Earlier that day.
Ava had returned home to find Damien already back from his trip. She didn't say much, just offered a small nod as they crossed paths in the hallway but Damien didn't need words. One look at her face told him everything he needed to know. Something was wrong. Her posture was stiff, her eyes skittish, and even the faintest tremor in her voice gave her away. Not to the average person, maybe, but Damien was far from average.
He had walked quietly into his study, closing the door behind him with a soft click. As he took a seat at his desk, he picked up his phone and made a series of calls. The more information that came in, the darker his expression grew. The club, the private room, the reports, every detail painted a clearer picture, and none of it ended very well.
Meanwhile, back at the private club, Adam was enjoying himself far too much. He lounged in a velvet armchair with a woman on each side, laughing like the world belonged to him. The stench of expensive liquor filled the air, his voice rising above the music as he toasted to another "successful night." His fingers gripped a tumbler, and his mind was far from guilt.
That is, until the door burst open.
Two men, dressed in black, stepped inside. They looked efficient, brutal, and we're completely silent. The bouncers outside hadn't stood a chance. Adam barely had time to stand before one of the men slammed a fist into his stomach. The other grabbed him by the collar, yanking him from the chair, and within seconds, the women were screaming and scattering as Adam was dragged out of the room, out of the club, and shoved into the back of a waiting van.
The ride was rough. The windows were tinted, the seats cold leather, and the air inside the van smelled of blood and sweat. Adam groaned as he tried to piece together what the hell was happening, but the blows kept coming until his resistance faded into whimpers.
And then, the silence came.
The van came to a halt somewhere Adam couldn't tell. It was dark and he was almost blinded from the punches. The men dragged him out, and Adam's feet barely touched the ground as they moved. His surroundings grew darker with each step, earth gave way to stone, then stairs descended into a damp, cold corridor where the scent of rot clung to the walls. It wasn't until they threw him to the floor of the dungeon that the fear fully took root.
It wasn't just the smell. It was the silence. The knowing silence of a place that had held pain for generations.
Now, in the dungeon, Adam was nothing more than a trembling, broken heap, barely able to lift his head. He didn't understand why he was there or what he had done wrong until Damien came
Back in the dungeon.
Damien didn't rush. Without another word, he sat beside the old iron table along the wall, slipping off his black gloves with calm precision. He picked up a pair of sterile white gloves next, snapping them on with quiet finality.
Then he picked up the dental gag. Damien's hands were sure, unshaken as he forced the device into Adam's mouth, wrenching it open wide. Adam writhed, but his chains rattled louder than his voice.
"You know what's funny," Damien said softly, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "You walked into that club thinking you were a god. Like the world owed you something. Like no one could touch you."
"Please…" Adam croaked, his jaw distended, his eyes filled with terror.
Damien picked up a dental extraction tool. It was cold, metallic, unforgiving. "She didn't scream," he murmured, almost to himself. "She didn't tell me anything. But I knew. The minute I saw her, I knew something had been taken from her. And I found out that it was you… You need to learn never to touch things that aren't yours."
With that, he plunged the tool into Adam's mouth.
The first tooth came out with a sickening snap. Blood flooded Adam's tongue. His entire body convulsed, but Damien didn't stop. The second tooth followed, then the third. He paused only after the fourth, setting the blood slicked tool aside and pulling off the gloves with slow precision.
He dropped them into a nearby basin and turned to the butler, who stood silently by the door.
"Clean the mess," Damien said simply, stepping out of the cell.
The butler nodded.
Adam slumped against the cold wall, sobbing now, blood dripping freely from his mouth. His entire body shook, a mixture of pain and fear he couldn't even begin to process.
As Damien walked down the corridor, he didn't look back. His footfalls were steady, unhurried. The scent of blood followed him faintly, clinging to his sleeves like perfume. He didn't need to make a show of power, he had passed his message across.
And Adam? Adam would never forget what it meant to cross Damien Blackwood.
Not with a missing tooth in his jaw. Not with the taste of iron burned into his tongue. Not with the memory of a man who didn't shout, didn't rage, only delivered what he wanted in silence.