THINGS THAT SHOULDN'T BE KNOWN

Calla couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t the bed—God knew it was the most expensive thing she’d ever touched. It wasn’t the silence either. It was the kind of silence that screamed. It pressed on her ears and wrapped around her chest like a warning.

She turned again, tangled in silk sheets. The silver choker stayed on.

It had become an anchor. Or a chain.

She wasn’t sure which.

Her mind wouldn’t shut off.

Her father’s side.

That’s what Julian had said.

Until now, she had believed she was here because her mother’s debts had come due. That this arrangement, this twisted agreement with Damien Voss, was payment for the sins of a woman who had long since vanished into smoke.

But that file…

The way Julian’s voice had dropped.

The tension in Damien’s jaw.

It was like they had touched a nerve no one wanted her to see.

She needed answers.

And she knew where to look.

---

The west wing of the mansion was off-limits.

Damien had never said it directly. He didn’t have to.

His silence, the always-locked door, the way Julian casually redirected her anytime she wandered that way—it all screamed forbidden.

Which was exactly why she went there.

Barefoot, silent, wrapped in a thin black robe, Calla moved through the mansion like a shadow. No cameras. No visible guards. Just endless corridors, oil paintings with eyes too lifelike, and doors that hummed with secrets.

She reached it.

The forbidden hallway.

Her heart pounded.

One door was ajar.

She pushed it open.

It wasn’t what she expected.

Not weapons. Not surveillance. Not chains or vaults.

Just… a study. Simple. Elegant. Dark.

Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a fireplace, a leather chair.

And on the desk—a file.

Her fingers shook as she reached for it.

> "Subject: Calla Everhart. Bloodline Verification. Status: Potential Threat."

She blinked.

Bloodline?

She flipped the page. The second sheet had a photo—of her as a child, barely five years old. Underneath, a black-and-white image of a man with a face she didn’t recognize. Cold eyes. A scar along his jaw.

Captioned:

> "Jonas Everhart – presumed deceased, underworld operative, ties to the Voss Syndicate."

Calla’s knees nearly buckled.

Her father wasn’t just some deadbeat who disappeared. He was a criminal, apparently once deep in the same underworld Damien operated in. A ghost tied to blood and violence.

And Damien knew.

The arrangement. The collar. The control.

It wasn’t just about her mother’s debt.

It was about who she was.

Or might become.

---

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

The voice stopped her heart.

She turned.

Damien stood in the doorway, shirt undone at the collar, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled like he’d run his hand through it one too many times.

Not anger. Not shock.

His face was unreadable.

“You knew,” she said, voice low. “You knew all along.”

“Yes.”

“You let me believe I was here for a debt. For a contract.”

“You were.”

“Bullshit.” Her voice trembled now. “This was about him.”

He stepped forward. “It’s always been about you.”

His tone wasn’t cruel. It was quiet. Dangerous in its softness.

“You’re not a prisoner, Calla,” he said. “Not yet. But you are in a cage. The kind that was built long before you ever walked through my doors.”

“Why me?”

“Because they’re watching. Because the moment they find out whose daughter you are, someone will try to use you. And I’d rather it be me.”

There it was. The brutal honesty.

She hated how much it turned her on.

“Tell me the truth, Damien,” she whispered. “All of it.”

“I’m not ready for that.”

“Then don’t expect me to trust you.”

His jaw clenched.

She stepped forward, fire burning now. Not fear. Fury.

“Tell me one thing,” she said, eyes locked on his. “Is any of this real? Or am I just your enemy’s daughter with good legs and a useful mouth?”

He was across the room in seconds.

His hand caught her wrist. Pulled her in. His lips crashed against hers with no warning, all teeth and fire and heat. He kissed her like a man starving. Like a man drowning in the very need he tried to deny.

When he pulled away, his voice was wrecked.

“I don’t want you to be real.”

Calla stared at him, panting.

“But you are.”

---

Later that night, Damien sat alone in the study.

Julian stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

“She knows,” Damien said.

“I figured she would. Eventually.”

“Her father—he’s not dead, is he?”

Julian hesitated.

“No.”

Damien’s hand tightened into a fist. “Then we’re out of time.”

Julian looked toward the hallway.

“Tell me something,” he said. “If it comes down to her or the Voss legacy… who do you protect?”

Damien didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

Because even silence… can be a confession.