Chapter 3 BLOOD AND BROKEN GLASS

The limo's silence was suffocating, thick with the stench of smoke and Damien's fury. Lily pressed herself against the cold leather door, putting as much space as possible between them. The glow of his phone screen illuminated the harsh lines of his profile, the furious tightening of his jaw.

"Explain," he repeated, the word a shard of ice.

Lily's voice felt shredded. "She cornered me! Evelyn. In the restroom. She insulted my mother... called me a whore... said you'd discard me like trash." She swallowed, forcing the words past her terror. "I pushed her away. That's all. I didn't hurt her. She staged it!"

Damien's eyes, glacial and unyielding, locked onto hers. "And the fire?"

"I don't know! How could I possibly know?" The panic surged again. "You saw the flames! It started in the kitchen!"

He didn't blink. "Convenient timing. Immediately after you caused a scene guaranteed to make headlines." He tapped his phone screen, pulling up the damning photo: Lily, wild-eyed and disheveled, framed in the restroom doorway like a guilty spectre, Evelyn's 'victimhood' captured perfectly. Below it, the headline screamed:

'THORNE'S TEMPER TANTRUM? Mystery Fiancée Sparks Scandal & Inferno.'

"This," he hissed, shoving the phone towards her, "is a disaster. Vance Biotech's stock is already climbing on the rumor of my 'instability' returning. Harrison Vance will feast on this." He leaned forward, invading her space. The scent of smoke on his tuxedo mixed with his frosty sandalwood, creating a nauseating blend. "Did you do it? Did you set that fire to distract from your little meltdown?"

The accusation stole her breath. "No! God, no! Why would I"

"Because you're drowning," he cut her off, his voice dangerously low. "Because this gilded cage terrifies you. Because you saw a chance to burn it down and run." His gaze raked over her soot-stained gown, her trembling hands. "Tell me I'm wrong."

The limo pulled into the Thorne Tower's underground garage. The sudden stillness was deafening. Lily met his furious gaze, defiance flaring through the terror. "You are wrong. About the fire. About me. I signed your contract. I played your game. I endured Evelyn's poison. I'm here because I need that money for my mother. Burning it all down helps no one." Her voice broke. "Least of all me."

For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes doubt? Calculation? It vanished as the door opened.

"Inside," he ordered, stepping out. "Now."

The elevator ride was a silent, pressurized hell. Damien didn't touch her, but his presence was a physical weight. Mrs. Finch materialized in the penthouse foyer, her disapproval radiating like cold waves.

"Miss Chen requires... cleaning," Damien stated, stripping off his smoke laden jacket and tossing it carelessly onto a chrome console. "Confine her to her suite. Her phone, tablet, any external communication devices collect them. Now."

"You're taking my phone?" Lily gasped. "My mother"

"Will be informed you are unwell and resting," Damien said flatly, not looking at her. "Mrs. Finch will handle it. You are a liability. Until I contain this, you speak to no one. You see no one. Is that clear?"

It was a cage within a cage. Lily stared at him, betrayal a bitter flood. He was cutting her off. From her mother. From the world. From any scrap of control.

"Crystal," she whispered, the word jagged.

Mrs. Finch escorted her, a silent jailer. In her suite, Lily ripped off the ruined mercury gown, letting it pool like toxic sludge on the pristine floor. She scrubbed the smoke smell and Evelyn's cloying perfume from her skin until it was raw. Wrapped in a simple robe, she sat on the edge of the enormous bed, staring at the locked door. Fear curdled into cold, hard anger. He doesn't trust me. He never did. I'm just a prop he's locked away because I got dented.

Downstairs, Damien paced his obsidian-walled study. Security feeds from the gala played on a massive screen chaotic, useless. He'd already deployed his crisis team: lawyers drafting denials, PR spinners crafting narratives, investigators combing the fire scene. But the digital trail was his domain.

He pulled up encrypted logs. Access codes. Network traffic. His fingers flew over a sleek keyboard, slicing through firewalls. He focused on the moments before the fire: the restroom altercation, the kitchen entrance.

A ghost in the machine. A subtle, sophisticated hack piggybacking on the gala's Wi-Fi network. It originated inside the building. Not Lily's phone-hers showed only frantic internet searches for 'etiquette disasters' and 'Chopin's saddest pieces' before the gala. Amateur, harmless. This hack was professional. It briefly overrode the kitchen's suppression system control panel... just before the fire ignited. Arson. Deliberate.

His blood ran cold. Liam. Only his COO had the access, the skill, the motive. Harrison Vance had been circling Thorne Industries for months, hungry for Damien's revolutionary bio-synthetic patents. Liam, ambitious and perpetually feeling undervalued... How much had Vance promised him?

A knock interrupted his dark thoughts. Mrs. Finch entered, holding a small, glittering object on a velvet tray. A delicate silver pendant shaped like a music note, smudged with soot.

"This was found in Miss Chen's discarded gown pocket, sir."

Damien froze. He recognized it. Evelyn Sinclair had worn it constantly during their brief, disastrous engagement. A 'sentimental' piece, she'd called it. A lie, like everything else about her.

Why was it in Lily's pocket?

Evelyn's parting shot echoed: "She threatened me! Over Damien!" Had Evelyn planted it? A final twist of the knife, framing Lily for theft on top of assault and arson? His mind raced. Lily, cornered and desperate, shoving Evelyn away... Evelyn dropping the pendant into Lily's pocket in the confusion? It was exactly her brand of venomous theatrics.

He picked up the pendant. It felt cold, treacherous. Lily wasn't the arsonist. But she'd walked right into Evelyn and Liam's trap, giving them the perfect weapon. His grip tightened on the cold metal. Foolish, brave, infuriating Lily.

Hours bled into the suffocating silence of Lily's suite. No phone. No TV. Only the oppressive hum of the penthouse and the terrifying echo of Damien's accusations. She paced, restless energy warring with bone deep exhaustion.

A soft click at her door made her freeze. Not Mrs. Finch's decisive knock. This was furtive. The handle turned slowly.

Liam Walsh slipped inside, closing the door silently behind him. He looked uncharacteristically tense, his charming smile absent.

"Lily?" he whispered urgently. "You okay?"

Relief warred with suspicion. "What are you doing here? Damien locked me in."

"Mrs. Finch is... distracted," Liam said, moving closer. His eyes held genuine concern. "I saw the news. Hell of a night. Evelyn's a viper." He shook his head. "Damien's in full lockdown mode. He's furious. Blaming you."

The confirmation stung. "I didn't set that fire, Liam."

"I believe you," he said quickly. Too quickly? "But Damien... when he gets like this, tunnel vision. He needs a culprit. And you're convenient." He glanced towards the door, lowering his voice further. "Look, it's getting dangerous. Vance is exploiting this, whispering about Damien's past breakdowns. The board's getting nervous. And Damien... he's not stable, Lily. Not when he feels cornered."

Lily's blood chilled. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you need to get out. Now. Before he does something... drastic." Liam's eyes were wide, earnest. "I can help. I have a car downstairs. I can get you somewhere safe. Your mother too. Silverthorne has a sister facility upstate, discreet, secure. Damien can't touch you there."

It was a lifeline. Escape. Safety for her mother. Away from Damien's fury and Evelyn's poison. The temptation was dizzying. But something felt... off. Liam's urgency. The timing. *Damien's not stable.* Was he sowing fear?

"Why?" Lily asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Why risk helping me?"

Liam's expression softened with a practiced sadness. "Because I've seen what Damien's darkness can do. And you don't deserve to be his collateral damage. Because..." He hesitated, then met her eyes with startling intensity. "Because I care."

The words hung, heavy and manipulative. Lily remembered Damien's warning: 'This world eats naiveté alive.' Was Liam kindness or poison?

Before she could decide, Liam's head snapped towards the door. "Footsteps! Finch!" He grabbed her arm, his grip surprisingly strong. "No time! Come on!"

Panic overrode reason. The thought of Damien's cold fury, of being trapped, propelled her. She let Liam pull her towards the suite's private balcony, hidden from the main penthouse by sheer curtains.

"Fire escape access here," Liam hissed, sliding open the glass door. A chilling gust of wind whipped in. "Go down three flights. Black sedan, idling in the alley. Go!" He practically shoved her onto the small, wind lashed balcony.

Lily stumbled out. The city lights sprawled dizzyingly below. Three flights? The metal rungs looked slick, treacherous. She turned back. "Liam, I"

He was gone. The balcony door slid shut. Locked.

The sound was final. A trap snapping shut.

"Liam?" Lily rattled the handle. Locked solid. She was trapped on the narrow balcony, the wind clawing at her robe. *No. No, no, no!*

Headlights cut through the alley far below. Not a sedan. Two dark SUVs, engines growling. Men emerged-shadows in bulky jackets, faces obscured. They looked up. Directly at her.

Pure, primal terror seized Lily. This wasn't rescue. This was a setup. Liam hadn't cared. He'd delivered her.

A grappling hook, silent and deadly, shot up from below, embedding itself with a metallic thunk in the balcony railing beside her. Lily screamed, scrambling back against the locked glass door.

The Devil's Damien heard the scream. A raw, terrified sound that cut through the penthouse silence like shattered glass. It came from Lily's wing.

He was moving before conscious thought, a cold, lethal purpose flooding his veins. He burst into the hallway just as Mrs. Finch emerged from her quarters, her face pale.

"Sir! Miss Chen's balcony"

Damien didn't stop. He slammed open Lily's suite door. Empty. The balcony door was shut. Through the glass, he saw her: pressed against it, robe whipping in the wind, her face a mask of terror. Below her, two figures in black tactical gear were scaling the building with terrifying speed, using the grappling line anchored to his balcony.

Rage, white-hot and absolute, consumed him. Not just anger. Possession. They were taking what was his.

He didn't hesitate. He yanked open a concealed panel in the wall beside Lily's door. Inside lay a sleek, matte black handgun and extra magazines. He loaded it with movements honed by brutal necessity, a skill buried deep beneath the billionaire's veneer.

"Call security. Lockdown the building. Now!" he snarled at Mrs. Finch, his voice unrecognizable, stripped of all ice, burning with deadly fire.

He threw open the balcony door. Wind and Lily's choked sob hit him. The first climber was almost level with the railing.

"Get inside!" Damien barked at Lily, shoving her roughly back through the doorway. He stepped onto the balcony, the gun held low and ready.

The climber saw him. Saw the gun. He fumbled for a weapon at his hip.

Damien fired.

Not a warning shot. A single, devastatingly precise round.

CRACK!

The sound echoed against the glass towers. The climber jerked, a dark bloom erupting on his shoulder. He screamed, losing his grip, plummeting backwards. His scream cut off abruptly with a sickening thud far below.

The second climber froze, halfway up. Damien sighted him. "Next one's between the eyes," his voice carried on the wind, flat, absolute. "Drop."

The man hesitated, then let go. He rappelled down rapidly, vanishing into the alley shadows. The SUVs screeched away.

Silence crashed back, broken only by Lily's ragged sobs from inside and the distant wail of approaching sirens. Damien stood on the balcony, the gun still raised, smoke curling from the barrel, the wind tearing at his untucked shirt. The city lights reflected in his ice-gray eyes, now blazing with an inferno no one had ever seen. The controlled billionaire was gone. In his place stood something primal, protective, and terrifyingly raw. He lowered the gun slowly, his knuckles white.

He turned. Lily was huddled on the floor just inside the doorway, shaking violently, her eyes wide with shock not just at the violence, but at the man who had wielded it. The man who had just killed for her.

Damien stepped inside, the cold night air clinging to him. He looked down at her, at the terror in her eyes. The fury still burned in him, but beneath it, something else flickered-a vulnerability, a stark, unvarnished fear that had nothing to do with stock prices or scandals. Fear for her.

He holstered the gun. His hand, when he reached towards her, wasn't entirely steady.

"Lily," he said, his voice rough, stripped bare. "Are you hurt?"

It wasn't the demand of a contract holder. It was the raw question of a man staring into an abyss he hadn't known existed until she'd almost fallen into it. The gilded cage lay in ruins around them, and in the wreckage, Lily saw not the Ice Billionaire, but Damien Thorne flawed, furious, and frighteningly real. And he was looking at her as if she were the only thing left standing in a world suddenly turned to ash.