Chapter 5: The Caged Bird...
The penthouse was silent. Too silent.
Isabelle stood in the center of the living room, arms folded tightly across her chest as she listened to the faint ticking of a clock. The moment Damian walked out the door, an eerie stillness settled over the space, wrapping around her like invisible chains.
She was alone.
The realization should have been comforting. No one to threaten her. No one to dictate rules. But instead, a suffocating weight pressed against her ribs.
She was trapped.
Isabelle exhaled sharply, her frustration mounting. How had her life turned into this? Less than twenty-four hours ago, she was just a normal woman, living a normal life. Now, she was a prisoner in a luxurious cage, hiding from people who wanted her dead.
Her eyes flicked to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. Beyond the glass, life carried on. People went to work, cars honked, the world moved forward. And yet, she was stuck here, waiting for a man she barely knew to decide her fate.
Her jaw clenched. No. She wasn't going to just sit here and wait.
She had never been the kind of person to let others dictate her choices. And she wasn't about to start now.
Rule one: Do not leave the penthouse without me.
Damian's warning echoed in her mind.
She scoffed. "Screw that."
She marched toward the front door, gripping the handle and twisting.
Locked.
Of course, it was.
She searched for a key, checking the nearby tables, even the kitchen counters—nothing. Damian wasn't stupid. He had made sure she couldn't just walk out.
Her heart pounded as she considered her options. Windows? No. Too high up. Air vents? Too small.
There had to be another way out.
Her gaze landed on a sleek security panel beside the door. A fingerprint scanner and a keypad.
She inhaled slowly. Think, Isabelle.
Damian wouldn't have locked her in here without a backup plan for himself. Maybe he had a way to bypass his own security in case of emergencies.
She pressed her fingertips lightly against the scanner. It beeped red. Access denied.
Figures.
She stared at the keypad, biting her lip. A code. Could she guess it?
Probably not. But she had to try.
She hesitated before pressing a sequence—1-2-3-4.
Error.
She tried another—0-0-0-0.
Error.
Her frustration grew with each failed attempt. She was locked in, and she had no way of knowing when Damian would be back.
Her fists clenched at her sides. There had to be a way out of here.
She just had to find it.
Isabelle moved through the penthouse, searching for anything that might help her escape.
The kitchen drawers were stocked with expensive silverware, but no keys. The study was filled with books and neatly organized files—none of which looked like they contained any useful information.
Then, she reached the bedroom. Damian's bedroom.
She hesitated at the doorway.
It felt wrong stepping into his space. The room smelled faintly of him—something dark and masculine, a mix of leather and faint spice. It was unsettling how easily she recognized it.
The bed was neatly made, the furniture sleek and modern. A single nightstand sat beside the bed, and on top of it—
A phone.
Her breath caught.
Damian's phone.
She rushed forward, snatching it up. This was it. This was her way out.
But the screen was locked.
She exhaled sharply. Of course. Of course, he wouldn't just leave an unlocked phone lying around.
Her fingers hovered over the screen. Could she guess the passcode?
She tried a few numbers at random. Nothing worked.
Then, an idea struck her.
Damian didn't seem like the type to use random numbers. He was controlled, calculated. If there was a code, it had to mean something to him.
She tried a new sequence—
1-9-9-0.
The phone unlocked.
Her heart skipped.
1990? Was that the year he was born?
She didn't have time to dwell on it. Quickly, she navigated to the contacts, searching for a way to call for help.
No signal.
She let out a frustrated breath. Seriously?
Of course, Damian wouldn't leave her access to an active line. He had probably disabled outgoing calls.
Her stomach twisted. He really had thought of everything.
Still, there had to be something useful on the phone. She started scrolling through messages, searching for any clue about why she was being targeted.
But before she could find anything—
A voice cut through the silence.
"I really hoped you wouldn't do that, Isabelle."
Her blood turned to ice.
She turned slowly, dread curling in her stomach.
Damian stood in the doorway.
He was leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. But his dark eyes? They were blazing.
Her throat went dry.
"I—"
"Put the phone down," he ordered.
She hesitated.
His gaze hardened. "Now."
Heart hammering, she carefully set the phone back on the nightstand.
The air in the room was thick with unspoken tension.
Damian exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. "You're not very good at following rules, are you?"
Isabelle swallowed. "I— I just—"
"You just what?" He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Thought you'd escape? Thought you'd outsmart me?"
She clenched her fists. "I just wanted answers."
His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "And breaking into my things was the way to get them?"
She held his gaze. "You're keeping me in the dark, Damian. How do you expect me to just sit here and wait while you make all the decisions?"
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then—
"You really don't get it, do you?" His voice was dangerously soft.
Her brows furrowed. "Get what?"
Damian's gaze darkened.
"You're alive because I said so."
A chill ran down her spine.
"You think you're a prisoner, but you're not. If you were, you'd be locked in a cage somewhere, waiting for death."
Her breath hitched.
"But instead, you're here. In my home. Under my protection." His voice was low, firm. "Because I made that choice."
She swallowed hard. "And what happens if you change your mind?"
The room fell into heavy silence.
Then, Damian smirked. But it wasn't amusement. It was something far more dangerous.
"Then you better hope you're still worth keeping alive."