She didn't wait until morning.
The second the message landed in her inbox, Emilia was up. No shoes. No coat. Just her phone, her breath, and the raw panic crawling down her spine like a living thing.
She moved fast, silent across the marble floors of the penthouse, past the rooms that whispered, past the locked doors that suddenly felt like they were watching.
She didn't pack.
She didn't look back.
Only forward.
To the elevator. Down.
Escape.
Except—
The elevator didn't move.
The light above it blinked red.
And on the glass panel was a smear.
Of blood.
Her name.
EMILIA.
Scrawled like a promise.
Or a signature.
---
She backed away slowly, pulse hammering in her neck, when a low voice echoed behind her.
"You should've stayed in bed."
She turned.
Damien stood at the top of the stairs. Barefoot. Shirtless. A gun hanging lazily in his right hand, like a cigarette.
His eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them. Not angry.
Worse.
Awake.
---
"You knew," she whispered. "You knew Vale was coming."
"I didn't know when."
"You locked me in with him."
He descended one step. Then another.
"I locked you in with me."
"Because you thought I'd choose you over running."
"I was right."
She didn't answer.
She couldn't.
Because he wasn't wrong.
And that terrified her more than any red-smeared warning.
---
He stepped closer, until they were chest to chest. He smelled like sweat and ash and gunmetal. A man halfway between war and worship.
"I'm trying to protect you," Damien said, and it sounded almost like an apology. Almost.
She reached up. Pressed a hand to his chest.
Felt the thunder of his heart.
"Then start telling me everything. From the beginning."
He exhaled hard.
"There were five before you," he said. "Five women who signed contracts. None of them knew about Vale. About the syndicate. About how deep this goes."
"Did they die?"
He hesitated. "Not all of them."
"Annabelle?"
"I never found her body."
That answer wasn't enough.
She needed names. Dates. Truth.
But before she could ask—
A sharp, deliberate knock at the front door.
Once.
Twice.
Then silence.
They both froze.
And then Damien said something that chilled her deeper than any threat ever could.
"He's early."
---
They moved fast. Damien led her through a hidden hallway behind the wine cellar, walls narrow enough to feel like a tomb.
"He won't hurt you," Damien said. "Not while I'm breathing."
She glanced at the gun in his hand. "You sound so sure."
"I'm not."
When they reached the steel door at the end of the passage, Damien typed in a code and pushed it open. A private garage. Empty but for one car.
Matte black. Bulletproof.
And already running.
"Where are we going?"
He opened the passenger door for her.
"To someone who knows what Vale wants."
---
The road out of the city was dark. No headlights. No street signs. Only silence.
Emilia watched the man beside her. His jaw clenched. His knuckles white.
And for the first time, she realized something.
He was scared.
Not for himself.
For her.
And somehow, that made it worse.
---
Half an hour later, they pulled up to an unmarked estate.
No lights. No guards.
Just an iron gate that opened at their arrival.
Inside: a single figure on the balcony.
Smoking.
Wearing red.
A woman.
Damien stepped out first.
Then turned to Emilia, eyes hard.
"She used to work for Vale."
"And now?"
"She owes me."
---
When Emilia stepped into the room, the woman looked her up and down.
"You're her."
Emilia didn't blink. "Who?"
"The one who's not broken yet."
The woman smiled, sharp as glass.
"I'll help you," she said. "But only if you promise one thing."
"Anything."
"When this ends..."
She crushed the cigarette beneath her heel.
"Be the one who walks out alive."
---
To be continued…