Chapter 11: A Past That Won't Stay Buried....

The drive back to the penthouse was silent, thick with unspoken tension. Isabelle sat rigidly in the passenger seat, her mind still spinning from what she had just learned.

The Monroe Bloodline.

She had heard Reed say the words, had seen the way Damian's posture stiffened, but part of her still refused to believe it.

Her family wasn't part of some powerful empire. They were just… gone.

At least, that was what she had always been told.

Now, everything she thought she knew was a lie.

The city lights blurred outside the window as Damian weaved through traffic with the same precision he applied to everything in his life—controlled, calculated, deadly.

She turned to him, her voice barely above a whisper. "How long have you suspected?"

Damian didn't look at her. "Since the night I saved you."

Her stomach clenched. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You weren't ready."

Anger flared in her chest. "Not ready? You don't think I deserved to know that someone wants me dead because of who I am?"

Damian's grip on the wheel tightened, but his voice remained infuriatingly calm. "I needed confirmation before I put that weight on you."

She shook her head. "And now that you have it?"

His silence was answer enough.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Right. Of course. You get to decide when I know the truth."

Damian finally glanced at her, his blue eyes dark. "You're alive because of me, Isabelle. If I had told you before you were ready, you would have run—and running gets people killed."

She wanted to argue, but the truth in his words was undeniable. If she had known even a day earlier, she might have done something reckless.

Like leave.

And if what Reed said was true, that might have been the worst mistake of her life.

Still, the idea that Damian had known and kept her in the dark made her blood boil.

She turned back to the window, jaw clenched. "Just tell me one thing."

His voice was low. "What?"

She swallowed hard. "Was the hit placed on me because I'm a Monroe?"

The hesitation before his answer made her stomach drop.

"I don't know."

She didn't believe him.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

By the time they reached the penthouse, the silence between them had turned suffocating.

Damian parked the car, but Isabelle didn't move.

She felt his gaze on her, assessing, waiting.

Finally, she exhaled and turned to face him. "What now?"

His answer was immediate. "Now, we prepare."

"For what?"

Damian's expression darkened. "For whoever comes next."

A shiver ran down her spine.

She pushed open the car door and stepped out, forcing herself to stand tall even though her entire world had just shifted.

When they entered the penthouse, the tension followed them inside.

Isabelle barely made it to the couch before collapsing onto it, her mind spinning.

She needed answers.

Damian had them, but he was only going to give them on his terms.

Which meant she had to find them herself.

Her eyes drifted toward the study door.

If Damian had suspected this for a while, then surely he had something—documents, files, anything.

But before she could even consider sneaking in, his voice cut through the room.

"Don't."

She turned to find him watching her from across the room, his arms crossed.

Her stomach twisted. He always seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.

"I need to know, Damian," she said, standing. "You can't just keep me in the dark."

His expression was unreadable. "There's a difference between knowing the truth and being ready to handle it."

She took a step forward. "Try me."

A long silence stretched between them.

Then, to her surprise, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I did some digging." His voice was quieter now, more serious. "Before you came here."

She swallowed hard. "And?"

Damian hesitated. "I found records—buried deep. Mentions of the Monroe name tied to old offshore accounts, abandoned estates, missing persons reports that were quietly erased."

Her breath caught. "Erased?"

His gaze locked onto hers. "Someone didn't just want the Monroes dead. They wanted them forgotten."

A chill crept down her spine.

But why?

Before she could ask, Damian continued.

"The part that doesn't make sense is you. If someone erased your family's existence, why leave you alive?"

Her stomach twisted. "What if… they didn't know I existed?"

Damian considered that. "Possible. But unlikely."

She shook her head, trying to think. "Reed said they vanished fifteen years ago."

Damian nodded. "You were what? Five? Six?"

Her breath hitched.

She didn't remember much from that time. Just fragments.

A warm voice. Laughter. A grand house with tall windows.

And then… nothing.

"Damian," she whispered, her throat tight. "What if they weren't all killed?"

His expression was unreadable, but she could see the wheels turning in his mind.

"If someone survived," he said slowly, "then they might be the reason you're being hunted."

The realization sent ice through her veins.

If someone from her past was still alive, then she wasn't just a target.

She was bait.

The weight of it all settled over her like a crushing force.

Damian must have seen the way her shoulders tensed because he sighed.

"You should rest."

She scoffed. "Yeah, because sleep sounds easy right now."

He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Welcome to my world."

She didn't have the energy to argue.

Instead, she turned toward the hallway. "Goodnight, Damian."

But before she could take a step, his voice stopped her.

"I meant what I said before."

She turned, confused. "About what?"

His gaze was steady. "You follow my rules, no questions, no hesitation. That deal still stands."

A lump formed in her throat.

Everything in her screamed to fight against it.

But the truth was, she had no idea how to survive in this world.

Damian did.

And despite everything, he was the only one she trusted.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "I know."

A flicker of something passed through his expression—approval, maybe even relief.

Then, just like that, the moment was gone.

"Get some rest, Isabelle," he murmured. "Tomorrow, we start digging deeper."

She nodded once and turned away.

But as she walked toward her room, a single thought burned in her mind.

Tomorrow, I stop being a victim.