CHAPTER 7 THE MAN BEHIND THE MASK

He drove her to the gallery anyway, refusing to let her walk the short distance from the curb. Every employee who greeted her received a sharp, calculating glance from him. Even in silence, he was a force that bent the air around him.

But as Elara stepped inside, she felt something shift, the sense of danger rising like static.

Because Damien was already there.

Standing in front of a massive winter-themed painting.

His posture relaxed. His eyes are anything but.

“Elara,” he said softly, turning toward her.

Exactly as if he had been waiting.

Lucian materialized a second later, stepping between them so fast Damien’s expression twitched.

The tension in the room tightened like a drawn bow.

“Careful,” Damien murmured, a mocking edge in his voice. “You’re starting to look possessive, Lucian.”

Lucian’s voice dropped. “Leave.”

Damien smiled. A sharp, too-pleasant curve that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I was just admiring the art.”

His gaze flicked to Elara and lingered.

“You always did have a talent for beautiful things.”

Elara’s hands trembled.

Lucian noticed instantly. His body angled protectively, blocking Damien’s line of sight.

“Go,” Lucian repeated, "colder now.

Damien’s smile widened, casually slipping his hands into his coat pockets.

“No,” he whispered. “Not yet.”

                         

Hours later, Damien was gone, but the tension remained like an ache under Elara’s skin.

Lucian stayed close, too close. Close enough that whenever he leaned over her to help with a piece of equipment, she could feel the faint heat of him, the subtle gravity he carried without effort.

At one point, she dropped a file folder, and both of them reached for it at the same time. Her fingers brushed his.

Lucian froze.

Her breath hitched.

Something flickered in his eyes full of emotion, restraint, frustration and all tangled.

“Elara…” His voice was low, rougher than before. “I shouldn’t…”

She stepped back a fraction, not because she wanted distance… but because the closeness felt combustible.

He exhaled slowly.

“You matter more than you think,” Lucian said quietly. “That’s… becoming a problem.”

Her chest tightened. “For who?”

“For both of us,” he admitted.

Before she could ask what he meant, he straightened, his expression hardening.

“Damien won’t stop.”

Elara’s pulse quickened.

“And I’m not letting him take you.”

Not a threat. Not a promise.

Something else entirely.

Something that made her heart twist painfully.

The gallery emptied slowly as evening settled over the city.

 Outside, streetlights flickered against the fog, painting Downtown in muted gold and gray.

 Inside, Elara sat alone at her desk, staring at a half-finished report she couldn’t focus on.

Her mind wouldn’t settle.

Every time she tried to think about her work, her thoughts tangled around Lucian’s closeness…and Damien’s stare.

Two forces pulling at her in opposite directions.

She pushed to her feet and walked to the tall windows, arms wrapped around herself. Outside, the city blurred with mist. For a moment, she could imagine she was the only one awake in the world with no shadows lurking, no men circling her like she was a battlefield neither of them wanted to abandon.

But reality didn’t let her breathe long.

A soft click sounded behind her.

The door to the gallery office closed.

Elara spun.

Lucian stood there, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable.

“You didn’t tell me you were staying late,” he said.

His voice wasn’t accusing but it was laced with something else. Something tense.

Elara swallowed. 

“I didn’t think I had to report my schedule.”

Lucian stepped closer, stopping a respectful distance away, but the energy around him still shifted like gravity pulling toward him.

“You don’t,” he said quietly. “But after today… I can’t pretend you’re not in danger.”

Her breath caught. “You think Damien will come back here?”

Lucian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied her, as if trying to hold back truths he didn’t want her to carry.

“He will cross every line,” he said finally. “He always has. And you’re in the center of whatever comes next.”

A fragile silence filtered between them, thick with unsaid fears.

When Lucian moved closer, the shift was small but unmistakable like the air tightened.

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” he said.

Elara’s heartbeat stumbled. “Why? What aren’t you telling me?”

Lucian exhaled, gaze flicking toward the floor before returning to her.

“He didn’t just show up at the gallery,” he said. “He left a message.”

Elara’s voice trembled. “A message for me?”

Lucian shook his head.

“For both of us.”

Her stomach dropped. “What did it say?”

Lucian reached into his coat and placed a folded slip of paper on the table between them. The handwriting was sharp, slanted, and careful.

Does she know what you did?

Does she know why you want her safe?

Elara’s skin prickled.

She looked up sharply. “Lucian… What does he mean? What did you do?”

For the first time, Lucian’s composure faltered. Barely, but enough. A shadow crossed his eyes, borne from something much older than whatever was unfolding now.

“It’s not what he wants you to believe,” he said. “But he’ll twist everything until you doubt every truth I tell you.”

Elara stepped closer despite herself. “Then tell me the truth.”

His jaw tightened.

“I can’t. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you knew now… you wouldn’t trust me enough to survive what’s coming.”

Her breath froze.

Not a threat.

A warning.

And beneath it was a rare, raw honesty that unsettled her more than any danger Damien posed.

Before Elara could respond, her phone vibrated in her coat pocket. She pulled it out slowly.

Unknown number. Again.

A single message:

You shouldn’t be alone with him. You don’t know who he used to be.

Elara’s fingers tightened around the phone.

Lucian’s voice sharpened. “What is it?”

She showed him the screen.

Something cold and dangerous washed over his expression.

“He’s watching you,” Lucian muttered. “Right now.”

Elara’s knees wobbled.

Lucian stepped to the window, scanning the street below with the precision of someone who’d spent years anticipating threats. His hand hovered near the edge of his coat, not reaching for anything, just preparing.

“Elara,” he said without turning around, “Damien is not going to stop until he has exactly what he wants.”

Her voice quivered. “And what is that?”

“You.”

The word hit the air like ice.

She swallowed hard. “Why? He doesn’t even know me.”

Lucian finally turned to face her. His eyes held a gravity she didn’t understand, something like guilt intertwined with determination.

“He thinks you’re the last thing worth fighting over,” he said. “And the last thing he can use against me.”

Elara’s pulse raced. “Why would I matter that much to either of you?”

Lucian hesitated.

“You matter because…”

A sound interrupted him.

A soft metallic click from outside the gallery door.

Lucian reacted instantly. Stepping in front of her, posture rigid, protective, calculat

ing.

“Elara,” he whispered, “stay behind me.”

The lights flickered.

The fog outside pressed against the windows like a living thing.

And Elara realized Damien wasn’t just obsessed.

He was already closing in.