's something I need to show you."
He crossed the room and disappeared into his private study.
I followed, nerves crawling under my skin.
He moved to the back wall, pressed something beneath the built-in bookshelf, and a quiet mechanical click sounded as a panel slid open.
Behind it was a sleek wall-mounted safe. He punched in a code, paused, and opened it.
From inside, he pulled out a slim black folder.
He turned and handed it to me without a word.
I opened it slowly, pulse thudding in my ears.
The first thing I saw was a grainy surveillance photo.
It was Damien. Younger. In Prague.
And beside him was a woman with red lipstick and the same dangerous smile I'd just seen at the door.
They were standing over a man slumped in a chair. A man with blood on his shirt.
I flipped the page.
Another photo. Another man. Another crime scene.
My hand trembled.
"What is this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Damien exhaled, the sound like something dragged from deep within him.
"It's the reason I almost lost everything. And the reason I can't let you walk away now."
My heart thundered.
I looked at him.
And before I could speak, before I could even breathe, the phone buzzed again.
Another message.
No name. Just a photo.
This one was of me. Standing right here, in Damien's private study, holding the folder in my hands.
The caption beneath it sent a cold jolt through my entire body.
Careful, Selene. Some truths get people killed.