The night was thick with silence, the kind that held its breath before something irrevocable happened. Damian stood in his private suite, the city stretching beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a kingdom sprawled beneath him. But his mind wasn't on the city.
It was on her.
Elena Russo had consumed him.
His world had always been structured, controlled, predictable. And yet, she had torn through it like an unexpected storm, upending the order he had spent his life cultivating. Damian was not a man who second-guessed himself. Every decision was calculated, every move precise. But with her, there was no strategy, no formula. Just hunger. Just the cold, possessive need to make sure the world knew she belonged to him.
The moment she left the ball, he knew it wasn't over.
He had left his mark that night—not just in the way she had shivered under his touch, not just in the way her breath had caught when he whispered against her ear. No, he had left something deeper, something she wouldn't be able to scrub off no matter how much she tried to run.
But tonight… tonight was the beginning of something far more permanent.
---
He turned away from the view and reached for his phone. A single text was sent, nothing more than a location and a time.
Adrian didn't ask questions when he responded, **On it.**
Good. He needed his men stationed where he planned to go next.
Elena thought she could slip back into her quiet life, pretend like the world hadn't shifted beneath her feet. But Damian didn't allow loose ends. He didn't allow uncertainties.
And she? She was the most dangerous uncertainty he had ever encountered.
---
The city pulsed with life beneath the black sky. Damian moved like a shadow through the streets, his presence unnoticed yet felt. The apartment complex where Elena lived was quiet, the kind of place where people minded their own business, where no one asked questions when black SUVs idled in the streets below.
He had studied her, learned the pattern of her life. She wasn't reckless, wasn't naive, but she was predictable. She lived in a controlled routine, one she thought made her safe.
It didn't.
His men were already in place, stationed at the perimeters, ensuring no interruptions. This wasn't about scaring her. It wasn't even about control—not yet.
This was about making her understand.
She didn't get to walk away.
Not from him.
---
Elena's apartment was dark when he entered. He didn't need to break anything, didn't need to force his way in. Locks meant nothing when you had power, when you had men who could bypass security with the ease of breathing.
He moved through the space like he belonged there. Because, in a way, he did. He had already claimed her; she just hadn't accepted it yet.
His fingers traced along the back of her couch, the delicate curve of a wine glass left abandoned on the table. It was a glimpse into her world, into the quiet life she had built for herself, so painfully separate from his own.
It didn't matter.
She would have to make room for him now.
Damian moved deeper into her apartment, his gaze settling on the small bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar. He could hear her breathing, the slow, steady rhythm of sleep.
For a moment, he just stood there, watching, listening.
There was something almost peaceful about her in that moment, untouched by the chaos he was about to bring into her life. But peace was a fleeting illusion, one that had no place in his world. And whether she wanted to or not, she was part of his world now.
He stepped inside, his presence a silent force that altered the very air around them. The moment he reached the side of her bed, her breathing hitched. She sensed him before she saw him. Instinct.
Then, slowly, her eyes opened.
Confusion flickered first. Then fear.
And finally… recognition.
"Damian?" her voice was a whisper, a plea, a warning.
A slow, dark smile curved his lips as he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "Did you really think I'd let you go so easily, Elena?"
She shuddered beneath his touch, and he could see the war waging in her eyes—fight or surrender. He leaned closer, his voice a murmur against her ear.
"You were mine the moment you looked at me that night." His fingers traced down her jaw, tilting her chin upward so she had no choice but to look into the depths of his darkness. "And you'll stay mine until I decide otherwise."
She swallowed hard, her pulse erratic beneath his fingers. "You can't just—"
He cut her off with a single look. "I can. And I will."
Silence stretched between them, thick with something neither of them dared name. He could feel her pulse hammering against his fingertips, could see the way her body trembled—not just in fear, but in something deeper, something she wasn't ready to admit.
"Sleep, Elena," he murmured, pressing a lingering touch to her throat. "We have much to talk about tomorrow."
And just like that, he turned, leaving her in the suffocating wake of his presence, knowing that when morning came, she wouldn't be able to escape the truth.
She belonged to him now.
And there was no turning back.