Pull

Chapter 10

I was still standing at the window when the elevator dinged.

My heart slammed against my ribs before I could stop it. I hadn’t moved much since coming back up. The hoodie was still damp. My skin still felt his hands on it. Every second that passed made the silence louder, heavier, more accusing.

The doors opened. Damien stepped out, jacket slung over one arm, tie loosened, looking like he’d just left a war room instead of an office. His eyes found me immediately. No greeting. No smirk. Just that raw, exhausted intensity that made my stomach twist in ways I refused to name.

“You came back fast,” I said, voice rough.

“You answered fast.” He dropped the jacket on the couch and walked toward me. Slow. Deliberate. Like he was giving me time to run even though we both knew the doors were locked.

I didn’t move.

He stopped close enough that I could see the faint shadows under his eyes. “Marcus is pushing harder. He’s asking questions about my personal life. About you.”

“So what?” I tried to sound defiant. It came out tired instead. “Let him ask.”

Damien’s hand rose, not to grab, just to rest against the side of my neck. His thumb brushed my jaw. The touch was almost gentle. That scared me more than anything else tonight.

“I should hate you,” I whispered, repeating what I’d said in his office. The words felt heavier now. “For everything you did to my family. For locking me in here. For making me… this.”

His thumb paused. “But you don’t.”

I closed my eyes. “No. I don’t.”

The confession tasted like ash and relief at the same time. I hated how easily it left my mouth. I hated how right it felt.

Damien’s forehead rested against mine. For a long moment we just stood there, breathing the same air. No kissing. No fucking. Just the terrifying quiet of two people who knew they were ruining each other and couldn’t stop.

“I keep seeing it,” he said against my skin. “Every time I close my eyes. You. The gun. My blood. And still… I keep reaching for you.”

My hands came up without permission, gripping the front of his shirt. “Then maybe we’re both already broken.”

He made a low sound — not quite a laugh, not quite a groan. His arms slid around me, pulling me in until there was no space left. I let him. I hated myself for letting him. But I let him.

The city lights kept glittering outside the glass, indifferent to the two of us slowly collapsing into the same fatal shape.

I pressed my face into his shoulder and breathed him in. Revenge felt further away than ever. Lila’s face flashed behind my eyes — her weak smile, the tubes, the hope I couldn’t afford to lose.

I was choosing him.

And I was starting to hate myself less for it.

Damien’s hand slid up my back, possessive and almost tender. “We’re past the point of turning back, Riven.”

I knew he was right.

And the worst part was how little I wanted to prove him wrong.