Chapter 4 Shadows of the Past

Lena sat motionless on the edge of the bed in the guest suite, the folder resting beside her like a live wire. She hadn't touched it since Damien had placed it in her hands hours ago. The surveillance photo of Aiden Voss was still burned into her mind older now, his eyes colder, but unmistakably him.

He was alive. In New York. Looking for her.

Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

She thought she had buried that chapter of her life. Locked it away so deep that even she couldn't reach it anymore. But Damien had unearthed it effortlessly, ripping open the wound with calculated precision and a quiet promise to protect.

But could she trust him?

Or was this just another form of control?

The door opened without a knock, and Lena stiffened but relaxed the moment she saw Damien step inside. He didn't wear a suit now. Just a soft black sweater and tailored slacks, the image of a man trying not to look threatening.

"May I come in?" he asked.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

He entered slowly, carrying two mugs of tea. Setting one down beside her, he sat in the chair across from the bed, watching her like she might shatter.

"I didn't bring him into this to hurt you," he said quietly.

"I know," she replied after a beat. "But you did it without asking me."

"I had to," he said. "Your name is flagged in one of my systems. Background checks are automatic for everyone I work with, especially those I let close."

She looked up at him. "So this was never just about art."

He didn't flinch. "It started that way. It stopped being just that the moment I saw you."

Lena wrapped her arms around herself. "I left that life years ago. Changed my name. Started over. I never thought he'd find me again."

"He hasn't. Not yet."

"But he's close."

"Yes," Damien said. "And I won't let him hurt you. I've already put surveillance on the building, and security will shadow you discreetly."

She blinked at him. "You had all this ready?"

He didn't answer directly. "I never leave anything to chance."

Her chest ached from the truth of it all. Of course Damien Blackwood was the kind of man who planned for threats before they appeared. But still, it was jarring and unsettling to have your deepest secret known, even if it came with a promise of safety.

"What do you want from me now?" she asked.

He set his tea down. "Nothing you're not willing to give."

"I'm not used to people knowing everything about me and still wanting me."

"I don't want the pieces," Damien said. "I want the real you. The one behind the defenses. Behind the fear."

"And if I can't give that to you?"

"Then I wait," he said. "But Lena... you don't have to run anymore."

Her throat tightened.

She stood abruptly, pacing the room like her nerves were trying to claw their way out.

"I don't know how to be close to someone," she said. "I've trained myself not to need anyone. Not to depend on anyone."

"You don't have to depend on me," Damien said. "But I'll still be here."

His voice was low. Steady. Unwavering.

She looked at him, saw the storm behind his composure, the patience that masked hunger, and something inside her cracked. Just a little.

Lena crossed the room slowly, every step fueled by instinct more than logic. She stopped in front of him, searching his eyes for any hint of manipulation. But there was only sincerity. Heat. And restraint.

"I'm not broken," she whispered.

"I know."

"I'm not yours."

"You're not," he agreed. "But I want to be yours, too."

Her breath caught at that.

"I don't want a master," she said.

"I don't want a servant," he replied. "I want something real. Even if it scares the hell out of both of us."

Their eyes held. The air between them pulsed.

She reached for his hand, hesitating then curling her fingers into his. His grip tightened gently, grounding her.

Damien rose from the chair, towering over her, but his touch was still soft.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked.

Lena nodded.

The kiss wasn't urgent like the night before. It was slow, explorative. He cupped her jaw with one hand and slid the other around her waist, pulling her against him. She melted into the warmth of him, letting herself be held, letting herself feel.

Her walls trembled.

His lips moved from her mouth to her cheek, then to the hollow beneath her ear. His breath was warm, his body solid, and her skin lit up with every whisper of contact.

"You feel like fire," he murmured.

She shivered. "You feel like a storm."

"Then let me burn you," he whispered, "and I'll take the wreckage as my own."

She didn't resist when he led her to the bed.

He didn't rush. His hands found the hem of her sweater, lifting it slowly, his lips tracing the newly exposed skin. When she reached for him in return, her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

He undressed her with reverence, each garment folded and set aside, not torn or tossed. It made her feel like she mattered. Like she was worth more than the past she carried.

And when they lay together, skin to skin, heart to heart, it wasn't about domination or roles.

It was a connection.

Damien didn't overwhelm her. He matched her. Moved with her. Met every gasp with a kiss. Every hesitation with a reassuring touch. It was the first time she made love without fear in years.

And when she came undone beneath him, it wasn't just physical it was emotional. She sobbed softly, body trembling from more than just pleasure.

He didn't ask why.

He just held her tighter.

Later, they lay tangled beneath the sheets, his arm draped around her waist, her head on his chest. For once, her body didn't feel like it was guarding something. For once, it felt like home.

"You didn't have to be this gentle," she murmured sleepily.

"I didn't have to fall for you either," he said. "But here we are."

She smiled faintly. "This is moving too fast."

"Maybe," he said. "But sometimes speed is the only way to outrun the past."

She drifted off in his arms, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

It was dark when she woke.

The sheets were still warm beside her, but Damien was gone.

She sat up, pulling the blanket around her. A strange tension filled the room. Something was off.

Then her phone buzzed.

A message.

Unknown Number

He found you, sweetheart. You're mine again.

Lena's blood ran cold.

A second message followed, this time with an image.

It was a photo.

Of her and Damien in bed together, taken through the window.

The timestamp: ten minutes ago.

A third message.

Say goodbye to your protector. He's first.

Her scream caught in her throat.