CHAPTER 12: THE CHOICE THAT WASN'T HERS

Elena's fingers hovered over her phone, rereading the last call log, as if doing so would somehow change what had happened.

She should have blocked the number. Should have erased it and ignored his demand.

But she hadn't.

And now it was five minutes to eight, and she was still in the gallery, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, debating whether to obey a man who had no right to command her.

Her heart and mind were at war. If she went, she was walking straight into his trap, playing into whatever twisted game he had planned. If she didn't…

Would he come for her?

A sharp knock at the gallery's front doors made her jump. Her pulse spiked. The entire building was closed, the last few employees having left an hour ago. No one should be here.

She walked hesitantly to the glass doors, peering outside.

The black car.

And a man she didn't recognize—tall, broad, dressed in a dark suit, his expression unreadable beneath the glow of the streetlights.

The driver.

Her stomach twisted. This was real. Damian's world was pressing into hers, and every second she hesitated felt like a countdown to something worse.

A second knock. More insistent this time.

"Elena Russo?" The man's voice was calm, professional. "Mr. Costa is waiting."

She exhaled sharply. There it was—the moment she either stepped forward or retreated.

Her hands curled into fists. Damian thought he could summon her like a puppet on a string? That she would fall in line just because he demanded it?

Screw that.

She turned on her heel, storming back inside the gallery, fully prepared to lock the doors and pretend none of this had happened.

Then the lights cut out.

A startled gasp left her lips. Darkness swallowed the gallery whole, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of the city lights outside. A shiver ran down her spine.

It wasn't a coincidence.

Her phone buzzed.

A new message from the same unknown number.

*Do not make me come in there, Elena.*

Her breath hitched. It wasn't a threat—it was a promise. And something deep inside her knew Damian Costa never made promises he wouldn't keep.

She closed her eyes, battling the storm raging inside her. Logic told her to run. To scream. To fight.

But another part of her—the reckless, foolish part—knew she had already lost this battle.

With a trembling breath, she grabbed her coat, stepped outside, and let the car door close behind her.

The driver didn't speak as the vehicle pulled away from the curb, gliding through the streets with eerie smoothness. She clutched her purse in her lap, staring out at the passing cityscape, each streetlight flickering across her reflection in the window.

There was no turning back now.

After what felt like an eternity, the car pulled into a private, gated estate. It was nothing like the ball—no glittering chandeliers or lavish displays of wealth. This was something else entirely. A fortress. A place built to keep outsiders away and those inside under control.

The doors opened before she had time to collect herself, and then she was being ushered forward, past security, into a long, dimly lit hallway. Her breath felt tight in her chest, her nerves coiled like a spring.

And then she saw him.

Damian stood at the end of the hall, watching her with the kind of intensity that sent a chill through her veins. He was relaxed, leaning against the doorway to what looked like a private study, dressed in an unbuttoned black shirt and slacks, the very image of calculated danger.

"You came," he murmured, his lips curving in satisfaction.

Elena forced herself to meet his gaze, to steel herself against whatever twisted game he was playing. "You didn't give me much of a choice."

He chuckled, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer. "There's always a choice, Elena. You just made the right one."

She hated how easily he closed the space between them, how he could make the air feel heavy just by standing there.

"You think you can control me?" she challenged, lifting her chin. "You can't."

Damian's fingers brushed her cheek, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver through her despite herself. "I don't need to control you," he murmured. "I just need you to realize that fighting me is useless."

Elena swallowed hard, knowing this was only the beginning.

She wasn't sure if she had stepped into a trap… or if she had walked into it willingly.