Chapter 4: The First Night

My phone buzzed with another text from that same unknown number: Car downstairs. You have five minutes.

That was it. No pleasantries, just another command delivered with the same cold efficiency that seemed to define everything about him.

I looked around my apartment one last time, my fingers trailing along the chipped counter where I'd eaten countless meals alone. At the peeling paint I'd grown used to, the stack of unpaid bills that would no longer matter, the crossword puzzle still lying unfinished on my table.

Twenty-six years of life, and it all fit into two suitcases and a cardboard box.

I touched the locket at my throat. It was my mother's silver heart, now warm against my skin. Whatever came next, I'd carry this piece of her with me.

The car waiting outside was sleek, black, expensive. The driver took my bags without a word, his movements precise and militant. I settled into leather seats that probably cost more than my entire salary, feeling like an imposter in someone else's life.

We moved through neighborhoods that grew progressively more expensive, leaving behind my world of cramped apartments and corner bodegas for tree-lined streets and buildings that whispered old money and even older power.

Damien's building was thirty floors of glass and steel scraping the sky. The doorman looked like he could bench press a car. Not at all like the doormen I usually saw in movies.

"Mrs. Black," he greeted, the title making my stomach clench. "Mr. Black is expecting you. Penthouse level."

The elevator ride felt endless, each floor marking my ascent into a world I didn't belong in. When the doors opened, I stepped directly into Damien's home.

The space was breathtaking and terrifying in equal measure. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view that made me feel like I was floating above the world. Every piece of furniture looked museum like, every surface gleamed with the kind of perfection only unlimited money could buy.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

I spun around to find Damien emerging from what appeared to be his office. His suit jacket was gone, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms covered in intricate tattoos that disappeared beneath the expensive fabric. Even in his own space, he moved with controlled grace like someone honed by danger and power.

"It's..." I searched for words, my neck craning to take in the soaring ceiling. "Big."

"It is." He moved to the bar, crystal clinking as he poured out the amber liquid. "Drink?"

"I don't really drink." My hands fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, feeling underdressed and out of place.

"That will change." He poured a second glass anyway, holding it out like a challenge.

I took the glass but didn't take a sip, watching as he moved to the windows. The city spread out below us like a glittering circuit board, millions of lights representing millions of lives. From this height, it all looked manageable, controllable. Not at all like the chaos it sometimes felt like while living in it.

"The package," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "It saved her life."

"Yes." He didn't turn around.

"How did you know? About the bomb?"

Damien faced me, expression unreadable as carved stone. "I know many things."

"That's not an answer." Frustration leaked into my voice.

"It’s the only answer you'll get." He took a sip, studying me over the rim. "You did well today. We shouldn't have any problems in the future."

"A woman almost died." The words came out sharper than intended.

"But she didn't. Because you did what I said." His tone was matter-of-fact. "That's how this world works. Information is power and timing is everything."

I set down my untouched whiskey, hands trembling. "What world are you talking about?"

"Mine."

"I have no interest in your world." My voice rose with months of suppressed frustration. "Why am I even here, Damien?"

He moved closer, close enough that I caught his cologne. It was something woodsy and dark that made me think of danger and secrets."I already told you everything you need to know."

"You haven't told me anything!" The words exploded out of me. "I don't want any part of this. I want my life back. My safe, normal life. I don't want to be delivering secret packages or wondering if people are going to die." My voice cracked. "I don't want this."

"It doesn't matter what you want." He swirled the whiskey, ice clinking against crystal as his dark eyes held mine. "The sooner you accept that, the better."

"Is that another threat?" My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

His voice dropped to something dangerous. "I don't do threats, Lena."

I shook my head, the fight draining out of me as quickly as it had come. "I don't want this," I whispered.

"Again, what you want is irrelevant. You signed the contract."

"I didn't have much of a choice.”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. "You had a choice. You just didn't like the options."

Damien moved to a tablet on the coffee table, his fingers swiping through what looked like security feeds before he set it aside. He studied my face for a long moment.

"Your life is in danger."

Ice formed in the pit of my stomach. "What?"

"Staying in your old apartment would have gotten you killed."

I blinked, the words hitting me like cold water. "Killed? No. You said someone was going to die. You didn’t say that someone was me.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“So the journalist?” I asked. Was the journalist somehow connected to me?

“Also in danger…as you can see.”

I shook my head, panic rising. "No. No. This doesn't make sense. Why would someone want to kill me? I don't know anything. I work in insurance. And no one I know hates me that much to kill me for it. I mean two days ago my biggest problem was whether or not I could afford to pay my rent."

"There's nothing more you need to know other than that."

"Nothing more?" My voice climbed toward hysteria. "I think I have a right to know who wants me dead."

"You have the right to stay alive. Everything else is secondary." He straightened his cuffs with practiced efficiency. "Your room is down the hall, second door on the right. Mrs. Carrow will show you around tomorrow."

His tone was dismissive. I knew I’d get nothing more from him now.

"Mrs. Carrow?" I asked absentmindedly as I mulled over the terrifying idea that someone could be targeting me.

"My housekeeper. She's been with me for the last five years..." he trailed off as he scanned my face, "When I’m gone, do not try to leave. The building is monitored, and my security team has specific instructions regarding you,” he said as if he were imagining I’d use any chance to slip out and disappear.

He wouldn’t be wrong. Even with a supposed death threat over my head, I’d still take my chances.

"You mean instructions to keep me here as your prisoner?"

"I mean instructions to keep you alive." His dark eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. "I keep my promises Lena."

The cryptic response left me with more questions than answers, but he was already walking away.

I padded down the hallway to where he said and gasped as I pushed open the door. The bedroom was larger than my entire apartment. My two suitcases were already there sitting pathetically beside the pristine, white vanity table looking very much out of place.

I took in the canopy king sized bed that looked like it came out of a fairytale, the walk-in closet that could house a small family, the windows that offered another breathtaking view of the city.

And the bathroom…. had marble everywhere, with a bathtub that was big enough for at least three people. The shower had multiple heads with controls that looked like they belonged in a tech lab.

I unpacked quickly as the shower called to me, my few outfits looking lost in the vast closet. The idea of hot water and steam seemed like salvation after all the surreal events that had happened..

Water cascaded from the rain shower head as I stepped in. The pressure was perfect, the temperature exactly right. For the first time since Damien knocked on my door, tension left my shoulders. Steam filled my lungs, washing away all the fear and confusion that had coiled in my stomach.

But when I emerged, wrapped in a towel softer than anything I'd owned, reality crashed back.

This luxury came with a price I was only beginning to understand. I changed into my usual cotton shirt and shorts and slipped under the covers of the most comfortable bed of my life.

However, sleep wouldn't come. My mind raced with everything.The contract, the package, the bomb, the idea that someone wanted me dead.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Damien's face, those dark eyes that seemed to cut right through me.

After an hour of staring at the ceiling, I gave up. The penthouse hummed with subtle sounds, the sense of a space never truly still.

I padded barefoot down the hallway, the coldness of the tiles seeping into my skin as I passed closed doors hiding rooms I hadn't seen. The living area was bathed in city light, the windows offering an unobstructed Manhattan view.

It was beautiful and overwhelming.

I pressed my palm against the cool glass. My breath fogging the window. Somewhere down there was my old apartment belonging to a life where people lived normal lives, worked jobs they complained about, worried about bills while falling asleep to late-night tv.

"Can't sleep?"

I spun around, heart leaping. For a moment I saw only shadows and the dim shapes of furniture. Then my eyes adjusted, making out a figure in one of the black leather chairs near the bar.

Damien.

Gone was the expensive suit, replaced by silk pajama pants and matching shirt left unbuttoned, revealing a well sculpted chest. In the dim light I caught glimpses of dark ink across his skin, intricate tattoos disappearing into shadow. He looked less like the cold businessman who'd upended my life and more like something dangerous and beautiful belonging to the shadows.

"You were watching me." My voice came out smaller than intended.

"I was thinking." He stood and began moving toward me slowly. "You interrupted."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Bed not comfortable enough?" Amusement colored his voice.

"The bed's fine. Everything else is the problem." I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how thin my cotton pajamas were.

He stopped close enough that city lights played across his features, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw, the intensity in his dark eyes.

"Such as?"

"Two days ago I was nobody, and now my life's in danger from people I've never met. I'm married to a man I don't know, living in his apartment, being told what to do and how to do it." The words tumbled out in a rush.

He said nothing, just watched me with that unnerving stillness.

"I want to understand what I've become a part of," I continued.

"You don’t need to understand. It’ll just be harder for you."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"It's supposed to be honest." He moved past me to the windows, standing close enough that I could smell his cologne, dark and expensive, reminding me of midnight and secrets. "Tell me what you see out there."

I turned back to the view, hyperaware of his presence. "The city. Lights. People living their lives."

"I see a battlefield. Every light represents someone with something to gain or lose.Every building could hide an enemy or an ally. Every street, a route you need to know well to ensure your survival." His voice was quiet, hypnotic. "That's the difference between your world and mine.”

I shivered. "Your world sounds… exhausting." Terrifying is really what I wanted to say.

"It's real. Your normal world—the one you're mourning—only exists because people like me handle the reality underneath, so, tell me, how much of this world do you really want to know?"

I could feel heat radiating from his body, see the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the silk. This close, he didn't seem cold and calculating. He seemed human. Dangerous, but human.

"What made you this way?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

Something shifted in his expression, a flicker I couldn't place. "That's not your concern."

"Everything about you is apparently my concern now, husband," I gritted out bitterly.

The corner of his lips twitched. "Nothing about me is your concern. What you do is mine. That's all you need to know."

We stood in the darkness, holding each other's gaze, daring the other to move, to blink.

"Why are you protecting me?"

The question hung between us. For a moment I thought he might give a real answer. Instead, he stepped back, putting space between us.

"Get some sleep. Tomorrow you’ll have your next task to do."

What?

He disappeared into the shadows as silently as he'd emerged, leaving me alone with city lights and the lingering scent of his cologne.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, my reflection staring back like a ghost. Two days ago I'd never have imagined standing in Damien Black’s penthouse, while my life, and the lives of everyone I loved hung in the balance of whatever task he gave me.

I didn't know how I'd ever sleep again.