Chapter 6: Silence that says more...

The room was thick with silence.

Isabelle's pulse pounded as she stood frozen under Damian's sharp gaze. The weight of his words lingered in the air.

"Then you better hope you're still worth keeping alive."

Her throat tightened. He wasn't bluffing. Damian Cross wasn't the type to throw empty threats—every word he spoke carried the weight of absolute certainty.

She needed to be careful.

But careful wasn't something she was good at.

Her fingers curled into fists. "So, that's it? You're just going to keep me here like a prisoner and expect me to obey without question?"

Damian studied her, his expression unreadable. Then, in a slow, measured step, he closed the distance between them.

"You're not my prisoner, Isabelle." His voice was quiet, but it sent chills down her spine. "You're under my protection. There's a difference."

She scoffed. "Protection? From what? From you?"

His jaw tightened. "From the people who want you dead."

Her stomach twisted. "And who are they?"

A flicker of something crossed his face. Guilt? No. Damian Cross didn't seem like a man who felt guilt.

"That's what I'm trying to find out." His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. "But I can't do that if you keep pulling stunts like this." His eyes flickered to the phone on the nightstand.

She swallowed. He's angry, but he's holding back. Why?

"You don't trust me," she said softly.

Damian let out a low, humorless chuckle. "I don't trust anyone."

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

"Then why save me?"

He was silent for a long moment.

Then, finally, he said, "Because someone wanted you dead badly enough to hire me to do it."

Her breath hitched.

She had tried to push the thought away since last night, but hearing it from his lips made it all too real.

Someone wanted her dead. And they had turned to the most dangerous man they could find to make it happen.

She exhaled shakily. "And yet… you didn't do it."

Damian's gaze darkened. "No."

"Why?"

A shadow crossed his face. He didn't answer.

That silence told her more than words ever could.

He didn't know. Or maybe he did, but the answer wasn't something he was willing to share.

She took a step forward, bracing herself. "Was it pity?"

His lips twitched, as if amused by the thought. "I don't pity people."

"Then what was it?"

His silence stretched.

Then, without warning, he reached out, fingers brushing against her wrist. A gentle touch, but firm enough to still her breath.

"Do you really want to know?" His voice was a whisper against the charged air between them.

She shivered.

She did. She wanted to know why this ruthless assassin had spared her. Why he was keeping her locked away instead of finishing the job he had been paid to do.

But something in his gaze told her that knowing the truth would change everything.

Before she could answer, Damian exhaled and stepped back.

"You're too reckless," he muttered. "If you pull another stunt like this, I won't be so patient."

The moment shattered.

The heat, the tension—it all disappeared, leaving only a cold sense of reality in its place.

Her jaw clenched. Right. That's all this is. A game of survival.

She nodded stiffly. "Fine."

His brows lifted slightly, as if he hadn't expected her to give in so easily.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

Hours passed.

Damian was gone again.

Isabelle sat curled up on the sleek leather couch, staring blankly at the city skyline.

She should be scared. Terrified, even. But instead, she felt… numb.

Her entire world had flipped upside down in the span of a day, and now she was stuck here, locked in a stranger's home, waiting for a man who could just as easily decide to kill her as he had decided to save her.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Think, Isabelle. Think."

If she wanted answers, she had to find them herself.

Getting out of the penthouse was impossible. But maybe… just maybe, there was another way to uncover the truth.

She pushed herself off the couch and walked toward Damian's study.

The study was dimly lit, shelves lined with books and neatly stacked papers. A large mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, a laptop placed on top of it.

Her pulse quickened.

This could have answers.

She hesitated only a moment before moving toward the desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

A password prompt appeared on the screen.

She cursed under her breath. Of course, it wouldn't be that easy.

But before she could try any guesses, the sound of the front door unlocking made her heart leap into her throat.

She spun just as Damian stepped inside.

His gaze immediately locked onto her.

A slow, almost amused smirk curved his lips. "You never learn, do you?"

Her heart pounded. "I—"

"Save it." He stepped forward, his presence filling the room. "If you're going to snoop, at least be smart enough not to get caught."

A shiver ran down her spine.

Was he angry? No. That was what scared her the most—he wasn't angry. He was… entertained.

Like he was waiting for her to keep testing his limits.

He stopped in front of her, his fingers reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. It was a deceptively gentle touch, but there was a dangerous edge beneath it.

"Tell me, Isabelle," he murmured. "Do you really think you can outplay me?"

Her breath caught.

His fingers traced down to her chin, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

The way he looked at her—it wasn't just amusement. There was something else, something dark and possessive lurking beneath the surface.

"I—" She swallowed, her mind scrambling for a response.

He held her there for a moment longer, then, just as suddenly, he stepped away.

"Go to bed," he said, his voice smooth and unreadable.

She exhaled shakily, her heart racing.

Just as she turned to leave, he added, "And Isabelle?"

She glanced over her shoulder.

His smirk deepened.

"No more games.