The car's engine roared softly, breaking the stillness of the night that crept over the London suburbs. Streetlights flickered rapidly in the windows, casting long, dancing shadows across Lila's face. The road was clear, but her chest felt trapped in a narrow, breathless space.
Damian sat next to him. Calm. Calm in a dangerous way.
He read something on his phone as if Lila wasn't a living person beside him, just an object being analyzed without emotion.
Lila hugged her own body, closing her eyes for a moment.
“How long is this trip?” he asked finally, his voice trying to be steady.
“As short as possible.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“If I wanted to be specific, I would tell you to shut up.” His tone was even, consistent.
Lila looked at him in annoyance. “Why do you always have to say things like that?”
“Because you like to ask unnecessary questions,” he replied without looking up.
“I'm human too. It's natural for me to be afraid.”
Damian stopped scrolling, his eyes finally turning towards her slowly, breaking the defense.
“You don't look scared. You look stubborn, defensive, and trying to read my mind.”
He leaned back, adjusting his sitting position so that their knees were almost touching.
“That's interesting.”
Lila swallowed. “If you think I’m trying to manipulate you, you’re wrong.”
“Everyone tries to manipulate,” he replied simply. “Some do it better than others.”
His gaze dropped to Lila's lips briefly, but it was enough to make something in Lila's stomach tighten.
Damian returned to his phone screen, as if nothing had happened.
They left the city.
Tall buildings gave way to rural roads, and then, as time went on, the trees grew denser. Finally, the car stopped in a rundown area of ​​the night market, with hundreds of people milling about, the sound of music, vendors shouting, and neon lights reflecting off puddles.
A place where there will be no elite class security cameras.
A place where people's identities are easily lost.
A place for hunting.
The guard in the front seat got out first. Damian touched Lila's arm, just enough to stop her movements and stop her breathing.
“Here.”
He got out and pulled Lila out of the car in a way that seemed normal to an outsider, but the touch on her back was too controlling to be called 'escorting.' Damian walked casually through the crowd, while Lila followed, her heart pounding frantically.
He realized something: Damian let him go in public.
No rope. No handcuffs. No knife stuck in his back.
If Lila wanted to escape… now was her best chance.
But Damian just turned his head slightly, as if he could read Lila's mind before he did.
“Don’t,” he said softly.
“I haven't even done anything yet.”
“You don't have to do anything to let me know.”
Lila bit her lip.
“I'm not your puppet, Damian.”
“And yet,” he leaned close to her ear, his voice like a cold dagger, “you walked right behind me. Without having to be pulled. Without having to be threatened. Your body followed where I went.”
Lila wanted to deny it, but her own feet proved it.
Damian stopped in front of a small, old stall selling hot tea. The white-bearded old man smiled respectfully, not at Lila, but at Damian.
“Good evening, Mr. V.”
mr. V.
Lila realized that the last name "Valtieri" should not be spoken carelessly in this place.
“Evening,” Damian replied curtly. “I have a question.”
The man tried to keep his smile, but his hands were shaking slightly. He knew who he was dealing with.
“You know this woman?” Damian pulled out a photo of Clara Jayes from his phone, showing it to her.
It was said so quickly that there was barely time for the old man to hide anything from his facial expression.
The man's eyes widened for only half a second but Damian caught it.
“No… I… I don't know...”
Damian placed a hand on the man's shoulder, not roughly, but lightly, like a polite touch. But anyone familiar with the underworld knows: a light touch is a warning sign before violence.
"You know. Who was the last one to leave with him?"
The man swallowed hard. His eyes glanced at Lila as if afraid she was Clara. Lila shook her head quickly, telling him with her eyes: I'm not her.
Finally the man gave in and whispered,
“There was a man who came to pick her up that night… he was wearing a black leather jacket. Lots of tattoos. Blonde hair…”
Damian immediately locked that description in his head and patted the old man's shoulder once more right on the nerve that made the man wince silently, but remained standing.
“Please watch your mouth,” Damian said without any direct threat.
And unspoken threats are the deadliest.
Damian turned around and started walking again.
Lila followed him, but this time she hurried to match his steps not out of fear but to escape the deep guilt of seeing the old man trembling so.
“So your principle is… intimidate everyone in the world to find one person?” Lila asked.
"Pragmatic."
“That's another word for brutal.”
Damian stopped. Suddenly. Lila almost bumped into him.
He stared at Lila for a long time.
“If people didn't kill me trying to cut me off, I wouldn't have to be so brutal.”
Lila fell silent. For a moment, she saw something behind the steel wall: exhaustion. Wounds. Trauma that had been embedded for a long time.
But Damian quickly shut that all down.
“Don’t be so busy judging me,” he said quietly. “You’re alive today because I made a brutal decision.”
The sentence hit home.
Because no matter how much he hated Damian… he couldn't deny that fact.
They passed through a deserted section of the market. The music had died down, except for the sound of footsteps on the cobblestones and dogs barking in the distance.
Suddenly, the sound of a large motorcycle was heard. Two tattooed men in leather jackets turned sharply toward Damian and then toward Lila.
Their gazes shifted. Saliva licked their lips. Judgment.
Damian just stared back. He didn't try to hide Lila. He didn't hold her tightly. He didn't block her.
But there was something rolling behind that calm, cold darkness.
One of the men opened his mouth, about to whistle teasingly.
Damian took out a gun from under his coat and pointed it at the man without even looking up.
It all happened in 0.5 seconds.
The man immediately raised both hands. “Woah, woah, relax, we were just looking.”
“Don’t,” Damian’s voice was almost toneless, “look.”
Damian lowered his gun after the threat was made. The men quickly backed away and left.
Lila was stunned.
“Why?” her voice was almost a whisper. “Why did you do that?”
“I don't let anyone see what's mine.”
Lila was devastated. My words had angered her… and made her heart beat irregularly.
“I'm not yours,” he muttered.
“Not yet,” Damian looked him straight in the eye, “but everyone who touches this case is my responsibility until the truth comes out. Including you. Including your life. Including your body.”
Damian's gaze locked onto hers.
And beneath all the danger, there was something else burning deep in his gray irises. Something beyond psychological claustrophobia.
Obsession.
In the next 20 minutes, they entered a dilapidated residential area. Damian stopped in front of an old apartment. The stairwell lights were dimly lit.
“What are we here for?” asked Lila.
“To find the man in the leather jacket.”
Lila was silent, her breath coming in short gasps.
Damian climbed the wooden stairs quietly. The creaking sound pierced her ears. Lila followed him out of sheer choice and because part of her wanted to know what would happen.
They stopped in front of door number 27.
Damian pulled out the gun again.
It knocks.
One time.
Twice.
No answer.
Damian pushed the door handle.
Unlocked.
When the door opened, a metallic scent hit Lila's nose.
Damian raised the gun higher.
Lila let out a soft scream as soon as she saw the body of the man in the leather jacket on the floor, the blood already dried.
And on the wall, written in large letters using the same blood:
IF YOU WANT HER
YOU ARE TOO LATE.
Damian tensed for the first time since Lila had known him.
Her expression changed. No longer cold. No longer controlled.
There was a burning anger in his eyes that was enough to make the dark world tremble.
Lila took a step back. Damian turned to look at her slowly, intensely, his breathing heavy.
“There is someone who knew you first.”
The blood on the wall reflected off his irises, making him look like a demon who had just discovered an old wound.
“And that man,” Damian muttered, his voice hoarse with pure menace,
“want you to be his before me.”
Lila froze.
Damian came closer, holding her face with both hands not roughly, but too controlling.
“From now on, Lila…”
His lips almost touched Lila's, their breaths mingling.
“…you never leave my sight. Not even for a second.”
That statement is not romantic.
That's a prison.
A prison that feels… intoxicating.