CHAPTER 5: Breaking Point

My heart stuttered.

I wasn't alone.

The atmosphere thickened weighed down with the gravity of an unseen hand crushing into my ribs. It wasn't only Damien I felt; it was his power, his control, washing through the room like a dark tide. It was the sensation of a predator bearing down upon its prey.

I didn't turn immediately. I couldn't.

The silence stretched long enough to awaken every nerve in my body, to make every instinct scream at me to run. But I knew better. Escaping would just make him pursue more vigorously.

Finally, I turned.

Damien appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the pale light. His smirk was familiar, but there was something wrong with it—something darker, something infinitely more dangerous. His eyes locked onto mine, and in those eyes, I saw something that twisted my stomach. Not anger, not lust. Something else.

Hunger.

The kind that, like all the good things in life, had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with control.

'You hesitated,' he said, his voice smooth and low, a dangerous drawl that wrapped around my every thought."

I didn't respond. I couldn't.

"You didn't think I was coming back, did you?" He advanced on me, his presence crashing over me like a tempest. "Tell me, Elena… Were you relieved?

I raised my chin, calming my breath. "No."

He didn't believe me. I could read it in the curve of his lips, the sharp glint in his eyes. Or perhaps you were disappointed?

The words cut through me, sharp and accusatory. A jolt of heat surged into my veins, but I suppressed it. He wanted a reaction. He always did.

"Are you this needy for attention all the time?" I asked, my voice steady, even as I could feel the tremor of anxiety hardening in my chest.

He didn't flinch. Instead, it faded, but his smirk deepened, and there was something in it now, something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. 

"I don't need attention, Elena," he said, voice low and dangerous. "I take it."

And then, suddenly, his fingers lifted—sluggish, intentional.

I stayed perfectly still.

He didn't touch me at first. He didn't need to. The atmosphere hung thick with enough tension to ignite. But then, right when my heart started racing, his knuckles skimmed across my jaw. Light. Almost tender. It was little more than a whisper of contact, but it felt like a claim.

"Ooh you're thinking about it, aren't you?" I said, and then, his voice so low, it was right against my ear.

I swallowed hard. "Thinking about what?"

"How much easier it would be," he muttered. "To stop fighting me. To give in."

The words lingered midair, and for a second everything in me froze. 

His breath whispered against my skin, and my pulse raced, wild and unbidden.

I hated that I noticed.

I stepped sharply away, pushing his hand away more forcefully than I meant to. "You think too highly of yourself," I spat, working past the sudden rush of vertigo.

An aspect of his attention turned to my lips. For one brief second, I saw something raw, something primal in his eyes. Then his lips quirked up into a grin, slow and dangerous.

"Elena." He moaned my name like a curse as he had just discovered a new means of pleasure. "I don't feel anything is exaggerated."

His words crept under my skin. I balled my hands into fists, battling the heat that curled in my body, battling the magnetic lure that hollered at me despite my better judgment. "Go to hell."

He advanced toward me, his stare relentless, predatory. It was his voice, a knife slicing through tension. "Darling … You are already there."

The words landed on me like a physical blow.

It was the truth.

I had been caught in this sick game since the day I met him. 

But I couldn't stop myself. 

The stakes had become too high. 

It was not a battle I could win with willpower alone.

And as I stood there, in front of Damien—this man who, for all his professed disdain for me, also seemed to hold my destiny in his hands—I realized with a sickening jolt that he wasn't merely playing a game.

He was winning.

And I was too much of a mess to get away.

Before I had a chance to move, his hand shot out to grab my wrist in a lightning-fast action.

"Tell me, Elena," he murmured, sliding me closer until our bodies were nearly touching. "Are you ready to surrender? To stop fighting?"

I opened my mouth to argue with him, but the words wouldn't come.

Then the door flew open behind me.

I turned around, my breath stuck in my throat.

But it wasn't who I expected.

It was someone far more dangerous.

And the expression in their eyes said it all.

Now it was too late to back out.

The door slammed a sound that echoed in my chest.

I couldn't breathe.

I should have felt relieved, but all I could do was stare at the spot where Damien had just been, still feeling my heart pound in my throat.

Why wasn't I relieved? Why his pull, the gravity of his words, the heat of his gaze even now, like a chain without a link or weight around my neck?

I shook my head, struggling to clear it. Focus, Elena. Focus on what matters.

I looked at the clock, but that didn't help. Time was irrelevant here. The isolation, the strangling silence, and every torture my brain could conjure up, each thought forced me deeper and deeper into this cell I could never escape.

The door creaked again, and I froze, but when I looked, no one was there.

Get a grip. I murmured and quietly begged my body to stop responding. " I couldn't allow him to do this to me. He couldn't.

But I knew better than anyone—when someone gets under your skin, it's not easy to get rid of them.

I looked to the window, my gaze drawn to the dark sky beyond. 

Why am I even here? I should have left forever ago. I should've fought, run, screamed, anything. 

But here I was. Alone. Locked away in this house with him. With Damien.

The words he had whispered still bounced around in my head. You're already there.

It was just the truth, and it stung worse than expected.

I'm already there.

And it terrified me.

I gulped a few times and approached the small table next to the window, the tips of my fingers touching the edge of the table as I tried to rattle some semblance of thought out of my brain. Don't let him break you. You're stronger than this.

But was I?

He was a game, and every exchange with him was a game I was tiring—and losing, piece by piece. Every time I put up a wall to keep him out, he climbed over it. His smile. His voice. The way his eyes stayed on me, lingering, like I was a puzzle he couldn't quite fit together.

He didn't need to touch me. He didn't have to threaten me. Damien's power over me was not in force—it was that he made me question myself; he made me doubt my strength.

A rap on the door ripped me from my reverie. My heart leaped in my chest, and my body stiffened. Not again.

But when I opened it, I saw a servant with a tray and a note. I didn't ask; I just took it and thrust a few bills into his hands before shutting the door.

It was brief, a line written in sharp, scrawling handwriting.

Dinner at eight. Be there.

I dropped the note on the table and stared at it. My mind raced. Dinner. Was this another game? Was he expediently trying to ensnare me?

I shook my head again. Stop. Don't overthink it. But I couldn't help myself.

The rest of the night was a haze. I couldn't focus on anything. My body moved on autopilot—shower, dress, stand in front of the mirror, and try to convince myself I wasn't as lost as I felt.

But nothing worked. I knew I was making a mistake the moment I walked into the grand dining hall.

Damien was already waiting there, at the head of the long table, his glinting eyes harboring something dark, something dangerous.

I paused at the entrance, immediately unsure of it all. But Damien didn't wait. Our eyes connected, and the smile that bloomed on his face was that of a predator spotting its prey.

"Come on in, Elena." His voice was silk against the tension in the room. "You're not going to make me wait, are you?"

I wanted to defy him. To turn around and walk out. But instead, I found myself walking toward him, each step heavier than the one before it, as if I were being dragged into my ruin.

When I sat down, the chair scraped against the floor. An awkward silence stretched between us, and for a second there, I dared to hope everything was going to be alright. 

But then his gaze dropped to my lips, and I knew—this was more than a meal.

This was his twisted game, round and round again.

"I wonder," he said as if each word were being weighed, "how long are you going to continue playing this role? Elena. 

How long are you going to act like you don't want this? Pretend you don't want me."

The words hit me like a slap.

I struggled against the surge of heat that rushed through me, but he overpowered me. Each word out of his mouth was a tug at the thread of control I had remaining. No. I couldn't let him see it. Not again.

"I don't want you," I said, forcing out the words, my voice low, shaking with defiance. "I don't need you."

He laughed darkly, leaning forward, his eyes smoldering into mine with a comprehending look I found unsavory.

"Don't lie to me, Elena," he said, keeping his voice just loud enough that only I could hear. 

"If you didn't, you wouldn't be here."

His words dug like a stake into my chest, a pressure that bordered on crushing.

I wasn't just playing a role. I was fooling myself.

But how much longer could I maintain this? How long could I continue pretending not to care when everything inside of me screamed for him, screamed for the chaos he brought?

For a moment, his gaze softened, but the change was imperceptible, momentary. Then it vanished, only to be replaced by something colder, more calculating.

"You are stuck, you know," he said matter-of-factly, his tone flat. 

"There's no way out. Not for you. Not anymore."

I opened my mouth as if to argue but had only silence. Instead, the air in the room thickened, a kind of palpable tension shifting back and forth between us.

And then the door flew open.

Someone else entered the space—a woman, tall and bold, her eyes dark and keen and calculating. I stopped breathing for a moment.

"Damien," she said, smooth but authoritative. "It's time."

I stared at her, confused, but Damien flipped out. There was that primal flash in his eyes, a mix of something I was yet to identify.

And then he smiled, a look so loaded with dark promise that my heart raced.

"This," he said, turning back to me, "is where it gets interesting."