Chapter 3 Gosh! What's Damon really hiding

------------

The gallery was quiet when I stepped in, its stillness broken only by the faint hum of the overhead lights. The scent of varnish and paint clung to the air, a stark reminder of the world Sophia was so desperate to save.

And there she was, hunched over a desk near the counter, her fingers rifling through papers. She looked exhausted, her determination etched into every tense line of her body.

She looked up sharply when the door clicked shut behind me, her eyes narrowing. "Damon," she said, her voice laced with suspicion.

"You seem thrilled to see me," I quipped, a smirk tugging at my lips.

"I thought we'd said all we needed to say." Her arms crossed, but her gaze flickered to the clock on the wall.

I stepped closer, keeping my tone calm. "Just checking in. You've got 24 hours left. I thought you might want to talk."

"Talk?" she repeated, her laugh cold. "What could we possibly have left to discuss? You've already laid out your terms, Damon. I know exactly what you want."

I leaned casually against the counter, letting her anger wash over me. She wasn't wrong. But she wasn't entirely right either.

"And yet, here I am," I said. "Because I don't think you've made up your mind."

She glared at me, her defiance as sharp as ever. But beneath it, I saw something else-a flicker of doubt.

"You're hiding something," she said suddenly, her voice quieter but no less cutting. "What aren't you telling me?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm hiding anything?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Because you wouldn't go to this much trouble for just a gallery. There's more to this, isn't there?"

Clever. Too clever.

"I have my reasons," I said evenly, my face giving nothing away. "Reasons you don't need to worry about. All you need to know is that I can save this gallery, Sophia. But I need your answer."

Her jaw tightened, her fists curling at her sides. "And if I say no?"

"Then I walk away," I said, my tone casual. "And you lose everything."

Her glare could have burned holes through steel, but I saw the hesitation in her eyes. She didn't want to admit it, but she knew she was running out of options.

I straightened, turning toward the door. "I'll be back tomorrow. Think carefully."

But as I reached the exit, something caught my eye-a faint glint beneath one of the gallery's larger display tables.

I stopped, my gaze narrowing.

"What is it now?" Sophia snapped, her irritation evident.

Ignoring her, I moved closer to the table, crouching to get a better look. And there it was: a small metal corner, peeking out from beneath a hidden compartment in the floor.

My pulse quickened.

"Damon?" Her voice was sharper now, wary.

I glanced back at her, my mind racing. "You've been hiding something," I said, standing slowly.

"What are you talking about?" She stepped forward, her expression defensive.

I gestured toward the table. "What's under there, Sophia?"

She frowned, following my gaze. "It's just storage. Old tools and supplies."

I didn't believe her.

Before she could stop me, I knelt down and pushed the table aside. A trapdoor was hidden beneath it, its edges dusty and worn.

"What the hell is this?" I asked, my voice low.

Sophia's eyes widened, genuine confusion mingling with fear. "I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I've never seen that before."

But her reaction wasn't what held my attention. It was the faint symbol etched into the trapdoor-a symbol I recognized all too well.

My blood ran cold.

I stepped back, my heart pounding. "This isn't just about your gallery," I said, more to myself than to her.

"What's going on, Damon?" Sophia demanded, her voice trembling.

I turned to her, my expression grim. "You're in far more danger than you realize."

And with that, the lights in the gallery flickered, then went out entirely, plunging us into darkness.

A single sound broke the silence-the low, deliberate click of a lock engaging from the outside.

We weren't alone.