#####Chapter 6

Elena

I didn't sleep that night.

The message from Damien's ex—or whoever claimed to be his ex—circled through my brain like a shark. I ran the words over and over, trying to separate fact from fantasy, trying to understand if I was being warned or threatened.

By 6 AM, I'd made a decision.

I was going to find out who Damien Russo actually was.

It took me three hours and a lot of creative Google searching to piece it together. The information was fragmented—articles about a private security firm called Obsidian that had been involved in several high-profile cases, a few mentions of special forces background, references to him in stories about corporate espionage and threat assessment.

But there was very little personal information. No social media. No photos from events. It was like he existed as a professional entity but not as a real person.

Around noon, my phone rang. It was Liam.

"Hey," he said, and his voice was tentative. "I've been thinking about what Damien said. And what you said. And I think... I think I need to apologize."

I was currently staring at a particularly cryptic article about Obsidian Security's involvement in a kidnapping case from five years ago. "For what?"

"For taking you for granted. For using you as an emotional dumping ground. For not seeing that you were in love with me and not doing anything about it." He paused. "But Elena, I'm also worried about you."

"Why would you be worried about me?"

"Because Damien is dangerous. Not like, in a criminal way, but in a... he's the kind of person who becomes the center of gravity for everything around him. And he's intense, and he doesn't let go, and I just don't want you to get hurt."

"He hasn't hurt me," I said.

"Not yet," Liam replied. "But he will, even if he doesn't mean to. That's just who he is."

After we hung up, I sat with that warning. And then I did something I knew I probably shouldn't do.

I drove to Damien's address.

It wasn't hard to find—a converted loft in the Pearl District, an area that had once been industrial and was now aggressively trendy. The building was all exposed brick and massive windows, and when I pushed the buzzer for his unit, my heart was in my throat.

He answered in person, not through the intercom.

When he opened the door, he was shirtless—clearly interrupted mid-workout—and for a moment, I forgot why I was there. The tattoos across his chest and arms were extensive, intricate, and clearly told a story I didn't have the context to read. Military insignia. A wolf. Dates. Symbols I didn't understand.

"Elena," he said, and there was something like satisfaction in his tone. "I was wondering when you'd do this."

"Do what?"

"Come to my place. Investigate me. Decide if I'm worth the risk."

"How did you—"

"Know that's what you came to do? Because it's what I would do." He stepped aside. "Come in."

His apartment was exactly what I would have expected if I'd been expecting anything—minimalist, clean, the kind of space where everything served a function. But there was also art on the walls, good art, and a bookshelf that was clearly well-read.

"So," I said. "You're going to tell me what all this is?"

"Some of it," he said. "Not all. There are things I can't tell you, and things I won't tell you until you've decided that knowing me is worth the complicated parts."

"That's very convenient."

"It's honest." He poured two glasses of water—very Damien, no offer of wine or beer, just the practical offering—and handed me one. "Ask me what you want to know."

"Who texted me last night? Someone claiming to be your ex?"

Something flickered across his face. "Where did she get your number?"

"That's not an answer."

"Her name is Vanessa. We dated for about eight months, five years ago. It ended because she decided she wanted someone simpler. Someone who didn't come home with trauma and secrets. Someone who could give her a normal life."

"Is she in danger?"

"From me?" He laughed, and it was a harsh sound. "No. From the people who became threats because of her association with me? Yes. That's why it ended, eventually. She couldn't handle it. And I didn't want to keep putting her at risk."

I sat down, feeling suddenly heavy. "Is that what would happen if I—"

"If you what? Stayed? Got involved with me?" He sat across from me, and his gaze was absolutely steady. "Probably. There would be risk. There would be days when I'd need to disappear, and I'd have to lie about where I was. There would be people who might want to use you against me. There would be danger."

"And yet you want me anyway."

"And yet I'm not letting you go," he said. "Not without a fight."

"You barely know me."

"I know you," he said. "I know that you're loyal to the point of self-destruction. I know that you're creative and empathetic and that you see people's pain and try to fix it. I know that you're terrified of being alone but more terrified of settling. I know that right now, you're trying to decide if wanting me is brave or stupid."

"Is it stupid?" I asked quietly.

"Probably," he said. "But so was falling in love with Liam for fifteen years, and you managed that."

I felt something fracture inside me.

"This is too much," I said. "I just ended one obsession. I'm not trying to start another."

"This isn't an obsession," Damien said. "This is just honesty. You scare me a little—I want you to know that. You're soft in ways I haven't been soft in a long time, and I'm afraid I'll take that softness and weaponize it somehow. But I'm going to try not to. And I'm going to try to be worthy of the way you see people."

"I should go," I said.

"You should," he agreed.

But neither of us moved.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

**Unknown:** He'll promise you the world. But when he gets what he wants, he'll disappear. I know because he did it to me. And I was important to him. What do you think that means for you?

I showed the message to Damien.

His jaw tightened. "I need to take care of that."

"Take care of it how?"

"By making sure she stops contacting you. And by explaining that she doesn't know anything about who I am now."

"Do you know who you are now?" I asked.

"I'm someone who is trying to be better than I was," he said. "Is that enough?"

I didn't answer. I just got up and left, and I could feel the weight of his gaze following me all the way to the door.

By the time I got home, there were fifteen new messages. Some from Damien. Some from Liam. Some from unknown numbers that were beginning to feel like whispers of a danger I didn't fully understand.

And in the center of all of it was the question I couldn't answer:

What was I willing to risk?