The ride back to Damian's penthouse was full of quietness. The city around us still evidenced with life — sirens in the distance, headlights streaking by — but inside the car, it felt like a storm was brewing.
Charlotte sat up front, one arm wrapped tight around Olivia, who drifted in and out of consciousness. Blood streaked her temple, and her breathing was shallow, but she was alive. That counted for something.
I sat in the back with Damian. His shirt was torn at the collar, streaked with dried blood that wasn't his, a cut along his jaw. His knuckles were raw and bruised from where he'd fought Vaughn. And yet, his grip on the wheel was steady, like nothing fazed him.
But I could feel it in the air between us.
The weight of everything unsaid.
The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind the sharp sting of exhaustion and the cold, biting realization that the world I thought I knew was gone. Whatever remained had teeth, and it was coming for me.
I broke the silence first.
"You knew Vaughn was alive."
His jaw flexed. "I suspected."
"And you didn't tell me."I asked feeling disappointed
"I couldn't.
I leaned forward, anger surging through the numbness. "Couldn't, or wouldn't? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks a hell of a lot like you've been picking and choosing what truths I get to hear."
His gaze went to mine in the rearview mirror. "You think I enjoy keeping you in the dark? You think I don't know how much it's costing you? Every time you flinch, every time you doubt who to trust — I see it, Ava.
"Then why do it?"
"Because it's the only way to keep you alive."
The way he said it — low, hard, like it tore something from him — left me momentarily breathless. There was a storm behind those words, years of secrets and debts unpaid. I wasn't sure if I hated him for it, or if it made me want to know him more.
Charlotte shifted in her seat. "We need to regroup. Vaughn might be dead, but his people won't fall apart overnight. If anything, we've made ourselves targets."
Damian nodded. "I'll have the house secured. Full lockdown."
He glanced back at me. "You stay close to me."
I almost argued. The instinct was immediate — to reject his orders, to remind him I wasn't his to command.
But something in the haunted look behind his eyes made me stop.
Instead, I nodded.
The car pulled into the underground garage beneath Damian's building, sleek black vehicles lined up like sentinels. Armed security stood waiting by the elevator, tense and alert.
As soon as we stepped out, Damian issued orders, his voice sharp and controlled.
"Patch Olivia up, keep her under watch. No one gets in or out without my word."
"Yes, sir," one of the guards answered, already moving.
Charlotte guided Olivia toward the private medical room on the lower level, leaving me alone with Damian. The moment the elevator doors slid shut, the tension inside me coiled tighter.
I should've left it alone. Should've gone upstairs, cleaned up, let the night settle.
But I couldn't.
Not with the way my heart still raced. Not with the way his blood-streaked face haunted me.
I followed him down the hall.
"Where are you going?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
"With you."
He sighed but didn't argue.
We ended up in his office — a sprawling room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline. The lights of Manhattan glittered like scattered jewels against the night
Damian walked to the bar cart and poured a drink, the amber liquid catching the light. He didn't offer me one.
"You should rest," he said.
"I can't."
He turned, his eyes heavy on mine. "I know."
I took a breath, stepping closer. The air between us charged, thick with things we hadn't said. Things neither of us probably knew how to.
"You fought for me tonight," I said softly. "You didn't have to."
"Don't be stupid," he muttered, downing the drink in one swallow. "Of course I did."
"I don't mean as part of your job, Damian. I mean…" I hesitated, then forced the words out. "I mean because you could've let me go. Vaughn could've taken me, and you would've been safe. You stayed anyway.
He exhaled, setting the glass down with a soft clink.
"I told you before," he said, voice low and rough. "I don't leave people behind. Not the people who matter."
His words hit something sharp in my chest. "And I matter?"
He didn't answer right away. Moved closer instead, each step measured, until there was barely a foot of space between us. The world beyond the windows seemed to fall away.
"You matter more than you should," he said quietly.
I felt my pulse spike. My throat tightened.
The room felt too small.
And then, slowly, his hand lifted, fingertips brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a jolt through me like static.
I didn't pull away.
Neither did he.
For a long moment, we stood like that, the only sound our uneven breathing.
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
My heart nearly stopped.
But then, just as quickly, he stepped back, running a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath.
"I can't," he said hoarsely.
I swallowed hard. "Why not?"
"Because if I start, I won't be able to stop. And you deserve better than a man like me."
"You don't get to decide what I deserve," I whispered.
He looked at me then — really looked — and the ache in his expression nearly undid me.
"I'm not good for you, Ava."
"Then be bad for me," I said before I could think better of it.
The words hung between us, reckless and raw.
But instead of moving toward me again, he turned away, staring out at the city lights.
I didn't press him.
I didn't need to.
Because the truth had already slipped between us like a blade.
Whatever this was, whatever line we were toeing — it wasn't going away.
And eventually, it was going to break us both.
I left him there, in the shadows of his perfect glass tower, and made my way upstairs.
But even as I closed my bedroom door behind me, I could still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin.
And I knew it wasn't over.