Bound by Secrets

Chapter 4: Bound by Secrets

Isla sat at the edge of her couch, her gaze fixed on the silver key Damien held. The weight of everything—her sudden marriage, Julian's pain, and now this mysterious threat—pressed down on her like a heavy blanket.

Damien studied the key in silence, his jaw tight, his expression colder than she had ever seen. Whatever this meant, it was serious.

"Why would she send this?" Isla finally asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

Damien exhaled slowly, rolling the key between his fingers. "Victoria doesn't do anything without a reason. This isn't just a warning—it's a message."

"What kind of message?" Isla asked, her stomach twisting.

He turned his gaze to hers, dark and unreadable. "She's reminding me she's still in control. And now, you're part of the game."

Isla shivered. She never wanted to be a pawn in anyone's power struggle. But here she was—stuck in a marriage she couldn't explain, with enemies she didn't even know.

"I can't stay here," she said, her voice firmer. "If she can reach me this easily, I'm not safe."

"You're not," Damien agreed without hesitation. "And that's why you're coming with me."

Her heart skipped. "What?"

"You're moving into my estate," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Until we figure out what Victoria wants, I'm not leaving you unprotected."

Isla's pulse quickened. The idea of living under the same roof as Damien Calloway should have terrified her—but another feeling stirred beneath the fear. Something she wasn't ready to name.

"I don't need your protection," she said, lifting her chin. "I can take care of myself."

His lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "Is that what you were doing when a box from my stepmother showed up at your door?"

She wanted to argue, but he wasn't wrong. Whoever was pulling the strings had resources—and they weren't going to stop.

"I'll give you time to pack," Damien said, sliding the key back into the box. "My driver will pick you up in an hour."

"Damien—"

"An hour, Isla," he repeated, already heading toward the door. "And lock everything behind me."

With that, he was gone, leaving her in the heavy silence of her apartment.

Isla paced her bedroom, throwing essentials into a suitcase. Every part of her screamed that this was a mistake—but what choice did she have?

If Victoria was bold enough to send a key to her doorstep, what would she do next?

Her mind drifted to Julian. She should have told him everything—but how could she? He wanted their old life back, and Isla wasn't sure it was possible anymore.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Her heart leapt into her throat as she approached. When she peeked through the peephole, Damien's driver stood on the other side.

"It's time, Miss Bennett," the man said, his voice smooth and professional.

She grabbed her bag, took one last look around her apartment, and stepped out.

The drive to Damien's estate was silent. The sleek black car moved through the city and out into the quieter, wealthier outskirts. Trees lined the road, tall and shadowed beneath the fading sunlight.

Isla's heart thudded harder when the gates appeared—tall, wrought iron, and undeniably imposing. The Calloway name was etched into the stone pillars on either side.

The driver pressed a button, and the gates slid open. The car rolled up a winding driveway until the estate came into view.

It was breathtaking.

The house—no, the mansion—was a sprawling masterpiece of glass and stone. Large windows reflected the last rays of sunlight, and ivy crept along the edges of the walls. Everything about it screamed wealth and power.

The driver parked smoothly near the front steps and opened her door. Isla hesitated for a second before stepping out. The air was cooler here, quieter, but that did nothing to calm the storm inside her.

Damien was waiting at the top of the steps. His suit jacket was gone, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows. He looked less like a ruthless CEO and more like a man who didn't trust anyone—not even the woman standing in front of him.

"Come inside," he said, holding the door open.

She swallowed her nerves and followed him in.

The interior was just as impressive. Marble floors, modern furniture, and a sweeping staircase dominated the entryway. But there was something else—a coldness—that settled deep in her chest.

"This way," Damien said, leading her through the house.

He opened a door to a spacious bedroom. The walls were a soft cream, and the bed was massive, dressed in crisp white linens. It felt both luxurious and impersonal.

"This is your room," he said. "You'll be safe here."

Isla dropped her bag by the bed and turned to face him. "What happens now?"

"Now, we find out what Victoria wants," Damien said, stepping closer. "And until we do, you don't leave this estate without me."

Her heart pounded at his nearness. There was something about the way he moved—calm, controlled—but beneath the surface, there was something dangerous.

"You're used to giving orders," she said, lifting her chin.

"And I'm used to people following them," he replied smoothly.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. Isla wanted to hate him for dragging her into this mess—but part of her knew he wasn't the real enemy.

"Why are you really doing this?" she asked, her voice softer.

His expression shifted, a shadow flickering in his eyes. "Because Victoria destroys everything she touches. And I'm not letting her destroy you too."

For a heartbeat, the air seemed to thicken between them. His words felt more like a promise—a dangerous one—but before she could respond, he stepped back.

"Get some rest," he said, his voice cool again. "We'll talk tomorrow."

And with that, he was gone.

Later that night, Isla lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep refused to come. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind replayed the last few days—the sudden marriage, the note, the black box.

And Damien.

Despite everything, she couldn't stop thinking about him. There was something about the way he carried himself—like the whole world could burn, and he would still stand tall.

But there was also pain beneath his cold exterior. And she wanted to understand it.

A soft sound broke the silence. Her breath caught as she sat up, heart pounding. Footsteps. Slow, measured. Someone was outside her door.

She slipped out of bed and crept toward the door, pressing her ear against the wood. The footsteps paused. Then… nothing.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. Was it Damien? Or was it someone else?

She waited another minute before unlocking the door and easing it open. The hallway was empty. But at the far end, a shadow flickered—just for a second—before disappearing around the corner.

Her hands trembled as she stepped back inside and locked the door.

She wasn't safe. Not really.

And whoever had sent that key… wasn't finished with her yet.