Chapter 3: A Dangerous Arrangement.....

The penthouse was nothing like Isabelle had expected.

She stepped inside hesitantly, her eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. The space was vast, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline. Sleek black furniture, expensive paintings, and a grand chandelier hanging above the living area—it was the kind of place that screamed power and control.

And yet, despite its beauty, it felt cold. Like no one truly lived here.

Damian walked ahead, his movements fluid and effortless. He didn't bother turning on more lights. Instead, he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

"Lock the door behind you," he said without looking back.

Her pulse skipped. Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down her spine. Was it a warning? A precaution? Or a subtle way of telling her she had just stepped into a trap?

She hesitated before quietly clicking the lock in place.

"Sit," Damian instructed, motioning toward the couch.

She didn't move. "I'd rather stand."

He turned then, watching her with those dark, unreadable eyes. A slow smirk tugged at his lips, as if her defiance amused him. "Suit yourself."

He walked toward a small bar in the corner of the room and poured himself a drink. The sound of ice clinking against glass filled the silence.

Isabelle wrapped her arms around herself. "Are you going to explain now?"

Damian took a slow sip before finally meeting her gaze. "Explain what?"

She clenched her jaw. "Why someone wants me dead. Why you stopped them. Why I'm here."

For a long moment, he didn't answer. Instead, he studied her, as if weighing how much he should reveal.

Then, he set his glass down and leaned against the bar. "Someone powerful put your name on a list. That's all I know."

Her stomach twisted. "But why?"

"Still working on that."

She exhaled sharply. "That's not good enough."

A flicker of something dark crossed his features. "It'll have to be."

She swallowed hard, frustration bubbling inside her. How could he be so calm about this?

"You expect me to just sit here and wait while someone out there wants me dead?" she demanded.

"I expect you to do exactly that."

Her hands curled into fists. "You don't control me."

His smirk returned, but this time, there was something sharper behind it. "No, but I control whether you make it through the night."

The words sent a chill down her spine.

He wasn't threatening her—he was stating a fact.

Her mind raced. She couldn't stay here forever, waiting for answers that might never come. She needed a plan.

Taking a steady breath, she softened her voice. "What do you want from me, Damian?"

His gaze flickered. "Nothing."

She frowned. "Then why are you helping me?"

A pause.

Then, he said, "Because I don't like loose ends."

Her heart pounded. Was that all she was to him? A loose end?

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, she shifted her stance. "I can't just hide forever."

"You won't have to."

Something about the way he said it made her chest tighten.

Damian stepped closer, his presence suffocating in its intensity. "But until I figure out who wants you dead, you don't leave this penthouse."

Her breath caught. "You can't keep me here."

A slow, deliberate smirk. "Watch me."

She wanted to argue, to push back, but deep down, she knew he was right. If she walked out that door now, she might not make it to sunrise.

Damian's gaze held hers for a moment longer before he turned away. "Get some rest. We'll talk in the morning."

And just like that, the Conversation is over.

Isabelle's shoulders tensed as she took a slow step forward. The weight of the situation was settling in. She was trapped, not by force, but by circumstance.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. "Where am I supposed to sleep?"

Damian gestured toward a hallway. "First door on the right."

A guest room. That meant he wasn't planning on keeping her tied up somewhere. That was… something.

She hesitated. "And if I try to leave?"

He turned to her, something dark flickering in his eyes. "Then you'll be making my job a lot harder."

Her pulse jumped. "And what exactly is your job right now?"

Damian didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took another sip of his drink, as if considering how much to tell her. Finally, he set the glass down and walked toward her.

His presence alone was enough to make her feel small. "My job, Isabelle, is making sure you don't end up with a bullet in your skull."

A cold shiver ran through her.

He was dead serious.

She took a small step back, her throat dry. "And what if the people after me find me here?"

"They won't."

She wanted to believe him, but how could she?

Silence stretched between them again before she finally nodded stiffly. Without another word, she turned and walked down the hall.

The room was just as sleek and modern as the rest of the penthouse. A large bed with silk sheets, a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city, and a door that probably led to a private bathroom.

She closed the door behind her, exhaling shakily.

What had she gotten herself into?

Sleep didn't come easily. Every sound outside the room made her heart pound.

She was alive—for now.

But how long would that last?