No way out

Chapter 6:

Then we’re both already dead.

The words sat between us like a loaded gun with the safety off. I stood dripping in the middle of his bedroom, water sliding down my spine, chest still heaving. Damien sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. For the first time, the mask had shattered completely. He looked exhausted. Human. Terrified.

I should have felt victorious. This was the crack I’d been waiting for. Instead, shame burned low in my gut, hot and ugly, twisting into something worse — the sick realization that part of me liked seeing him like this. Broken. Needing me.

I grabbed my hoodie and yanked it on, the wet fabric clinging like an accusation. “You’re actually serious. You saw me pulling the trigger.”

He lifted his head. Those eyes — usually sharp enough to cut deals and people alike — were raw. “Yes.”

The silence that followed pressed against my ribs. I could still taste him. Still feel the bruises of his fingers on my hips. And worse, I could still see myself in his vision, gun steady, whispering my father’s name like a debt finally collected.

I wanted to laugh in his face. I wanted to throw something. Instead, my throat tightened with something dangerously close to panic.

“This is insane,” I muttered. “Even for you.”

Damien stood slowly. Naked. Unashamed. But the usual command in his posture had fractured. “It started years ago. The visions. After the takeover. After your father lost everything.”

The name hit like a slap. “Don’t.”

He took one step closer. “I didn’t plan this, Riven. I wanted control. I wanted you here under my rules.” His hand shot out and gripped my wrist — not hard, but firm enough that I felt the tremor in his fingers. “And now I can’t stop seeing my own death every time I touch you.”

His voice cracked on the last word. Not loud. Just enough to make my chest ache in a way I hated.

I turned toward the door. I needed out. Air. Distance. Anything except how badly my body still leaned toward him like a traitor.

The handle wouldn’t move.

I rattled it harder. Locked.

“Damien.”

“The contract has security clauses,” he said quietly from behind me. “You don’t leave unless I allow it.”

My blood turned to ice. “You’re keeping me prisoner?”

“I’m keeping us both alive,” he replied, stepping closer until his chest brushed my back. His breath ghosted my neck. “For now.”

I pressed my forehead against the cool wood. Lila’s thin smile flashed behind my eyelids — pale cheeks, trusting eyes, thanking the anonymous donor who kept her alive. The same man currently standing naked behind me, holding my wrist like he couldn’t quite let go.

I hated him.

I needed him.

And the worst part — the part that made me feel disgusting — was the quiet, insidious voice whispering that maybe I didn’t want to walk away anymore. That maybe I wanted his control more than I wanted revenge. That maybe I was already choosing him and hating myself for it.

Damien’s grip tightened slightly on my wrist, possessive even while his voice stayed low. “Come back to bed, Riven.”

The softness in it terrified me more than any threat ever could. Because it sounded real.

I turned slowly. Our eyes met. The city lights glittered coldly beyond the glass, indifferent to the two men trapped inside this penthouse. One of us was supposed to die. The other was supposed to pull the trigger.

And the worst truth of all was that I no longer knew which role I wanted more.