The Aftermath

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.

“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.