Rachel POV

I didn't know how long I had been running.

Hours, maybe.

My feet throbbed. My lungs burned. The sun had already slipped from afternoon gold into the soft grey of evening by the time I burst out of the forest and stumbled onto a cracked highway road.

When I looked up, I saw it:

Lights.

Cars.

People.

A city.

My knees almost buckled.

I hugged myself and forced my tired body forward. My clothes were dirty from climbing the wall, my hair tangled, and my palms still stung from where the vines had cut me.

But I was free.

For the first time in weeks, I could choose where I went.

I wiped my cheeks and stepped into the noise of the street. Neon signs buzzed above me. Cars honked. Strangers brushed past without a second glance.

It felt unreal.

Almost like a dream.

I just need a phone, I told myself.

I just need to call Dad. Or Marcus. Anyone. Then I can leave this country and disappear.

I kept walking, head lowered, trying to blend into the crowd.

Everything felt so unfamiliar, so loud, so overwhelming.

Then I heard it.

A low whistle.

"Damn," a voice drawled. "Look what we have here."

My heart jumped. I looked up.

A group of men leaned against motorcycles outside a shop, their eyes locked on me. Rough-looking, older than me, and clearly amused.

One of them pushed off his bike and approached.

"Got anything for us?" he asked, tone mocking.

I froze. "I... I don't have anything. Sorry."

He scoffed, stepping closer. He looked like their leader-better dressed, sharper eyes.

"No one walks into this part of town alone, princess," he said, breath reeking of smoke. "Why don't you tell us what you're doing here?"

"I... I'm just passing through. I don't want trouble," I whispered.

But his eyes suddenly dropped.

Not to my face.

To the necklace.

The red jewel Damien forced on me.

"Is that...?" another man said, stepping closer, eyes widening.

"Montrel's mark?"

Panic exploded inside my chest.

I grabbed the necklace instinctively, taking a step back.

The leader's eyes sharpened. "A girl like you wearing the Montrel emblem? That doesn't happen by accident."

The men behind him laughed.

"I bet she's some kind of toy for the empire," one said, grinning.

"Didn't know the mafia kept their jewellery this pretty," another added.

Heat rose to my cheeks; shame, fear, anger all at once.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered, voice shaking. "I don't- I'm not-"

"Don't lie," the leader snapped, suddenly serious. "No one wears that symbol unless they're tied to the Montrels."

He stepped even closer, and I flinched.

"She's important," one of the men muttered darkly. "Boss is gonna want to see her."

The leader's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

Before I could react, his hand shot out and closed around my wrist.

"Wait-!" I yelped, stumbling as he yanked me forward.

"Quiet," he snapped.

Another man grabbed my other arm, fingers digging painfully into my skin.

My breath hitched. Panic shot through my chest.

"Please let go! I didn't do anything!"

They ignored me completely.

The leader shoved me toward the alley beside the shop, his grip tightening like a cuff around my wrist.

"She's shaking," one of the men laughed. "Scared little thing."

"She should be," the leader muttered. "Montrel's mark is worth a lot. And the boss will want answers. Pain makes people talk."

My blood ran cold.

"No- no, please," I cried, trying to pull back. "I swear, I don't know anything! I'm not- I'm not who you think-"

"Save it."

They forced me deeper into the alley until my back hit the cold brick wall. The noise of the street faded. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear anything else.

The leader leaned close, breath hot and bitter.

"You ran from Montrel, didn't you? Why else would you be out here alone?"

I shook my head desperately. "Please don't hurt me. Please- I just want to go home."

The youngest man stepped forward, reaching for my necklace.

"Take it off her. Boss will want proof."

"No!" I jerked sideways along the wall, panic exploding. "Don't touch me!"

He scoffed. "Shut her up."

A rough hand slapped over my mouth from the side, pinning my cheek to the wall.

I screamed into his palm; muffled, terrified, kicking, twisting, fighting with everything I had.

But they were stronger.

"Stop struggling," the leader grunted. "We're not going to kill you. Not if you're smart. But you make this difficult-your face won't stay so pretty."

Tears streamed down my cheeks as another man grabbed both my wrists, lifting them above my head and pinning them to the wall.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't think.

Damien POV

A gunshot cracked through the alley.

One of the men near Rachel dropped instantly, hitting the ground hard.

Everything froze.

The remaining men spun around-and saw me.

Black coat. Gloves. Rage burning in my eyes.

Vance and five men behind me, guns raised.

Their faces drained of colour.

Rachel pressed herself against the wall, shaking, makeup streaked from tears, a smear of dust across her cheek. She looked terrified-small.

My jaw tightened.

"Take them," I said coldly.

Gunfire exploded. Screams. Footsteps scrambling in panic.

I walked forward through the storm, watching each man fall one by one.

Until only one remained.

He grabbed Rachel by the neck, hauling her up against his chest. A knife glinted against her neck desperate.

"Step closer and I'll kill her!" he shouted, voice cracking.

Rachel's eyes widened, her breath wheezing in panic. She clawed at his arm helplessly.

I stopped.

Not because I feared him.

But because I saw the terror in her eyes.

Her fear of dying.

Her fear of him.

Her fear... of me.

The man trembled but held her tight.

"Don't move-don't you fucking move!"

A slow laugh slipped from my chest.

Cold. Deadly. Wrong.

The man stiffened. "S-stop laughing."

My smile widened.

"You think you can bargain with me... using her?"

"Stop-STOP LAUGHING!"

BANG.

His skull snapped sideways as a sniper round tore through it from above.

Rachel screamed as blood sprayed across her face and neck-hot, thick, horrifying.

I stepped forward to take her.

But, she recoiled like I was the danger.

"D-don't touch me!" she cried. "Please-don't hurt me-I'm sorry-"

I froze.

Like someone had slammed a fist into my chest.

Hurt her?

I would never lay my hand on a woman; an action I will never take from my late bastard father.

For a moment, I felt...

Something broke inside me.

Ashamed that I made her feel that way.

Slowly and carefully. I removed my glove, letting it fall to the blood-stained ground.

My voice softened, low and steady.

"Rachel... look at me."

She shook her head violently, sliding down the wall, crying harder.

I crouched slowly, keeping distance, palms open.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I whispered.

Her lip trembled. "Please... please don't..."

My jaw tightened, not in anger at her but at myself.

I reached into my coat and pulled out a white handkerchief.

Gently, not touching her skin.

I lifted her chin with only my fingertips and wiped the blood from her face. Soft. Careful. Slow.

She flinched, but didn't pull away.

"You're safe now," I murmured. "No one will touch you again."

My thumb brushed a final streak of blood from her cheek.

"Please... come with me."

Her breath hitched, her eyes glassy with shock and fear.

But she didn't resist when I slid my coat around her shoulders and lifted her into my arms.

I held her tightly.

Protectively.

And she reluctantly relaxed on my chest, still shaking in adrenaline.

The rage was still there-but now it was focused entirely on anyone who would dare threaten her again.

"Let's go home," I whispered.

And I carried her out of the alley.

Rachel POV

Warmth.

Soft sheets.

A faint, familiar cologne.

My mind drifted in a hazy fog, caught between sleep and memory. My body felt heavy, limbs foreign. I breathed in shakily, my eyes fluttering open.

Dim light from a bedside lamp painted soft shadows on the walls.

This wasn't my room.

My chest tightened.

Where was I?

Then, it all slammed back into me.

The alley.

Rough hands grabbing me.

The necklace being ripped-

Hot blood on my face-

A gunshot-

Damien's icy voice-

The man falling-

My own scream-

I jerked upright with a sharp gasp.

A shadow moved in the corner.

My breath hitched. Panic exploded behind my ribs.

Damien.

He sat in a chair near the bed, his coat draped over the back, shirtsleeves rolled up. He looked exhausted, his expression unreadable-but the anger wasn't for me.

Just the sight of him made my hands shake.

I tried to sit up taller, but my arms were too weak.

"Don't-" He started to rise, hands lifting to steady me, but dropped them the instant I flinched away.

He froze.

A flash of hurt crossed his eyes-quick and silent, and so unlike him.

"I... I'm sorry," I whispered, the apology tumbling out on instinct. My voice broke.

Damien's jaw tightened. "Rachel," he said, his voice low. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

I hugged myself, pulling my knees to my chest, trying to disappear. Tears welled up, blurring the room.

"H-how did I get here?"

"You fainted. You were in shock." His tone was softer now. His eyes dropped to my trembling hands. "I carried you back."

Shock.

Yes. That sounded right.

Everything felt distant.

Numb.

Too quiet.

"Rachel," Damien said, his voice low and steady, like he was choosing every word with care. "You are safe now."

Safe.

The word shattered something inside me.

A sob tore from my chest. I covered my mouth, shoulders shaking, tears spilling fast and hot.

Damien's eyes darkened-not with anger, but with something heavier. He stepped closer, slowly, like approaching a frightened animal.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly.

"I just... I just wanted to go home..." I cried harder.

His breath stilled. But he didn't move away.

Instead, he lowered himself onto one knee beside the bed. Close, but not touching me.

"Rachel," he murmured, "look at me."

I shook my head, covering my face, humiliated by my broken sounds.

He reached out-not to touch me-just resting his hand on the edge of the mattress. A quiet anchor.

"Look at me."

Slowly, I forced myself to raise my head.

His eyes were fixed on me. Calm. Steady. No anger. No mockery. Just intense focus.

"You're safe," he said again. "No one will ever touch you again."

Something in his voice-that low, certain tone-made my chest ache.

But the images in my head wouldn't stop. The hands. The wall. The blood.

My breath quickened.

Damien noticed immediately. "You're trembling," he said, his brow furrowing. "Should I call the doctor?"

"No," I whispered, clutching the blanket tighter. "I... I just need a minute."

He nodded once, slowly. As if every movement had to be careful around me.

Silence stretched between us.

Then-

"Rachel," he said quietly, "I need to ask you something."

My stomach twisted. "O-okay..."

His eyes sharpened, but his voice stayed gentle. "Did they hurt you?"

I froze. Not from the question, but from the fear behind it.

My mouth opened, but no words came out.

He waited. Patient. Unmoving.

I finally shook my head. "No. They didn't. They just... grabbed me. They tried to take the necklace."

Damien's jaw locked.

"They didn't... do anything else," I hurried to add, scared of his anger.

He exhaled slowly, a breath he seemed to have held for hours. A flicker of relief, then a darker, sharper anger.

"I'm angry at them," he clarified, seeing me flinch. "Not at you."

I looked down. He was still kneeling there, keeping his distance, speaking gently.

And somehow, that made me cry all over again.

"I-I thought..." My throat tightened. "I thought you would be angry at me."

Damien's eyes snapped to mine. "At you? For what?"

"For... running."

His expression softened. Not warmly, but as if something inside him had cracked.

"I was angry that you ran," he admitted quietly. "But I'm more angry that someone else found you first." He lowered his gaze. "I should've protected you better."

The words lodged in my chest. No one had ever said anything like that to me.

"Damien..." I whispered.

He stood slowly. "I'll give you some space. Vance needs to speak with me."

He took one step back-

I flinched. Not from him, but from the sudden emptiness of the room.

Damien stopped immediately. "Rachel...?" he asked gently.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, shaking my head. "I just... I don't want to be alone right now."

Something softened in his face. The sharp lines eased.

"You won't be alone," he said. "Not tonight."

The door opened with a soft click.

Vance stepped inside, pausing when he saw me. His expression shifted from relief to seriousness.

"Sir," he said to Damien. "The alley is clear. The bodies are moved. No civilians were involved."

Damien nodded once. "Good." His voice was cold again-the way it was with others. A stark contrast to how he spoke to me.

Vance glanced at me. "The men who grabbed her weren't acting alone."

Damien's eyes darkened. "Find their boss. Tonight." He paused, his gaze sliding back to me, the rage softening. "Warn him. No bloodshed unless he forces it. Make it clear that touching a Montrel emblem is a death sentence."

Vance bowed his head. "Understood."

He left, closing the door quietly.

The room fell silent again.

Damien looked back at me, the coldness gone, replaced by that careful gentleness. "Rachel, try to rest."

I swallowed. "Will you... Stay?"

His breath hitched. Then he nodded.

"Yes. I'm not going anywhere."

He took the chair again-closer this time, but still giving me space.

His presence should have scared me.

Instead, it kept the nightmares away.

Damien POV

Rachel finally stopped trembling only when exhaustion claimed her.

Her fingers, which had clutched the blanket for dear life, loosened. Her breathing softened. Her eyes closed.

Only then-only when I was certain she was deep under-did I allow myself to move.

I stood from the chair carefully, ensuring not a single sound would wake her. For a long moment, I stayed there in the dim glow of the lamp, watching her sleep.

The blood on her cheek...

The shaking...

The raw fear in her eyes...

It replayed in my mind like a curse.

I turned away before the rage could fully resurface and slipped out of her room, closing the door without a sound.

The mansion was silent. Leo was long asleep. Even the guards spoke in hushed tones, sensing the night's heavy weight.

I headed for the East Wing.

The heavily guarded gate opened for me without a word.

The deeper I walked, the colder the air became-both physically and in memory. Iron doors lined the corridor, the faint groans and low hum of machinery seeping through the cracks. Sounds of training and shooting echoed from behind them.

This place existed for one purpose.

And tonight, it was busy.

Mr. Vance waited by the heavy steel door to my private hall, his posture straight despite his age.

"Sir," he murmured. "I did not expect you until morning."

"Rachel finally slept," I said simply.

He nodded in quiet understanding and followed me inside.

The crackling fireplace cast an eerie warmth across the room. I slipped off my gloves and tossed them aside.

"Report," I said.

Vance cleared his throat. "About tonight... the alley." He paused, choosing his words with care. "Was it necessary to leave the symbol?"

I shrugged, loosening the tension in my shoulders. "Tradition. The city remembers who I am when they see it."

Vance exhaled, long and weary. "These displays are unwise, Damien. The authorities are already watching us."

My expression sharpened. "Did something happen?"

Before he could answer, a sharp knock sounded. Laurence entered, his posture tight, face pale.

"Boss, forgive the intrusion," he said. "But we have a situation."

"Speak."

"One of our warehouses was raided tonight."

I stilled.

"Impossible," I said coldly. "The police had no-"

"They arrived before our men," Laurence interrupted, his voice strained. "Some of our people were taken."

A long, heavy silence filled the room.

I stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "How many men knew about that shipment?"

Laurence hesitated. "...Thirty-two."

That number told me everything. Too many. Now my weapons, my goods, and my men were gone.

"Get out," I said.

He blinked. "Sir?"

"Everyone. Out." My gaze swept the room. "Except Vance."

Laurence bowed hastily and left. The door slammed shut, sealing us in.

Vance folded his hands calmly. "You believe there's a leak."

"There *is* a leak," I growled. "Someone in my circle is feeding information to the police."

"It's possible," Vance agreed. "Your influence has grown. With it comes envy."

Someone wanted me weakened.

Distracted.

Preferably dead.

"We'll cut the suspect list," Vance suggested. "Feed false routes. Watch who takes the bait."

I stared into the fire, the pieces clicking into place in my mind. A false route. A narrowed list. It was the only move.

"Do it," I said, my voice low. "And keep it quiet."

He gave a single, sharp nod. He understood. We stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the crackle of the fire.

Then, Vance's tone shifted, gentler. "And... the girl?"

My jaw clenched. "She's shaken. More than I expected."

"She's not from this world," Vance said softly. "Violence... secrecy... this isn't her life."

"She ran." The bitterness surprised me. "And look what happened."

"She ran because you left her with nothing else," Vance countered, his voice firm but not unkind. "Locking her inside will only make her desperate. And desperation is dangerous-for her, for Leo, for you."

I didn't respond.

He pressed gently. "Let her go back to school. Let her have something normal."

"It's not safe."

"It's safer than isolation," he said. "And she won't be alone. Quiet shadows. Five at most."

I exhaled, jaw tightening. "...Fine."

It tasted like surrender.

Vance nodded. "We'll prepare a driver and discreet security."

The old man paused, then added with a faint smile,

"And maybe some new clothes. Books. Girls her age like these things."

I sighed, annoyed by the unnecessary sentiment. "I'll just give her an unlimited credit card in my name. Is that better, old man?"

"Perfect, sir. Now you're acting like a proper husband," Mr. Vance said, a faint joke in his tone.

"Leave."

He bowed and exited, the heavy door closing behind him.

Alone, I stared into the fire, Rachel's terrified face burning in my mind.

Letting her out was a risk. But Vance was right. She was an unassuming girl; no authority searching for me would look her way at a community college. Isolation wasn't the answer. It only bred the very recklessness I feared.

My hand drifted to the small tin on the stool-a habit I'd buried years ago, one I only ever reached for when the night felt too heavy.

I flipped it open, took out a cigarette, and lit it.

The first inhale burned, but it steadied me just enough.

The smoke did little to ease the frustration of the police intercepting another operation.

Blowing out the smoke, my gaze softened as it landed on a small picture frame tucked between old books on a shelf.

I picked it up, a soft smile touching my lips as I looked at the image of my mother.

Marissa Montrel.

A genuine, radiant smile on her face. My gaze drifted to the young boy beside her-myself. My face was blank and tired, but a hesitant smile was there as I held my baby sister.

A choked cough escaped me, turning into a bitter laugh.

The sound was hollow in the quiet room. My knees hit the ground, the frame clutched tightly in my hands as I slumped against the shelves.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the cold wood pressing into my forehead, desperately fighting the tears that threatened to fall.