Chapter 3

It happened too suddenly.

One moment Luna was sitting, leaning against the headboard, trying to strategise her way out of the complicated situation, and in the next, she found herself beneath him, the cold sheets brushing her back as Damian's shadow loomed over her. 

Everything happened so fast that she didn't even have the time to breathe, much less react. His strength, his presence, the sheer dominance radiating off him—she felt all of it press down on her in a single overwhelming wave.

And before she could react, warm, moist lips leaned down and claimed hers without waiting for permission. 

There was nothing gentle about the kiss—nothing hesitant or questioning. 

It was fierce, consuming, almost punishing, as if he were imprinting his existence onto her very soul. 

Once the kiss deepened and their tongues intertwined, Luna felt the last of her defences crumble. She fell into that cyclone of emotions she had been desperately trying to avoid for years—fear, longing, confusion, desire. All of it spiralled within her, pulling her down without mercy.

Her hands, which had been gripping his lapel with the intention of pushing him away, betrayed her. Instead of resisting, they pulled him closer, dragging him down to her. 

Her fingers moved on their own, unrestrained as they slid up his broad shoulders, into his soft, silky hair. 

She tugged him closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger she pretended she didn't possess. 

It terrified her—how instinctively, how helplessly her body remembered him.

When he finally pulled back after that long, breath-stealing kiss, Luna's eyes fluttered open. Those deep, endless eyes of his held her captive, pulling her soul into them with a force that made her forget how to inhale. 

His gaze was intense—too intense. 

There was something raw in it, something unguarded that she had never seen before.

The look he gave her made her instantly regret every reckless word she had thrown at him earlier.

"D-Damian, I am—"

"I won't let anyone take you away. Not even death."

His tone was deep, quiet, deadly serious. The words were not just a threat—they were a vow. A vow spoken by a man who never broke one.

"You belong to me and only me."

Luna froze.

It was rare—so rare—to see Damian Blackwell allow emotion to seep into his words. He was a man carved from ice and discipline. 

A man whose coldness could silence a room. If any of his subordinates had witnessed him in this state, with vulnerability flickering in his eyes, they would have believed it was an illusion. 

This was the same man who could terrify a veteran soldier with a single calm glance. The same man whose voice, when dipped in frost, could make even the boldest criminals choke on fear.

Yet tonight, he wasn't cold.

He was burning.

He gave her one last glance—quick, sharp, lingering longer than he intended. 

Then he picked up his coat, slipped it on with mechanical precision, and without sparing her another look, walked toward the door. His footsteps were steady, controlled. But Luna saw the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw. He was running—not from danger, but from her.

The heavy thud of the closing door echoed through the enormous room, announcing that he had left her alone once again.

Silence settled around her like a thick blanket. For a long moment, she didn't move. She remained frozen in that same position, her lips still tingling, her fingers still trembling with the memory of his hair between them. She wasn't sure if he had truly left or if he was standing behind the closed door, fighting the urge to return.

But the hallway remained silent.

Slowly, she released a shaky breath and forced herself to sit up.

Pulling the quilt around her body, she rose from the bed. Each movement felt oddly detached, as if she were watching herself from the outside. She walked toward the window—the massive glass wall overlooking the city below. Her steps were soft, almost soundless, swallowed by the thick carpet.

She gazed down at the silent city, glittering like a field of distant stars. Her long, thick hair cascaded down her back in messy waves, tangling around her shoulders, dark and unruly, falling like a veil around her form.

It was daybreak.

The first traces of gold crept across the horizon, softening the edges of skyscrapers with a quiet glow. The room itself was perched on one of the highest floors of the Blackwell Tower—hundreds of floors above ground, secluded from the noise of the living world.

Up here, it always felt like a different realm.

A place where only two people existed.

Luna knew her life would never be the same—not since the day Damian laid his eyes on her. That moment had sealed her fate.

Her life had changed the day she made that grave, irreversible mistake three years ago—when she was only seventeen, naïve and brave in all the wrong ways.

"Damian Blackwell," she whispered, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

Her fingertips pressed against the cold glass. The chill seeped into her skin, grounding her, reminding her of reality. Her lips trembled into a faint smile; not a happy one, but a fragile, helpless one. Remnants of tears still clung to her lashes. Streaks of moisture still stained her cheeks.

Damian Blackwell.

A name that chilled countless people down to their marrow.

A name whispered with fear, respect, dread.

A name no one dared to offend in their wildest dreams.

But she had.

Luna Hart was never a fragile, weak girl. Her appearance was delicate—a rose petal waiting to be bruised—but inside, she carried a strength that refused to break. That strength was her blessing—

—and her curse.

Perhaps if she had been a softer girl, a more timid girl, she wouldn't have made that catastrophic mistake three years ago.

Exactly three years ago, in a dimly lit club past midnight, she had seen him for the first time.

Damian Blackwell.

Back then, she had thought he was... likeable. Yes, likeable. Though she didn't know his name or identity, her first impression was gentle. She had believed he was a man with a cold exterior yet a righteous heart.

How wrong she was.

Fatally wrong.

And she had been running from the consequences ever since.