Elena barely slept.
The Voss estate had always been too quiet, too pristine, too... suffocating. Every corner echoed with memory, every hallway whispered secrets she wasn't supposed to know. She lay in the same room she'd once called hers, wrapped in silk sheets that felt more like shackles than comfort.
At dawn, she gave up trying and rose. Coffee was her armor.
The kitchen was modern steel and black marble, cold and efficient. She was just pouring a cup when she felt him behind her.
"You always did prefer mornings."
Damien's voice brushed her spine like velvet soaked in poison. She didn't turn around.
"You always did prefer control," she replied, sipping slowly, savoring the bitter edge.
He chuckled softly, stepping beside her. "Still sharp-tongued. Some things never change."
She faced him now, tilting her chin. "Some things do."
Damien looked at her like a man seeing a storm coming—and wanting to walk into it anyway.
"Walk with me," he said, not asking. Ordering.
She almost refused on instinct, but something in his eyes—something hollow and dangerous—made her follow.
They stepped into the garden, where the morning fog still clung to the hedges like ghosts. A heavy silence passed between them, tension thick enough to cut.
Finally, he stopped near the old stone fountain, the one she used to sit by with him when things had still felt like dreams instead of traps.
"I know I hurt you," he began, voice low. "And I know I don't deserve anything from you."
"Good. At least you're aware."
His jaw flexed.
"But this isn't about us anymore."
She narrowed her eyes. "Then what is it about?"
Damien turned to face her fully. "Lucien's making moves. Ones that could ruin everything—including you."
Elena blinked. "Me? I left this place. I left you. Whatever war you and your family are playing, I'm not part of it."
"You are," he said, stepping closer. "Because Lucien remembers. And because he wants what was once mine."
Her chest tightened. "I was never yours."
"You were mine the moment I couldn't stop thinking about you. The moment you walked away and I let you." His voice dropped. "That was my mistake. I don't plan on making another."
Her stomach twisted—equal parts rage and the ache of old wounds reopening. "So what now? You drag me back, threaten me with your twisted family drama, and expect me to thank you?"
"No," Damien said. "I expect you to survive it."
She stared at him, breath shallow.
"Marry me," he said suddenly. No hesitation. No flicker of doubt.
Elena blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
"You heard me. Marry me. It's the only way to protect you. From Lucien. From my mother. From what's coming."
She laughed, a cold, incredulous sound. "You've lost your damn mind."
"Probably," he admitted, stepping closer again. "But I haven't lost you. Not yet."
"And this is your solution? A fake marriage?"
"Not fake," Damien said. "Real. Legal. Binding."
She gaped. "Why?"
His voice dropped. "Because if you're my wife, they can't touch you."
A silence fell between them, so loud it almost hurt. The birds had stopped singing. The wind had stilled.
"This isn't protection," Elena finally said. "This is possession. You don't want to save me, Damien. You want to own me."
"No," he said, softer now. "I want to save you the only way I know how. Even if it costs me everything."
Her breath caught. That vulnerability—so raw it looked wrong on his face—was the one thing she'd never learned how to fight.
"You have three days," he added, backing away. "Decide. After that, I can't guarantee what Lucien will do."
He left her standing there in the fog, her coffee cold in her hand, her pulse burning through her chest.
---
Later that afternoon, Elena sat in the Voss library, tracing her fingers along the dusty spines of books she used to read to escape this very world.
Kira arrived without knocking, slamming the door shut behind her. "You look like someone just asked you to marry the devil."
Elena blinked. "Close enough."
Kira's brows shot up. "He what?"
Elena gave her the short version. Kira paced, eyes blazing.
"This is a bad idea. You know that, right? Like, 'burn the place down and run' bad."
"I know," Elena whispered. "But he's serious. And Lucien… he gives me chills."
Kira's eyes softened. "You still love him."
"No," Elena snapped, too quickly. "I loved the man he used to be. The one who let me believe I could matter."
Kira sat beside her, quiet for a moment. "What if this marriage gives you leverage? A way to beat them at their own game?"
Elena looked at her best friend.
"What if," Kira said slowly, "you don't let it be about love or revenge? What if you make it about you?"
Elena's heart pounded. The idea scared her more than anything. Because deep down, part of her still ached for Damien. And that part could destroy her.
But maybe… just maybe… it could save her too.
---
That night, she found Damien in his study, a glass of whiskey in his hand, the fire casting shadows across his face.
"I have conditions," she said without preamble.
He looked up, startled—but didn't speak.
"One. No lies. If we do this, I want the truth. All of it."
He nodded once.
"Two. I want access to everything—your businesses, your enemies, your secrets."
Another nod, slower this time.
"Three," she said, voice trembling slightly. "If I say stop—at any point—you walk away."
His jaw tightened. "Even if it breaks me?"
"Yes."
A long pause. Then he stood, walked over to her, and held out his hand.
"Do we have a deal?"
She hesitated—just for a moment—then took his hand.
"Yes."
And just like that, the trap closed.
Not with chains.
But with a kiss of velvet and fire.