Chapter 7: Possession & Passion

Elena woke to the weight of silence.

The space beside her was empty, the sheets cool to the touch.

Damien was gone.

A part of her felt relief. The other part—a much more frustrating, self-destructive part—felt something closer to disappointment.

She sat up slowly, dragging a hand down her face, trying to shake off the exhaustion clinging to her. Last night had been a mistake. A lapse in judgment fueled by adrenaline, frustration, and something deeper she didn’t want to name.

And yet… she could still feel him. The heat of his touch, the way his lips had claimed hers with a desperation that should have terrified her.

She exhaled sharply and reached for her phone on the nightstand.

Her stomach dropped the moment she saw the screen.

Eight missed calls. Three unread messages.

All from Mrs. Fletcher.

Her fingers trembled as she opened them.

Mrs. Fletcher: Elena, Draco’s fever hasn’t gone down all night. I gave him medicine, but I’m worried.

Mrs. Fletcher: If it doesn’t break soon, I think we need to call a doctor. Please, let me know what you want to do.

Mrs. Fletcher: Elena?

Elena swung her legs over the bed, her heart hammering. Draco was sick. Really sick. And she wasn’t there.

She needed to get out of here.

Now.

Her gaze flickered to the chair where her dress from last night was draped. She swallowed hard. The card Lorenzo had slipped her was still inside the pocket.

Her escape route was right there.

But at what cost?

She gritted her teeth and stood, shoving the thoughts aside. First, she had to get through whatever awaited her this morning.

The tension in the penthouse was suffocating.

Elena found Damien in the dining area, dressed in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled up, veins visible beneath the taut skin of his forearms. His expression was unreadable, but the air around him crackled with something volatile.

The moment he saw her, Damien stood and strode in beside her, his presence commanding. “Welcome to your new home,” he said, his voice low but resolute.

Elena swallowed hard, her pulse racing. The word home felt wrong on his lips. This place wasn’t a refuge; it was a prison, one that came with invisible shackles.

“I didn’t agree to this,” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

Damien’s dark eyes flicked to her, intense and unyielding. “You did the moment you stayed for breakfast.”

Her jaw clenched. “That’s not how consent works.”

He arched a brow, his lips curving into a dangerous smirk. “In my world, it is.”

As they moved through the penthouse, Elena couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Her suspicion was confirmed when Damien gestured toward two towering men stationed near the entrance.

“These are your bodyguards—Marco and Dante,” Damien said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “They’ll ensure you’re safe at all times.”

Elena’s stomach twisted. “You’re assigning guards to monitor me?”

“To protect you,” he corrected sharply. “Valenti’s men are still a threat, and I won’t risk anything happening to you.”

His words might have been noble if not for the possessive glint in his eyes. Elena knew better—this wasn’t about protection; it was about control.

“You can’t keep me locked up here like some prisoner,” she snapped.

Damien stepped closer, towering over her. “Watch me.”

Their gazes clashed, heat simmering between them. Elena’s defiance only seemed to fuel Damien’s determination.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said, his voice softening just a fraction.

“I doubt that,” she muttered, walking past him to the dining table. She took one seat at the table and started eating her breakfast. 

His phone vibrated against the table.

Damien picked it up, and as his eyes scanned the screen, his entire demeanor shifted. His grip on the device tightened, jaw clenching, muscles rippling beneath his sleeves.

Without a word, he turned the screen toward her.

A single message from an unknown number.

Lorenzo Valenti: You’re losing control, Moretti. Maybe it’s time you learned how to share.

Elena’s breath hitched.

Damien’s fingers flexed, as if restraining the urge to snap the phone in half. His fury was silent, but it filled the room like smoke before a fire.

“What the hell does he mean by that?” Damien’s voice was deceptively calm.

Elena looked away. She knew what Lorenzo meant. He wanted Damien to think he had leverage over her.

That he had options.

That if Damien couldn’t protect what was his, someone else would be willing to take her.

She stayed quiet.

Damien exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair before shoving his phone aside. “Forget him.” His voice dropped an octave. “He won’t touch you.”

She didn’t answer. Because the truth was, she wasn’t sure which devil was the lesser evil anymore.

They ate in complete silence.

“You’ve been quiet,” he observed, his voice low and probing.

“I didn’t realize I was obligated to entertain you,” she replied coolly.

Damien’s lips curved into a wicked smile. “Careful, Elena. I might start thinking you enjoy provoking me.”

She looked up to face him, her chest tightening at the sight of him. Dressed in a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the sinewy strength of his forearms, Damien was a vision of raw masculinity.

“I just want my life back,” she said softly and put her utensils down. She was done eating, and now she wanted to talk to him. Maybe she could get some sense into his thick, stubborn skull.

His expression darkened. “Your life is here now—with me.”

The tension between them crackled like a live wire. Before Elena could respond, Damien stood and closed the distance between them. Immediately, she also stood and looked at him directly.

Damien stared at her with a frown, his hand cupping her jaw. “You drive me insane,” he muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

“Then let me go,” she whispered, though her voice wavered.

Damien’s answer was a fierce kiss, his lips claiming hers with unrelenting passion. Elena gasped against his mouth, her resolve crumbling as desire surged through her veins. Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer despite the voice in her head screaming to push him away.

His touch was both possessive and reverent, igniting a fire that threatened to consume them both. The lines between anger and longing blurred, leaving only raw, unfiltered emotion.

But as much as she hated to admit it, part of her didn’t want to.

Just as the moment threatened to spiral out of control, a familiar voice cut through the room.

“Well, this is tense.”

Elena jerked back, breathless, her heart still hammering.

She turned to see Nico Castellano leaning against the doorframe, looking entirely too amused.

Damien’s entire body went rigid. “Who the hell let you in?”

Nico smirked, unbothered by the lethal edge in Damien’s voice. “Your men really need to be more alert. What if I’d been someone with bad intentions?”

Elena stared at him. “What are you doing here?”

Nico’s gaze flicked to her, and something knowing glinted in his dark eyes. “Checking on you, of course.”

Damien let out a sharp laugh, void of humor. “That’s what you’re calling it?”

Nico ignored him, his attention still on Elena. “You look well-rested. You sure you’re not falling for him again?”

Elena tensed, heat creeping up her neck. “That’s none of your business.”

Damien’s eyes darkened. “You’re walking a fine line, Castellano.”

Nico grinned, clearly enjoying the reaction. Then, as if growing bored of the banter, he turned serious. “I’m here because I have a proposition.”

Elena frowned. “A proposition?”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “The key you received at the gala—I want it.”

Her breath caught.

Damien’s gaze sharpened immediately. “What key?”

Nico ignored him, his focus locked on Elena. “Give it to me, and I’ll help you escape him.”

Silence crashed between them.

Damien’s head snapped toward Elena, realization dawning in his eyes. “What the hell is he talking about?”

Elena’s pulse pounded. She could feel the weight of the key inside her purse, the unspoken choice hanging in the air.

Nico held her gaze, unwavering. “This is your chance, Elena. If you want out, this is it.”

Damien’s voice dropped to something dangerously soft. “Out?”

She swallowed hard, her mind spinning.

Draco.

The fever.

Mrs. Fletcher’s worried messages.

She needed to be with her son. She needed freedom.

But Damien was watching her, his expression unreadable but his eyes burning with something raw and possessive.

She was trapped between two devils.

And she had no idea which one was the greater threat...