Chapter 9: Stolen Silence

Damien’s P.O.V.

Yes, I may be wrong for what I did.

Do I feel remorse?

What’s that?

Would I do it again?

If I had to—yes.

Regret is a luxury. One I’ve never been afforded, and never cared to earn.

My mistake wasn’t taking her.

It was underestimating the situation.

I didn’t analyse enough. Didn’t watch closely enough. Didn’t account for the possibility that I wasn’t the only one tracking her movements.

Someone else had eyes on her.

Someone talked.

And the thought of her being drugged again—of her collapsing into that same helpless state, surrounded by the wrong people—made something inside me coil tight and violent.

My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

I drove faster.

The engine roared beneath me as I cut through the night, weaving through traffic like it was nothing more than an inconvenience. Red lights blurred. Horns sounded. None of it mattered.

The city stretched around me, alive and indifferent.

I drove like it owed me something.

Like I intended to collect.

I didn’t take her to the penthouse. That place was for meetings—clean, controlled, watched in ways people didn’t realise.

I didn’t take her to the lakeside house either. That place had memories. Soft ones. Useless ones.

No.

I brought her here.

This place was different.

Mine.

Tucked away in a quieter part of the city where even curiosity hesitated to wander. No paper trail worth following. No staff. No history that could be traced back to anything meaningful.

Unshared.

Untouched.

Safe.

Or as safe as anything connected to me could ever be.

She hadn’t moved the entire drive.

Still in the back seat. Still unconscious. Still—

Vulnerable.

I killed the engine and sat there for a moment, the silence pressing in around me.

I didn’t mean to hurt her.

That part was true.

I would have preferred a conversation. A proper one. Not fragments exchanged in chaos, not truths dragged out under pressure.

But life doesn’t work like that.

The universe doesn’t wait for readiness.

It throws you into the middle of the storm and expects you to survive the conversation later.

I stepped out of the car and opened the back door.

For a second, I just looked at her.

Her head was turned slightly to the side, hair falling across her face in soft strands. Her breathing was steady, but there was something about the stillness of her that didn’t sit right with me.

Too quiet.

Too fragile.

I reached in and brushed the hair away from her face before I could stop myself.

Then I lifted her.

Carefully.

More carefully than I’ve handled anything in a long time.

She was lighter than I expected. Or maybe I just noticed it more now.

The garage lights flickered on automatically as I carried her inside. The elevator doors slid open with a soft hum, welcoming, indifferent.

I stepped in.

The ride up was silent except for the faint mechanical whir of cables pulling us higher.

I didn’t look at her.

Didn’t trust myself to.

When the doors opened, the city greeted us.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the entire living space, framing a skyline that glittered like it had something to prove. Lights flickered. Cars moved in endless streams below. Somewhere out there, people were living their lives without knowing how quickly things could change.

To the right, the kitchen counters gleamed under dim track lighting. Clean. Untouched. Cold.

To the left, the guest bathrooms sat behind closed doors, unused.

I didn’t stop.

Upstairs.

Each step felt louder than it should have. The quiet in this place had always been intentional, but tonight it felt… heavier.

I pushed open the door to my room and crossed straight to the bed.

For a brief second, I hesitated.

Then I laid her down.

Gently.

Too gently.

I stepped back immediately after, putting distance between us like it mattered.

She didn’t stir.

Good.

Or maybe not.

I lingered longer than I should have, watching the rise and fall of her chest, making sure—without admitting it to myself—that she was fine.

Then I turned and left the room.

Downstairs, the silence followed me.

My coffee sat exactly where I’d left it hours ago, abandoned mid-thought. The surface had gone still, the heat long gone.

I picked it up anyway.

Took a sip.

Cold. Bitter.

Fitting.

I walked to the window, one hand slipping behind my back out of habit, the other holding the mug loosely.

The skyline looked peaceful.

Orderly.

Controlled.

A lie.

There’s always something underneath. Always movement you don’t see until it’s too late.

I should call Mr. Alkings.

Let him know I have his daughter.

The thought lingered for all of two seconds before I dismissed it.

He wouldn’t care.

Not in the way a father should.

Not after what he tried to do.

Selling her off like leverage. Like a solution. Like she was something that could be exchanged to settle a problem he created.

My grip tightened slightly around the mug.

I already cleared his debt.

Wiped it clean like it never existed.

That alone puts me in an interesting position.

Villain.

Saviour.

Depends on who’s telling the story.

Depends on who survives long enough to tell it.

She’ll stay here.

For now.

No explanations.

No reassurances.

She’s too smart not to start connecting the pieces on her own.

And after what she told me—about her father, the betrayal, the hospital—

She won’t need much time.

She’ll understand.

And she’ll hate me for it.

The irony sits heavier than I expected.

I pulled her out of danger.

Only to take her anyway.

The cup in my hand felt lighter.

I glanced down.

Empty.

Like me.

A sharp buzz cut through the silence.

My phone.

Across the room.

I didn’t need to check to know what it was.

News alerts.

They always move fast when there’s blood in the water.

I walked over, glancing at the screen without picking it up.

Speculation.

Fragments.

Questions dressed up as facts.

They caught wind of something.

Maybe her name.

Maybe just the incident.

Either way, it wouldn’t take long.

I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair before pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it aside.

This part was always predictable.

The media games.

Feed them just enough, and they follow the trail you want.

Give them nothing and they dig harder.

I hadn’t decided which approach I’d take.

Not yet.

Silence settled again.

Thick.

Then—

A sound.

Faint.

Upstairs.

I froze.

Another sound.

Movement.

Fabric shifting.

A sharp, uneven inhale.

She was awake.

I didn’t rush.

Didn’t react immediately.

Instead, I stood there for a moment, letting the reality of it settle.

This was the part that mattered.

Not the taking.

Not the driving.

Not the planning.

This.

I moved toward the stairs, each step deliberate, measured.

By the time I reached the doorway, she was sitting up slightly, her movements slow, disoriented.

Her eyes found me almost instantly.

Recognition hit just as fast.

Sharp.

Clear.

Dangerous.

“You.”

Her voice was rough, laced with disbelief and something deeper—something that hadn’t fully formed yet.

Accusation would come next.

Anger.

Fear, maybe.

I stepped into the room fully.

Didn’t hide.

Didn’t soften.

I let her see me exactly as I was.

Let her take it in.

Let the weight of everything settle between us.

What I’d done.

What it meant.

What came next?

I didn’t speak.

Didn’t explain.

Didn’t justify.

Some things are more powerful in silence.

And this—

This was one of them.

Her gaze didn’t leave mine.

Not for a second.

Good.

Let her see.

Let her understand.

Let her hate me if she needs to.

It won’t change anything.

I held her stare, steady, unflinching.

And in that moment—right there, balanced on the edge of whatever this was about to become—

I knew.

There was no going back from this.

No undoing it.

No softening the outcome.

Only forward.

Only consequence.

Only us.

And just like that—

It begins.