poisoned promise

The sun barely crept over the skyline when the call came.

Damon answered on the first ring.

Rane's voice was smooth, amused, and dripping with venom.

"You've had your rescue. Now it's my turn."

Damon didn't respond right away. Olivia watched him from the kitchen, coffee forgotten in her hand.

"I said twelve hours," Rane continued. "You're five minutes late."

"What do you want?" Damon asked flatly.

"A favor for a favor. You know the rules." A pause. "And I want the girl."

Damon stiffened.

"You don't get Olivia."

"Not for keeps," Rane said with a laugh. "Relax. I'm hosting an auction tonight. Underground, of course. Very exclusive. I need her to be seen on my arm—proof that Damon Voss plays by my rules now. That he's mine to command. Just for the night."

Damon's fingers tightened around the phone.

"I'll have her back in one piece. But if you say no, I might start sending little pieces of your past to Vespera instead. Starting with that ex-handler of yours in Prague."

The line went dead.

Olivia's brows furrowed as Damon lowered the phone.

"What did he say?"

"He wants you." His voice was rough. "As a bargaining chip. Just for show. One night."

She stared at him. "Are you actually considering it?"

"I don't have a choice."

That Night — The Auction

The underground venue was a modern-day palace of sin—walls of crystal, floors of obsidian. Billionaires, politicians, mafia heirs. All cloaked in designer darkness.

Damon was forced to stay in the shadows.

Olivia stood by Rane's side, wearing a black silk dress with a slit that ran higher than her thigh and a diamond choker that felt more like a collar.

"You clean up well," Rane said with a smirk, handing her a flute of champagne.

She didn't smile. "You're disgusting."

"You'll find that most powerful men are." His eyes roamed over the crowd. "Don't worry. I'm not interested in breaking you. I just need to make them think I did."

Her skin crawled.

But she played her part, staying close, whispering things in his ear like a trophy on display.

She spotted a few familiar faces—ones she'd seen in her father's mansion. One of them was Markus Elden, her godfather.

She paled.

"What is he doing here?" she muttered.

Rane followed her gaze. "Ah. Now the real fun begins."

A Revelation in Shadows

Later, Olivia found herself alone for a moment—hiding near the edge of the glass stairwell to breathe. The perfume, the money, the masks—it was all too much.

Then—

"Miss Bennett."

She turned. Markus.

His expression was unreadable, polite even.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," he said smoothly.

"I could say the same."

He smiled. "Your father would be proud. Or horrified. Hard to say."

"What do you want?" she asked, voice low.

He stepped closer.

"Your father and I had plans. You were always part of the succession." His eyes turned cold. "But you've been reckless. You've endangered our future."

"Our?" she repeated.

"I suggest you stop clinging to Damon Voss. He'll bring you nothing but ruin. Your father knew that. That's why he gave me the kill order."

Her breath caught.

"You killed him," she whispered.

Markus didn't deny it.

"Consider this your only warning. Come back into the fold. Marry who we choose. Or you'll lose everything."

He walked away, leaving her shaking in the dark.

Meanwhile — Damon Breaks Protocol

Damon waited by the getaway car, watching the building like a hawk. Every minute that passed without seeing her drove a stake deeper into his chest.

Then—

His phone buzzed.

A photo.

Olivia. Talking to Markus.

Damon's blood froze.

Not again.

He stormed inside, slipping through the crowd in silence. He found her just as she emerged from the back stairwell, her face pale.

He grabbed her arm. "We're leaving. Now."

"Damon—"

"Don't argue."

Outside, the air was cold and sharp.

Inside the car, silence stretched.

"Markus killed your father, didn't he?" Damon finally asked.

Her voice broke. "Yes. And he wants to finish what he started."

Damon's hands flexed on the wheel. "Then we start with him."

Later — Safehouse

They didn't talk much. Not about the party. Not about the threats. Not even about the pain.

Instead, Damon pulled her into his arms. No more walls.

They kissed like it was war—fast, bruising, starved.

Clothes vanished. In the dark, every touch was a promise.

And when she whispered his name against his neck, it wasn't fear in her voice—it was surrender.

He buried himself in her, not just physically but completely. Letting her in. Letting her own him.

No more pretending.

No more lies.