CHAPTER 3: The tightened chain

The drive was silent.

Not the peaceful kind—the suffocating kind.

The city raced by in streaks of neon, but I was seeing none of it. 

I was stuck in another place—back there in that office, back at that desk, back at the moment I signed my soul away.

I cracked my knuckles, but the phantom pen remained. The weight of my signature. Elena. One that stopped being mine.

Next to me, Damien radiated ease. One hand on the wheel, the other tapping against the leather armrest. The ghost of a smirk danced over his lips as if he could taste my discomfort and was enjoying it.

God, I hated him.

I hated the fact that he just sat there smug and unaffected while my whole world imploded.

I hated that my lungs constricted at the thought of him having the power.

But more than anything, I hated how his presence crept under my skin and remained there.

His voice broke the silence. "Breathe, Elena."

I didn't.

His smirk widened. "Already refusing to talk to me?"

I clenched my jaw. He was baiting me. Prodding the raw edges of my panic just to watch me unravel.

I wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction.

So I looked out the window instead, at strangers living their night—laughing, kissing, living—while I was being pulled deeper into hell.

Then—click.

The sound was soft. Dangerous.

My breath hitched.

Damien had just unlocked the center console.

A second later, I felt something cold and metallic pressed against my thigh.

My entire body froze.

A gun.

Sleek. Black. Leaning against me like a promise.

Ice licked down my spine. "What the hell is this?"

Damien's fingers drummed the wheel. "Your insurance policy."

My stomach twisted. "What the fuck does that mean?"

He shot me a lazy glance as if his amusement was with my fear. 

"You said you can handle me."

A lump formed in my throat.

I had meant it.

Hadn't I?

Damien sighed as if he heard my disbelief. Almost as if he had been anticipating it.

He slowed the car. My pulse pounded.

"Elena." His voice softened. Too soft. "Take the gun."

I didn't move.

The air turned heavy. Dense. The sort of silence that warned of something dark, something irreversible.

Then—heat.

Damien's hand enclosed around my wrist, pulling my hand toward the gun.

I snapped.

My other hand reached out, smacking against his chest, pushing him back. "I'm not like you."

The car swerved. And I was breathing fast and shallow, my heart a wild, frantic thing.

Damien didn't react. Not to the shove. Not to the venom in my voice. He just eased the car back into its lane, then looked at me with something else.

Curiosity.

Like my defiance interested him.

Like it was a countdown to how long it would take before I snapped.

He didn't tighten his grip on my wrist. Didn't hurt. But it didn't let go either.

"This world is cruel to delicate things," he said softly, voice satin over steel. "If you want to live, learn to pull the trigger."

A shiver raced through me.

I didn't know if he was referring to a gun.

Or himself.

The metal pressed heavy in my palm.

And I clutched my fingers around it.

A single second. That was all it took for my whole world to be turned inside out.

I hadn't even managed to blink when Damien's fingers closed tightly over my wrist, his body edged closer, his voice a warning wrapped in silk as it stroked against my ear.

"This is what obedience means."

My pulse hammered against my ribs. My useless fingers twitched at my sides, shaking. I wanted to rip free, to fight, to scream, but the burden of that message still lay like a stone in my chest.

Target acquired.

My mother.

My stomach twisted violently. He hadn't merely trapped me—he'd set the walls on fire and dared me to try to escape.

I took a breath, making my voice stay steady. "You didn't need to do that."

Damien's lips twisted a bit. "Didn't I?"

His fingers stroked my jaw, soft and purposeful, as though he were trying something. Studying me. He wanted to test if I would break."

I refused to let him.

I yanked my wrist back. Hard. Enough to demonstrate I wasn't a doll he could pose. His smirk grew deeper as if my resistance was entertaining to him.

"You'll learn soon enough."

A door swung open behind us. 

Two men in charcoal suits entered, their forms solid and overpowering.

His enforcers.

My chest tightened. This was really happening.

Damien looked at Adrian, his eyes sparkling with something vicious. 

"I suppose you can find your way out."

Adrian didn't move. His jaw was so tightly locked, I could've sworn I heard his teeth grind. His knuckles were white, and his body all wound up like a man barely holding himself back.

His gaze cut to mine. Say the word. I'll fight for you.

I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But I couldn't.

If I did, my mother…

A lump formed in my throat. I could barely muster a whisper. "It's okay."

Lie.

Adrian flinched. His hands came into fists, and for a moment, I thought he was going to punch me, consequences be damned. But his shoulders sagged, and something inside him shattered.

I had lost him.

Then, without another word, he walked away.

I watched him walk away, struggling not to run after him. To run, period.

Damien's fingers brushed across the small of my back, the touch an afterthought. Possessive. "Let's go."

So I had no choice but to follow.

The drive was silent.

Or maybe it just seemed loud because the thoughts in my mind were so loud, crashing over each other, including everything.

I looked outside the window and dug my nails into my palms. My mother's face passed across my mind—frail, worn out, still smiling through the pain. She was my reason. My only reason.

But what about me?

Would I survive this?

Beside me, Damien lounged casually, one arm thrown luxuriously over the seat. He emanated strength and dominance—that the world was his and I was just a piece to put wherever he wanted.

I hated him.

I hated that he had so easily undone my life. How he had ensured there was no escape.

My breath came out shaky. I needed to take control back—some way.

My gaze flicked to him. "Where are we going?"

He didn't look at me. "Home."

That sent a cold shiver up my back. Home.

Not mine. His.

I looked back to the window, swallowing hard. The city rushed by in streaks of neon and shadow. As we traveled further, my old life seemed to recede further.

And I had no concept of what I would face at the bottom of this road.

The mansion rose in the night.

Massive. Cold. A place where secrets grew and screams remained unheard.

The car came to a stop, and Damien got out without a word. I didn't think and grasped the seat for a second too long.

Then the door swung open.

A man in business clothes stood there, his expression inscrutable. "Miss Elena."

A command. Not an invitation.

I forced myself to move. The night air was icy against my flesh, but my skin burned.

Damien was already there, waiting for me at the entrance. As if he knew I didn't have anywhere else to go.

I ascended the steps, my heart thumping against my ribs.

He pushed the doors open. "After you."

I walked in—and everything changed.

The minute I stepped over that threshold, the atmosphere changed.

Not physically. But I felt it.

An unspoken message, wrapping around me like intangible shackles. You are mine now.

Before me lay the grand entryway—white marble floors, soaring ceilings, chandeliers that twinkled like stars.

But it wasn't beautiful.

It was a gilded cage.

It was Damien's voice that shattered the silence. "I am not unreasonable, Elena."

I turned, and there he was, looking at me like a cat with a mouse cornered.

"Obedience shall make your stay… comfortable." His gaze darkened. "But defiance will not."

My entire body went taut with panic. I squared my shoulders, fingernails digging into my palms. "You think you can scare me?"

A slow smile crept across his lips. "No."

He moved closer, heat emanating off him.

"I think I can break you."

The words hit like a punch.

He leaned closer, his breath dancing against my ear.

"And I believe," he said softly, "you will be grateful to be so."

A chilling gust of terror wrapped around my spine.

I hated that a part of me was wondering if he was right.

Hated that part of me was already breaking.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "You're wrong."

His smirk deepened.

"We'll see."

He pivoted and strode down toward the hall. "Come."

I didn't move.

His eyes darted back, bright and expectant. Daring me to disobey.

The air grew heavier. A silent battle.

Then, a soft click.

My heart stuttered, and I blinked.

The man behind me—the one who had opened the car door—had just locked the front doors.

From the outside.

Trapping me inside.

I wasn't just a guest here.

I was a prisoner.

And Damien had just locked the door.