The file trembled in my hands.
Pages and pages of my life—laid out in black and white.
Dates. Addresses. My school records. The hospital I was born in.
Even a scanned photo of me at sixteen, laughing with my mother.
How did he get all of this?
Why?
My breath hitched as the office door creaked open behind me.
"Elena," Derek's voice was quiet, almost cautious. "You shouldn't be in here."
I turned slowly, clutching the file like a shield. "Funny. I was just thinking the same thing about you—and my life."
His jaw clenched, but he didn't speak.
"You've been watching me," I said. "This whole time."
"I had to."
"No," I snapped, voice cracking. "You chose to. You chose to stalk me like I was some mission. You knew things I haven't even told anyone. You knew about my father."
Derek's eyes flickered—just for a second—but it was enough.
"You were never just a prisoner, Elena," he said, stepping forward.
I backed up. "Then what was I?"
"A target. At first." His voice was low, firm, but layered with something almost… regretful. "Your father owed me a debt. He sold something that wasn't his to sell. When he couldn't repay it, I went looking for leverage."
"You mean me," I hissed. "You used me."
"I did," he admitted, without flinching. "But it stopped being about that the moment I met you."
I shook my head. "You don't get to say that. Not after you locked me up like some prize. Not after pretending like this—" I motioned between us, "—was real."
"It is real." His voice cracked—barely, but I caught it.
I dropped the file on the desk, the pages scattering. "You're a liar, Derek. And the worst part is… I believed you. I felt something for you."
He closed the distance, hands out but not touching me. "Elena, everything you felt… I felt it too. But I couldn't tell you. Not until I knew you were safe."
"Safe from what?"
He looked at me for a long, heavy moment.
Then he reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a small photo. He held it out.
It was a man—mid-forties, dark eyes, cigarette between his fingers.
"His name's Rafael Montaro," Derek said. "One of my father's oldest enemies. He's been following your family for years. And the only reason he didn't get to you first… is because I did."
I stared at the photo. "Why me?"
"Because your father stole from him too. You're not just leverage, Elena. You're a liability—to him. He would've killed you and used your body as a message."
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
Derek continued, "I took you because I had to. But I kept you because I couldn't let anyone else touch you."
I blinked, my throat tight. "You're still keeping me."
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. "I know. And I won't apologize for protecting you. Even if you hate me for it."
Silence stretched between us, thick with things unspoken.
Finally, I said, "You should've told me. From the beginning."
"I wanted to. But I was afraid you'd run. And I wasn't ready to lose you."
Something in his voice broke me a little.
Because for the first time, Derek Moretti didn't sound like a monster.
He sounded like a man who was scared.
"I don't trust you," I whispered.
"You don't have to. Not yet. But let me prove I'm not your enemy."
I studied his face, the conflict etched into every line.
"Then start by giving me the truth. No more games. No more control."
He nodded. "Anything you want to know, ask. No more lies."
I stepped back and looked down at the scattered file on the floor.
"Then tell me what happened to my father," I said.
His silence told me everything.
---
Later that night, I sat alone in my room, replaying every word.
My father wasn't dead—at least not officially. But he had disappeared after crossing the wrong people, and Derek believed Montaro had him.
That changed everything.
My captivity was no longer just a twisted romance or a revenge scheme—it was a war.
And somehow, I was in the center of it.
The knock at my door came softly this time.
I didn't answer.
Derek walked in anyway.
"I'll have the file removed from my office," he said quietly.
"Leave it. I deserve to know everything."
He hesitated. "There's one more thing I didn't tell you."
I looked up, guarded.
"The night you arrived… someone followed us."
My stomach dropped. "Montaro?"
"I think so. Or one of his men. That's why I've kept you close. Not to control you—but to keep eyes on you. To make sure they didn't take what I wasn't ready to lose."
I stared at him, all the heat and anger dissolving into something unfamiliar.
Fear.
Because for the first time since I entered Derek's world, I realized the cage I was in wasn't locked from the inside.
It was locked from the outside—and something far worse was waiting beyond it.
And Derek?
He wasn't just my captor anymore.
He was the devil guarding the gates of hell.