Chapter 4

"Where did you get that?" I asked, my heart pounding against my ribs. I sat up, pulling the covers tighter around myself.

"It was on the counter," he said, his eyes fixed on the ticket as if it were a foreign object he couldn't comprehend.

"My mom's not feeling well," I lied, the words coming easily now. "I'm going home to see her."

He looked relieved, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "For how long?"

"A week or two."

He nodded. Of course he wouldn't offer to come with me. He hated my hometown. He hated the memories of his past that lived there. He would never go back.

And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that once I left this apartment, I would never come back either. We would never see each other again.

He finally looked at me, his gaze dropping to my bandaged ankle. "What happened to your foot?"

"The fire at the restaurant. I fell."

"You went back in?" he asked, a frown creasing his brow. "Why would you do that?"

"I was looking for you," I said simply. "I was worried."

His expression froze. He stared at me, and for a second, I saw the boy on the rooftop again, the one who had looked at me with such raw, desperate need.

"You're always doing that," he whispered. "Always running into fires for me."

I gave a small, bitter laugh. "Not anymore, Damien."

He had Carson to protect him now. She was his shield, his partner. I was just a relic from a life he had outgrown. I didn't say it out loud. What was the point?

"You're right," I said instead, my voice hollow. "We both have our own paths to walk now."

He spent the morning helping me move the last of his things to the new penthouse. I packed my two suitcases separately, setting them by the door.

"Just getting these ready for my trip," I said when he looked at them.

He didn't question it.

Soon, our apartment was empty. The rooms echoed with our footsteps. The ghosts of the last ten years seemed to linger in the dust motes dancing in the sunlight. This place had been our sanctuary, the first nice home we ever shared. Now it was just a shell.

I was cleaning out the last of the kitchen cupboards, throwing away old spices and forgotten cans, when I went to take the trash out.

The hallway was quiet. As I reached the garbage chute, a hand clamped over my mouth from behind. Another arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me off my feet.

I struggled, but the grip was like iron. I was dragged into the stairwell, the heavy fire door slamming shut behind us.

The last thing I saw before a sharp blow to the back of my head sent me into darkness was a face that was a cruel, twisted version of Damien's.

I woke up on a cold, damp floor. My hands and feet were tied with zip ties that cut into my skin. The air smelled of mildew and stale beer. I was in some kind of abandoned warehouse.

A man stepped out of the shadows. He had Damien's dark hair and sharp jawline, but his eyes were filled with a sneering, resentful light.

"Look what we have here," he said, circling me like a predator. "Damien's little charity case."

He crouched down in front of me. "You must be Blanche. I'm Demetrius. Damien's cousin. The one he likes to pretend doesn't exist."

"He's not like you," I spat, my voice raw.

"Oh, but he is," Demetrius sneered. "He's just better at hiding it." He lashed out, the back of his hand catching my cheek. The blow sent a starburst of pain through my head. My lip split, and I tasted blood.

"Don't you ever defend him to me," he snarled.

He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. "Now, you're going to call my dear cousin. You're going to tell him I have you. You're going to tell him that if he wants you back in one piece, he's going to transfer half of his company shares to me."

I stared at him, my heart hammering. I wouldn't do it. I would never be a weapon used against Damien.

I shook my head.

Demetrius's face twisted in a rictus of rage. He grabbed my phone from my pocket and dialed Damien's number. He put it on speaker.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

Voicemail.

"He's not answering," Demetrius said, his voice dangerously low. He dialed again.

Again, no answer.

"See?" he taunted, his face close to mine. "He doesn't care. He's probably off with his new, rich girlfriend. He's already forgotten about you."

The words were poison, but I refused to let them work. "He's busy. His work is important."

Demetrius laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "You're still defending him? You stupid bitch." He nodded to two thugs who had been lurking in the shadows. "Teach her a lesson."

They dragged me to my feet. A fist slammed into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. Another blow landed on my ribs. Pain exploded through my body. They dropped me to the floor, and a boot connected with my side.

Demetrius picked up my phone again. "One last try."

He held the phone to my ear as it rang. I prayed Damien wouldn't answer. I prayed he was safe, happy, oblivious.

But this time, just as it was about to go to voicemail, the call connected.