Chapter 12: Walking on the Razor’s edge

The walls of Eden felt tighter that night, suffocating, like they were closing in on me. I had lied to Damien and gotten away with it—for now. But I knew that didn't mean I was safe. It only meant I was walking on a razor's edge, and one wrong move would send me tumbling into the abyss.

Michael was still out cold. If anything went wrong before he woke up, everything we had worked for would fall apart.

I needed to keep Damien convinced.

I needed to keep my head above water.

And I needed to do it alone.

Damien called for me again the next night.

I walked into his office, my pulse pounding in my ears. He was behind his desk as usual, swirling a fresh glass of whiskey, his expression unreadable.

"You surprised me, Winnie," he said.

I kept my face blank. "How?"

He leaned back in his chair, watching me with those cold, calculating eyes. "I thought you would hesitate. I thought you'd try to find a way out of it."

I shrugged. "You gave me an order. I followed it."

Damien smirked, pleased. "You're learning."

I forced myself to meet his gaze, to let him see the version of me he wanted to believe in—the girl who had finally accepted her place in his world.

Then he leaned forward, placing his glass on the desk.

"I have another job for you."

My stomach tightened. "What is it?"

Damien's smirk widened. "There's a man. He owes me, but he thinks he can run." He reached into a drawer, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and slid it across the desk.

I picked it up and unfolded it.

A name.

An address.

A photograph.

I swallowed hard. "What do you want me to do?"

Damien chuckled. "What do you think?"

I kept my expression neutral. "When?"

"Tomorrow night." He tilted his head. "Unless you're hesitating now?"

I shook my head. "No."

He studied me for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded.

"Good. Don't disappoint me."

I walked out of Eden feeling like I had been set on fire.

This was bad.

This was really bad.

If I didn't do this job, Damien would start to doubt me.

If I did it, I'd become exactly what he wanted me to be.

Either way, I was losing myself.

I needed to talk to Michael.

Now.

By the time I reached the abandoned club where we had left him, the weight in my chest had turned to full-blown panic.

I pushed through the rusted doors, my footsteps echoing in the empty space.

"Michael?"

Silence.

I moved deeper inside, my heart pounding.

And then—

A groan.

I ran.

Michael was slumped against the bar, his shirt still stained with fake blood, his face pale. His hand twitched slightly, like he was trying to move but couldn't.

I dropped to my knees beside him. "Michael?"

His eyelids fluttered, then slowly, he forced them open.

For a second, he looked disoriented, confused. Then his gaze found mine, and his lips curled into a weak smirk.

"Guess I'm not dead after all."

Relief crashed through me so hard I almost collapsed.

But there was no time for relief.

"We have a problem," I said.

Michael exhaled slowly, shifting his weight as he tried to sit up. "Of course we do."

I handed him the piece of paper Damien had given me.

He unfolded it, his expression darkening as he scanned the information.

Then he looked up at me.

And for the first time, I saw something in Michael's eyes that I had never seen before.

Fear.

"Winnie," he said carefully, "you can't do this."

I clenched my fists. "If I don't, Damien will know something's wrong."

Michael's jaw tightened. He looked down at the paper again, his grip turning white-knuckled.

Then, quietly, he said, "This man—he's not just some random target."

I frowned. "Who is he?"

Michael hesitated.

Then he folded the paper and met my eyes.

"He's the only person who can help us bring Damien down."

My breath caught.

I looked at Michael, at the tension in his jaw, at the weight behind his eyes.

And I knew—

This wasn't just a test anymore.

This was the moment that would decide everything.

Because if Damien wanted this man dead, it meant one thing:

We were closer to the truth than we realized.