Chapter 9: The First Lesson...

Isabelle's body was still tense from the encounter with Victor the night before. His words echoed in her mind, chilling and ominous.

"It's not every day that you spare a target."

What had he meant? Was Damian supposed to kill her?

The thought sent a fresh wave of unease through her.

She sat in the dimly lit living room, staring at the city skyline. The morning was quiet, save for the occasional hum of passing cars. It was the kind of silence that felt suffocating—a calm before the storm.

Her gaze flickered to the sleek black door leading to Damian's study.

He was in there. He had been for hours.

She wanted to storm in, demand answers, force him to explain why her life had become a twisted game of survival—but she knew better.

Damian didn't play by anyone's rules but his own.

And yet… she needed to know.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed to her feet and approached the door.

Just as she reached for the handle, it swung open.

Damian stood there, his presence overwhelming as always—black shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up, an air of effortless control.

But his eyes were what stopped her.

There was something dangerous in them today.

Something unreadable.

"You're up early," he said, voice smooth as silk.

Isabelle crossed her arms, willing her nerves to stay steady. "I couldn't sleep."

Damian smirked. "Not surprising, considering last night."

His casual tone made her skin prickle. "You think this is funny?"

"Not at all," he said, stepping past her. "I think it's necessary."

She followed him into the living room. "Necessary? Are you telling me you wanted Victor to corner me like that?"

Damian poured himself a glass of whiskey despite the early hour. "I wanted you to understand the kind of world you've been pulled into."

He took a slow sip before setting the glass down.

"Victor isn't your biggest problem, Isabelle. He's just one of many watching, waiting to see what happens next. And if you don't start preparing, you won't survive long enough to ask why."

Her stomach clenched. "So teach me."

Damian's eyes met hers, something flickering in their depths. "Teach you what?"

"How to survive," she said firmly. "You said I need to learn the rules. Then teach me."

He studied her for a long moment. Then, to her surprise, he chuckled.

"You're serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Damian sighed, rubbing his temple. "This isn't some action movie, Isabelle. Learning to survive means learning how to kill."

The words hit her like ice.

"Kill?" she echoed.

"You think the people after you will stop because you know how to throw a punch?" Damian leaned in, his voice lowering. "When someone comes for you, they won't hesitate. They'll shoot first, ask questions never. You need to be ready to do the same."

Isabelle swallowed hard. She had expected something intense, but this?

"Is there no other way?"

Damian's expression darkened. "Not in my world."

The training didn't start with a gun.

It started with control.

Damian led her to a private gym attached to his penthouse. It was sleek, filled with state-of-the-art equipment, but the only thing he focused on was the large open mat in the center.

"Before you learn how to fight," he said, tossing a small knife onto the mat, "you need to learn how to think."

Isabelle frowned. "Think?"

Damian stepped closer, his presence suffocating. "Fear makes people reckless. Hesitation gets them killed. Your first lesson is simple: control your fear, or it will control you."

Her pulse pounded as she looked at the knife.

Damian suddenly moved—fast. Too fast.

Before she could react, he had grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm behind her back.

She gasped.

"You hesitate," he murmured against her ear. "That's your first mistake."

Her breath came fast, panic bubbling up.

He let her go just as quickly, stepping back.

"Try again," he ordered.

She turned, heart racing. "That wasn't fair!"

Damian smirked. "Neither is the world you're about to face."

Frustration burned in her chest.

Fine. If he wanted her to fight, she would.

She lunged for the knife.

This time, when he moved to stop her, she twisted, ducking under his grip.

A spark of approval flashed in his eyes before he struck again—a swift sweep of his leg knocking her off balance.

She hit the mat with a thud.

"Better," he murmured, standing over her. "But not enough."

Isabelle gritted her teeth, pushing herself up.

She wouldn't give up.

She couldn't.

After what felt like hours of grueling training, Isabelle collapsed onto the mat, breathless.

Damian crouched beside her, offering a bottle of water.

"You're stubborn," he said, amused.

She snatched the bottle, taking a long sip before glaring at him. "You're an ass."

He smirked. "And yet, I'm the one keeping you alive."

Silence settled between them.

Then, Damian's expression turned unreadable.

"I have a deal for you."

Isabelle frowned. "What kind of deal?"

"You want answers," he said smoothly. "You want to know why someone wants you dead."

Her breath caught.

Damian leaned closer, voice dropping. "I'll give you the truth. But in return, you follow my rules—no questions, no hesitation. You do exactly as I say, when I say it."

Her heart pounded.

"You expect me to just… trust you?"

He smirked. "No. I expect you to survive."

Isabelle hesitated.

Damian was dangerous. She knew that.

But he was also the only one standing between her and the people who wanted her dead.

She had no choice.

Taking a slow breath, she met his gaze.

"Fine," she said. "I accept your deal."

Damian's smirk widened.

"Good," he murmured. "Then let's begin."