Chapter 2: A Deal with the Davil....

The night had turned colder, the air thick with the scent of rain. The city's usual hum of life seemed muted as if the world had momentarily stopped. Isabelle Monroe had always felt somewhat invisible in this city—just another face in the crowd. But tonight, that illusion was shattered.

Because tonight, she was being hunted.

She could still feel the pressure of Damian Cross's hand on her wrist, his grip firm yet not cruel. His name alone sent fear coiling in her gut. An assassin. A man whose reputation was whispered among criminals and feared by those in power. And yet, here he was, standing before her in the dimly lit alley, offering protection instead of death.

She had agreed to go with him—but now that the words had left her lips, doubt clawed at her mind. Had she just made the biggest mistake of her life?

Damian's dark gaze never wavered. He studied her, as if searching for something beneath the fear in her eyes. "Good choice."

She swallowed hard. "I don't even know what I'm choosing."

He tilted his head slightly. "Survival."

A shiver ran down her spine.

Damian released her wrist but didn't step back. His presence was overwhelming—commanding in a way that made her feel like the world had shrunk to just the two of them.

"You said I'm marked," she said, forcing her voice to stay steady. "Who marked me?"

Damian let out a slow breath, as if deciding how much to tell her. "That's not important right now."

She clenched her fists. "It's important to me."

For the first time, something flickered in his gaze—an almost imperceptible hint of frustration. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"You're involved in something bigger than you realize," he said. "I don't know why you were targeted yet, but what I do know is that whoever put your name on that list wants you dead. And if they sent someone after you already, they won't stop."

A cold chill wrapped around her. A list?

She took a shaky breath, her mind racing. She wasn't special. She wasn't powerful. She worked a normal job, lived a quiet life. Why would anyone want her dead?

"Do you trust me?" Damian asked suddenly.

The question caught her off guard. Trust? The man had dragged her into an alley and warned her about an assassination plot against her life. Did she trust him? No. But did she have a choice?

Isabelle lifted her chin. "I don't know."

Damian smirked, but there was no amusement in it. "Smart answer."

He turned slightly, gesturing toward the end of the alley where a sleek black car was parked. "We need to go."

Panic flared in her chest. "Go where?"

"Somewhere safe."

"I—I can't just leave." Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to hold her ground. "My apartment, my job—"

"If you go back to your apartment, you won't live to see morning." His voice was blunt, cutting through her panic like a blade.

Her throat went dry.

Damian sighed, rubbing a hand across his jaw. "Look, Isabelle, I don't have time to convince you. Either you come with me now, or you take your chances out here."

She knew what he was saying was true. If what he said about being marked was real, then going home would be signing her own death warrant. But going with him? That was dangerous in a completely different way.

Her instincts screamed at her to run—but where?

A flash of movement caught her eye from the alley's entrance. A man. Watching.

Her stomach twisted. They were still looking for her.

Her pulse jumped, her decision made for her. Without another word, she turned and followed Damian to the car.

The drive was silent, tension thick between them. The city blurred past, neon lights casting shadows against Damian's sharp features. His grip on the steering wheel was relaxed, controlled, but there was an unmistakable edge to him—like a predator who was always ready to strike.

Isabelle fidgeted in her seat. "Where are we going?"

Damian didn't glance at her. "Somewhere they won't find you."

She frowned. "You're not exactly giving me answers."

"You'll get answers when it's safe."

"Safe?" She let out a humorless laugh. "I was safe before you dragged me into this alley and told me I was marked for death."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.

She studied him in the dim light. Everything about him was sharp—his cheekbones, his jawline, even the way he carried himself. But there was something else beneath the surface. Something restrained.

She hesitated before asking, "Why are you helping me?"

Silence.

Then, finally, he said, "I don't know."

The honesty in his voice startled her.

"I don't take jobs that don't make sense," he continued. "And killing you doesn't make sense."

She shivered. "You were sent to kill me?"

His grip on the wheel tightened just slightly. "I was sent to observe."

She exhaled slowly, her mind spinning. He was supposed to be watching her—studying her like prey before delivering the final blow. But instead, he had warned her. He had stepped in before someone else could take the shot.

And that meant one thing.

"Whoever sent you," she said, "you're betraying them by helping me."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "I don't betray people."

"Then why am I still alive?"

A long pause.

Then, he glanced at her, and for the first time, something unreadable passed through his gaze.

"Because I make my own choices."

The weight of his words settled over her.

For all his danger, for all the fear he instilled in her, one thing was becoming clear. Damian Cross was a man who didn't follow orders blindly.

And that terrified her even more.

They pulled into an underground garage, the soft hum of the engine cutting through the silence. Damian parked the car and stepped out without a word, expecting her to follow.

Isabelle hesitated before opening her door. The air smelled of concrete and oil, the dim lighting casting long shadows.

"This way," he said, leading her toward a sleek elevator.

She followed, nerves twisting inside her. The doors slid open, and she stepped inside beside him.

As the elevator ascended, she finally broke the silence. "And after tonight? What happens to me?"

Damian's gaze flicked to her. "That depends."

"On what?"

His lips curved slightly. "How much you're willing to trust the devil who saved you."

Her heart pounded.

The doors slid open, revealing a darkened penthouse.

And just like that, Isabelle realized—she had just stepped into the lion's den.