Chapter 6 - The Shadows of the Past
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The revelation of my father's true identity left me reeling. I spent the afternoon in the estate's sprawling library, staring blankly at a leather-bound book I couldn't focus on. My entire life had been a carefully constructed lie. The poverty, the struggles, the desperate jobs—it was all a smoke screen designed to keep me hidden from the monsters my father had robbed.
"You're thinking too loudly," a deep voice rumbled near the doorway.
I looked up. Damian leaned against the heavy oak frame, watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. He walked into the room, pulling up a chair opposite mine.
"I thought I knew who he was," I whispered, closing the book. "He was always so terrified. He jumped at shadows. I used to resent him for being so weak. Now I realize he was just waiting for the executioner to knock."
"He protected you the only way he knew how," Damian said softly. "He made you invisible. But invisibility is a fragile armor, Harper. The moment someone shines a light on you, you are completely defenseless."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The vulnerability in his posture was incredibly rare, a gift he only offered when we were alone.
"I know what it feels like to be hunted by the ghosts of your family's sins," Damian murmured, his gray eyes locking onto mine. "My father was a butcher. He built this syndicate with sheer, unadulterated brutality. When I took the throne, half the city wanted my head just because I shared his last name. I had to become something far worse than him just to survive."
"Are you worse than him?" I asked, holding his gaze, refusing to be intimidated by the darkness in his soul.
Damian offered a faint, chilling smile. "I am significantly more efficient. I do not kill for pleasure, Harper. I kill for absolute necessity. And right now, eliminating the men who fired a weapon at you is the most necessary thing I have ever done."
The raw, possessive protection in his voice sent a chaotic flutter of heat straight to my core. He wasn't a hero in shining armor; he was the dragon guarding the tower. And for the first time in my life, I felt completely, terrifyingly safe.
"Who sent the shooters, Damian?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
His jaw tightened. "We traced the cyanide pill the second shooter took. It’s a proprietary compound used exclusively by a freelance cleanup crew based out of Milwaukee. Your old stomping grounds."
My blood ran cold. The mention of Milwaukee dragged the darkest chapter of my life into the light.
May you like
"Tyler," I gasped, the name tasting like ash in my mouth.
"Your ex-boyfriend," Damian confirmed, his eyes turning into pits of black ice. "Tyler Bennett isn't just an abusive coward, Harper. He’s a mid-level contractor for the Volkov syndicate. He tracked you down. And he sold you to the Russians."
