The house had fallen too quiet.
Even the wind outside seemed to hold its breath.
Alina stood frozen in her room, her bag half-packed and lying open on the bed.
She had wiped every trace of her presence from the study—the opened files, the fingerprints, her fear.
But her heart still thundered like a warning bell.
I need to escape. I need to find Kevin. Before it's too late.
Her hands trembled as she zipped up the bag.
She whispered to herself—"Almost out. Almost safe."
And then—
A voice. Smooth. Unhurried.
> "Going somewhere, baby girl?"
She froze.
Her fingers stiffened around the zipper.
Damon.
He was leaning lazily against the doorway, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, hair tousled like he'd just woken from a dream.
But his eyes…
They glittered with something unreadable.
Something too calm.
She forced herself to breathe and turned toward him, trying to summon a smile that didn't exist.
"I—uh, just going to get some fresh air."
He arched a brow and let out a soft chuckle.
"Fresh air? With your bag packed?"
Her heart hiccupped.
I need to divert " You said you'll return tomorrow".
"So your not happy about my arrival".
"No no I I was happy just it's its just"
He cut her in the middle" let's continue from where we left love"
She quickly pulled the zipper up and shrugged, "I just thought I'd stay with my grandmother for a few days. Atlanta's coming next week, holidays are ending… I need to focus on my studies."
His gaze lingered on her face.
Not accusing. Not questioning.
Just watching.
That's what terrified her the most.
There was no guilt. No anger.
No anxiety. Nothing.
It was like talking to a void that smiled back.
Still, he said nothing about the study.
Nothing about the surveillance.
Nothing about Kevin.
And that silence chilled her to the bone.
Gathering what little courage she had, she spoke carefully.
Trying to sound normal.
Trying to sound innocent.
"By the way… any update from the police? About Kevin?"
Damon blinked, tilted his head slightly.
"Kevin?" he echoed. "Hmm. No. Nothing yet. Poor guy. Just vanished, huh?"
Alina's stomach twisted.
She watched his face.
No flicker. No crack.
Like he was wearing his own skin as a mask.
"I just hope… he's okay," she said softly, eyes searching his.
Damon stepped toward her—slowly, like a wolf pretending to be tame.
And then he leaned in, pressed his lips against her neck.
Her skin recoiled.
It felt like worms crawling beneath her flesh.
She stood still, paralyzed, fists clenching her dress.
Then she shoved him.
A small, panicked push that barely made him move.
"I need to go," she muttered.
He only smiled wider.
Like he enjoyed her squirming.
She moved fast, grabbing her bag and walking toward the door.
But his voice followed her like a knife:
> "You're always in such a hurry to run."
She froze again.
"Running?" she said with a nervous laugh. "No. I just… miss my grandma. That's all."
"Sure," he drawled. "I'll drop you off."
"No, Damon, really—"
He was already picking up her bag.
Already walking toward the door.
> "Come on, baby girl. Let's go."
She tried again. Excuses tripping over her tongue.
But the next thing she knew—
He had thrown her into the car.
Her breath caught as the door slammed.
Her fingers clenched her dress, tight. Too tight.
> "Don't ruin it," Damon murmured, glancing at her. "You look pretty when you're nervous."
She stared out the window.
Minutes passed.
The car didn't stop.
It glided through the streets like a serpent—too smooth, too quiet, too wrong.
Unfamiliar shadows stretched across the windshield, and each one felt like a claw reaching for her.
Alina's fingers clenched the edge of her dress, her knuckles pale against the dark fabric. Her breath stuttered. Her heart beat too loudly in her ears.
> "This… this isn't the road to the hospital."
Her voice barely made a sound.
Damon didn't even glance at her.
> "No, baby. It's not."
Silence.
It coiled thick between them. Her pulse quickened.
She turned toward him slowly, forcing her voice to steady.
> "Where are we going?"
He smiled then—slow, lazy, cruel. Poison disguised as charm.
> "You tell me. You've been quite the little explorer, haven't you?"
A beat passed.
She blinked, feigning confusion. Her voice tried to play dumb.
> "What… are you talking about?"
He let out a low chuckle, like her attempt amused him.
> "Playing dumb's getting harder, baby."
Her blood ran cold.
> "You knew."
It wasn't a question. It was a breathless realization.
Damon finally turned his head, meeting her gaze. His face held no rage, no shock.
Only an unbearable calm.
> "Of course I knew. I knew when you stepped into my study. When your trembling fingers touched my files. When you paused too long by the shelf—right where the cameras are hidden. When you saw the folder with your name on it."
Alina felt the air leave her lungs.
He had known.
All along.
He had let her see.
Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes.
> "You watched me… find the truth. And you didn't stop me?"
His voice was quiet—almost gentle.
> "Why would I?"
"It was always meant for you to find."
A lie.
His heart whispered it in silence.
He didn't want her to find it.
He never wanted her to know the man behind the curtain—the mask, the secrets, the madness.
Because now…
Now she wanted to run.
And that broke something in him.
Her voice cracked as she spoke, lips trembling.
> "So you could watch me break? So you could enjoy it?"
He didn't deny it.
Instead, his voice dropped—low, dark, and decadent.
> "You broke beautifully."
Her breath hitched.
She curled away from him, as if space could save her. As if the window held an escape.
She clutched her bag like it was a shield.
> "You're a monster."
He chuckled softly.
> "A monster who made you moan my name every night?"
Her head snapped toward him, face burning with shame, rage, and betrayal.
> "Shut up," she whispered, voice thick with tears.
Those words—the way he said them—splintered something inside her.
> "No," he murmured. "Let's not pretend, baby girl. Three times—no, four, if we count the night you begged for more."
Her eyes closed, lashes wet.
> "You planned it all," she said, barely above a whisper. "You set traps. You played the perfect man. Just to fuck me."
That last word shattered in the air between them.
Damon's jaw tightened. A flicker—something sharp, something real—passed through his eyes.
Then—
> "Don't say that," he growled.
The calm cracked.
> "If that's all I wanted… if I only wanted to fuck you—I wouldn't have kept you, Alina. I would've tossed you aside like the others."
She looked at him then.
Her lips curled into a broken smile.
> "So I'm not the first."
For a heartbeat, something in Damon's eyes faltered. Not guilt. But memory.
Then it vanished—buried beneath the devil's grin.
The hurt in her voice was jagged.
He didn't answer.
Not right away.
> "Alina," he said, voice lower. "I didn't pretend to want you. I do want you. Every broken, scared, trembling part of you."
But before he could go on, she turned away.
Silent tears streamed down her cheeks.
> "Let me go."
He leaned in—closer, too close—and whispered against her ear:
> "Do you think I'd let go of the only woman who screamed my name like salvation? Who cried in my arms and kissed me like I was more than the devil I am?"
Her fists clenched.
> "You tricked me!" she screamed. "You used every touch, every kiss to manipulate me into loving you!"
He didn't flinch.
> "And it worked."
Her sob caught in her throat. Her fingers dug into her chest as if trying to rip the hurt out.
> "You're sick. You're vile. You never loved me."
For the first time, something passed over his face.
A crack.
A flicker of something he didn't name.
Then it was gone. His perfect smile returned.
> "Love is a pretty lie, Alina. But you? You were never a lie. You were the one thing I wanted to own completely."
Her voice trembled.
> "You kidnapped Kevin… didn't you?"
He didn't answer.
Not immediately.
He looked out the windshield, his voice unreadable.
> "You're asking too many questions, baby girl."
> "Where is he?!" she screamed.
Damon turned his head slowly.
And something changed.
The charming devil vanished.
In his place sat death in a tailored suit.
> "You think I'd let you run back to him? After everything you've given me? After I've tasted you? Marked you? You think you can just leave me?"
She shrank into the corner of the seat.
> "Damon… please…"
"Let us go…"
But his voice turned to iron.
> "No."
"You don't leave."
"You stay. You beg. You break the way I wanted. But you don't get to walk away. Not when I already bled for you in silence."
Tears streamed down her face.
And for the first time—she truly saw him.
Not the man she kissed. Not the man who touched her like she was art.
She saw the shadow behind the door.
The mask behind the smile.
The real Damon.
And she knew—
She would never forget him.
Even if she managed to escape, even if she ran to the ends of the earth—
The devil had already taken her name.
And carved it into his bones.
Her throat burned.
Her voice—once soft, once his—was now sharp enough to bleed.
> "So this is you…"
She stared at him like she was staring into a nightmare she never woke from.
> "A dominant. Controlling. Sick. Manipulative."
Her hands trembled in her lap, her chest rising and falling in short, panicked breaths.
> "If I had known the truth—if I had seen what you really are—"
She turned her face to him, her eyes wide, glassy with shock.
> "I would have never loved you…"
Then the words dropped like blades.
> "Mr. Carter."
She didn't spit it in anger.
She addressed him like a stranger. Like a villain.
Like something unworthy of her past.
> "I hate you."
And then she turned away, slowly. Quietly.
As if even looking at him was too much.
As if her love had died in that moment—and all that remained was the hollow silence of betrayal.
---
Damon's POV
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
But inside—something twisted.
"Mr. Carter."
She said it like it was filth in her mouth. Like he was a stranger she wished she'd never met.
And maybe that was the part that stung the most.
Not the hate—he could survive that.
He fed on fear. Manipulated trust. Broke people down until they craved his cruelty.
But her calling him that name…
It made him feel like she had torn him from the world they shared and shoved him back into the one he ruled—alone. Unloved. Untouched.
And then she said it—
> "I would have never loved you…"
Love.
The word echoed like a curse.
Something in his chest clenched—sharp, violent, foreign.
He didn't want to name it.
He couldn't.
He was Damon Carter. Cold. Calculated. Ruthless.
He used love like a blade. Dangled it like bait.
But hearing it come from her—he felt it not as a weapon, but a wound.
He almost said her name. Almost reached for her.
But his fingers curled into fists instead.
> Control it. Crush it. You are not a man who needs her love. You are the man who owns her soul.
Still… her hate felt colder than any silence.
And "Mr. Carter"—
He hated the way it sounded from her lips.
Because it made him feel like she'd finally seen him—
Not as her savior.
But as her captor.
He wasn't sure if he liked that.
The words rang in his skull like a gunshot.
> "I hate you."
He didn't hear Alina anymore.
He heard him.
His father.
The man whose voice was made of poison and fists.
The man who didn't raise a son.
He raised a weapon.
> "You think you're special because your mother died for you?"
"You were a mistake in her womb, Damon. A parasite."
"I should've drowned you when I had the chance."
He remembered being nine.
Knees scraped, blood on his lip, hands trembling.
He had cried once.
Once.
His father had knelt down, pulled him close—not in comfort, but to whisper against his ear like a curse:
> "Weakness makes you a target. Love makes you a slave. So listen, boy—never cry again. Never beg. And if someone says they love you? Break them before they break you."
And now, years later, a girl with eyes too wide and a voice too soft had said those same words.
> "I hate you."
Those words had carved him into what he was now.
A monster with sharp suits and sharper instincts.
A man who owned pain because he was raised by it.
But when she said it—Alina, the girl who once looked at him like he was more than darkness—it didn't echo like a curse.
It broke something.
> "You said you hate me?" he rasped, his voice rising.
"You hate me?"
His knuckles went white on the steering wheel.
She didn't answer. Just stared ahead, tear-streaked, silent.
But it wasn't silence to him.
It was rejection.
The kind that scarred.
The kind that made monsters.
He slammed the brakes—hard.
The car screeched to a stop in the middle of the dark, empty road. Gravel kicked. Tires screamed.
And then—he turned to her.
Eyes wild. Voice shaking.
> "You hate me?!"
He roared it, his chest heaving, rage and something else—something helpless—colliding inside him.
> "Fine. Then let's do it that way."
His voice was lower now. Deadly.
> "Hate me, Alina. Scream it. Curse me. Burn my name into your bones if it helps you sleep."
He grabbed her wrist—hard, firm enough that she couldn't run.
> "You called me a monster?" he growled. "Then let me show you what a monster can really do".
Her breath hitched.
"You're hurting me—please, Damon—let me go," she cried, her voice raw with fear.
But he didn't let go.
He couldn't.
Because if he let go now—
She'd run.
And this time, she might never look back.
> "You don't get to say that to me and walk away."
His grip didn't tighten more. But his body trembled, his eyes searching hers.
But what was he looking for?
Fear?
Love?
A reason to stop?
> "You think I'm sick?" he whispered now, voice trembling with fury.
"You think I'm cruel?"
His lips curled into a smile that was anything but amused.
> "Then I'll give you a reason to never forget me."
> "I'll give you scars to match the ones you left on me."
The engine roared to life like a beast unleashed.
Damon's jaw was locked. Eyes dead ahead. Not a word.
Alina cried out, gripping the door handle with shaking fingers.
> "Damon—please—stop the car. Let me out, please—"
He didn't flinch.
He just drove faster.
The trees outside blurred. Darkness swallowed the road. The headlights were the only thing slicing through the night—like his rage, sharp and blinding.
Alina's heart pounded like thunder in her ribs.
But what terrified her most wasn't the speed.
It was him.
His silence.
His fury.
The storm he was holding behind clenched teeth.
---
Finally, the car screeched to a halt in front of an old mansion buried deep within the forest. It stood like a forgotten relic—cold, immense, and watching.
Before she could breathe, he was out of the car and storming to her side.
He flung the door open.
> "Get. Out."
She flinched.
> "No—please—Damon, let me go," she whispered, tears streaking her cheeks.
But he wasn't listening.
He grabbed her wrist, yanked her out like she weighed nothing, and when her legs refused to move—when her body crumpled beneath her—he stopped.
Then turned.
And smiled.
It wasn't warmth.
It was madness.
> "You want to hate me, sweetheart? You called me a monster?"
"Let me earn it."
Without warning, he scooped her up like a ragdoll.
She screamed, pounded her fists against his back, kicked—but he didn't budge.
His arms were iron. His breath burned.
He carried her into the mansion—through halls painted in shadows—straight into a bedroom that felt more like a tomb.
He threw her onto the bed.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Locked.
Alina scrambled backward, heart thundering in her throat.
Damon stood at the door, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, eyes fixed on her like a lion eyeing prey.
> "You said you hate me," he whispered, voice like fire and frost.
"You called me a monster."
She shook her head violently, crawling away from him, hands pressed together like a prayer.
> "I-I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I didn't mean it, Damon, please… I didn't mean it—I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
But the damage was done.
> "Sorry won't put the beast back in its cage, love."
He stepped closer.
And closer.
> "You've successfully released it."
He climbed onto the bed—slow and deliberate, towering over her, every movement oozing control.
> "Please—no—don't—" she wept, pressing her hands to his chest.
> "I fucking tried, Alina," he growled. "Tried to be gentle. To be patient. But you—you wanted war, didn't you?"
His voice was breaking.
Unraveling.
> "You think I don't feel anything? You think I'm just some sick fuck who wants to ruin you?"
> "Then let me ruin you the right way."
Before she could answer—before she could breathe—his mouth crashed into hers.
It wasn't a kiss.
It was a claim.
Venomous. Hungry. Dominant.
It held rage. It held obsession.
It held everything—
Except love.
He didn't stop. His lips assaulted hers with a brutal hunger, one hand pinning both of hers above her head, the other tangling in her hair, yanking until her neck arched back. She clenched her mouth shut, resisting him, but he only smirked against her lips.
"Oh? Still fighting?" he murmured darkly.
With a cruel grip, he twisted her hair tighter and forced his weight on her, crashing his mouth against hers again. Her muffled cry was swallowed by him. The sting in her scalp drew a hiss from her throat—just enough for him to force his tongue in.
His other hand roamed lower, sliding under her shirt and squeezing her breast with no mercy. She squirmed beneath him, her cries growing louder—but they were silenced in his kiss, drowned in the storm of his possession.
Finally, he pulled back, leaving her gasping for air like she'd surfaced from drowning. Tears streaked her face as she looked up at him, shattered.
"You had me, Damon," she whispered, voice trembling. "You took what you wanted. Please… let me go. I have a life. Please…"
Her words dissolved into hiccupping sobs, but he didn't move. Instead, he only watched her with a wicked grin, eyes gleaming with something darker than lust—something inhuman.
"You think I'll let you go that easily?" His voice was low, venomous, but almost amused. He brushed a knuckle down her cheek. "You tasted divine, Alina. And even after all the times I've had you… you still feel like something new."
She trembled beneath him, broken, eyes filled with tears.
"So you want me to let you go?" he asked, mockingly soft.
She nodded slowly.
"words I want words" he roared, she flinched.
"Y-Yes," she whispered.
His eyes darkened. The soft smile vanished. "Fine," he said, voice cold now. "But let's make a deal. Life… for life."
Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering in her tear-filled eyes. "What do you mean?"
"You know the organization paying for your grandmother's medical bills?" he leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "That's me."
Her breath hitched.
"So sure," he continued, his tone laced with mock kindness, "I'll let you go. But I'll also stop the funding." He kissed her earlobe. She flinched.
"No…" she breathed, barely audible.
"And your little sister, Anaya…" he smirked. "You really think she's safe at her friend's house?"
Her body froze. "How do you know that?" she asked, horror dawning in her voice.
"I know everything about you, baby girl."
"Please…" she pleaded, her voice cracking.
"Don't plead," he murmured, pressing his lips to her jawline, sucking softly. "It's simple. You're free to go… by giving me their lives in return."
She turned her face away, tears streaming as her body shuddered.
He stood up, watching her lie there like a fallen angel—broken, silent, and weeping.
"I'll give you time," he said, adjusting his cuffs casually. "Think about it. I want your answer once I'm back from my shower."
Then he walked away, leaving the door wide open, the silence behind him louder than any scream.
She watched his retreating figure disappear into the bathroom, the door clicking shut like a final nail in her coffin.
The silence that followed felt deafening.
Alina curled her knees to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as her body shook.
> "What have you done to me?" she whispered to no one.
To God.
To the walls.
To the man she once thought she loved.
Her tears soaked her palms, but she didn't stop.
> "No," she gasped between sobs. "Don't break now, Alina. Think. Think."
A surge of defiance pushed her upright.
> "He's a criminal. A monster. He has to have weapons… something I can use."
Her bare feet hit the cold floor as she stumbled toward the tall cupboard. Her hands moved frantically, pulling down shirts, suits, belts—flinging them everywhere. Desperation dripped off her like sweat.
> "Come on, come on... please…"
She yanked open drawer after drawer until—
A cold, metallic gleam caught her eye.
Her breath caught.
A gun.
Her fingers trembled as she wrapped them around it. It was heavier than she imagined.
Foreign. Real.
But for the first time in hours, she felt something close to control.
And then—
Click.
The bathroom door opened.
She turned sharply, gun raised—
Her entire body shaking, eyes wide.
Damon stood in the doorway. A towel wrapped low around his hips, water dripping down his chest.
He looked every bit the man she once wanted. Once loved.
But now?
He was the reason she was broken.
His eyes flickered to the gun in her hands. Then to her face.
And he smiled.
Soft. Inevitable. Cruel.
> "Would've been a beautiful moment, angel…" he murmured, stepping closer.
"If I were still the man you thought I was."
There was no fear in his face—only amusement. She was a storm in a fragile body, and every outburst, every tremble, was just another surprise that thrilled him.
She clutched the paper cutter tightly, her last line of defense. Damon chuckled, slow and mocking.
"Stop smiling," she hissed. "Let me go. Let Kevin go. Let all of us go. I'll—I'll spare you."
He laughed, deep and unbothered. "Spare me?" he echoed, voice laced with venomous amusement. "Oh baby, do you really think this would work?"
He tilted his head, stepping closer. "And even if it did... do you really believe my only friend, my pathetic excuse of a father, or the men who follow me would ever let you or your precious Kevin and your family walk away?"
The words hit like a slap. Her breath caught. Her fingers trembled around the handle. Damon saw it—every twitch, every ounce of dread blooming behind her eyes. He knew he'd struck the right nerve.
"And one more thing," he murmured, voice brushing her like smoke. "That gun you're holding?" He leaned in closer. "It has the safety on."
Her eyes widened in confusion and panic, looking down just enough to shift her attention. That was all he needed.
In one swift motion, he grabbed her wrists and wrenched the gun from her hands. She cried out, but he was already behind her, twisting her arms and forcing her back flush against his chest.
She gasped—his breath was hot on her neck, his grip unrelenting. The feel of her trembling body pressed against him stirred something dark inside him.
A low groan rumbled from his chest.
"See, Alina," he whispered, lips brushing her ear, "you don't need weapons. You were never going to win this war."
Her body went still.
Humiliation. Rage. Despair—all swirling in her chest like poison.
Damon's grip didn't loosen.
> "You think you can play this game with me?" he murmured. "You're in my world now, Alina."
She didn't answer. Couldn't.
Her heart pounded like a war drum in her chest.
He slowly let go of her wrist but didn't back away.
Instead, he leaned closer, his voice softer this time.
> "You should've aimed for the head."
"Now," he said, his voice low and merciless, "it's time for your punishment."
He released her wrists abruptly, stepping back just enough to give her space—but not freedom.
"Strip."
Her breath hitched. Color drained from her face.
"W-What?" she whispered, barely able to form the word.
"I said, strip," he repeated, slower this time, with the cold finality of a command. "This is your punishment… for disobeying me."
She didn't move.
She couldn't.
she remembered what Carolin said and the deep meaning behind it.
She stood frozen, arms stiff at her sides, her body trembling like a leaf in the storm of his presence. The room felt colder now—emptier. Whatever thread of warmth had once bound her to him, whatever flicker of conflicted feeling she'd buried deep… had died in that moment.
There was no love for him now.
Not anymore.
Only fear. And the haunting realization that the man standing before her was not a man at all—but a monster dressed in obsession.