Kevins pov
She looked different tonight.
Not in the way she dressed. Not in her hair or her walk.
But in her eyes.
Like something inside her had turned inward. Like she was guarding a truth even she hadn't accepted yet.
I saw her standing beside him—Damon—and I swear the air shifted. Her shoulders were tense, her voice too low. And he…
He stood too close.
Too calm.
Too sure.
Like he already owned her.
I wasn't supposed to be there. I wasn't supposed to see.
But I did.
And even if I didn't hear their words, I heard enough in the silence that followed. The kind of silence that feels final. Heavy. Like a door being closed from the inside.
When she turned and saw me, her face faltered. That guilt — I caught it in her eyes before she masked it with practiced calm.
"Kevin," she said. "Can we talk?"
We ended up in the park. On the swings. Like we were kids again. But everything felt wrong.
Off-balance.
She told me about the job.
Leaving the café.
Moving into the mansion.
Taking Anaya with her.
All under the roof of that man.
Damon.
I tried to stay calm. I really did. But my stomach twisted with every word.
Because none of this made sense. Because that man — he hadn't done anything openly wrong, but something about him…
Something was off.
It wasn't in what he did.
It was in what he didn't do.
In how quiet his presence was.
In how Alina had started folding into his silence.
I said the wrong things. I know I did.
But how could I just let her go?
I asked questions I had no answers for. Accused a man I couldn't prove was dangerous.
Because I just knew.
I saw how he looked at her.
And it wasn't love.
It was possession.
And worse — Alina didn't see it. Or she didn't want to.
She defended him. Chose him.
Not with affection.
But with trust.
And it broke something in me.
Because I was too late.
Because I'd failed to protect her again.
When I said that last line—about her needing to be saved, not caring who did it—I regretted it the moment it left my mouth.
But it was too late.
Her eyes dimmed. Her walls came up.
And then she walked away.
She didn't look back.
And I didn't follow.
Because I didn't know what scared me more—
Losing her...
Or being right.
I loved her before I even knew what love was.
Our mothers were best friends.
Alina and I were just kids—mud on our hands, secrets in our pockets.
But she was always the quiet one.
Soft-spoken.
A little hard to reach.
But when she smiled... it was like the whole day tilted into something brighter.
Then she left. Italy.
And the silence after she was gone—it wasn't something I noticed at first. I was just a boy.
But when she came back... she was a girl made of grief, trying hard to hold herself together.
Her parents were gone.
And something inside her had cracked.
She cried when no one was around.
I knew because I saw her.
Curled up in corners.
Wiping her face before anyone could ask.
But I never asked.
I just... sat beside her.
I didn't know what to say. Still don't.
But sometimes, being there was enough.
That's when it started, I think.
This quiet, aching thing in my chest.
The need to make her smile again—not the one she wore for Anaya or her grandmother.
But the real one. The old one.
The one that lit up the world.
She told me once, late at night, when she thought I was half-asleep—
"I want to study biomedical science. In the States. I want to help people who don't get second chances."
That was her dream.
And suddenly, it became mine too.
As if fate was listening, my parents got transferred to the U.S. not long after. I was fifteen.
She stayed behind, and we promised we'd keep in touch.
We did.
Letters.
Calls.
Late-night texts with half-finished thoughts.
When it came time for college, I was the one who submitted her application.
I did mine too—just to be near her.
She always treated me like a best friend.
And I was.
But sometimes... sometimes I saw that look in her eyes.
The one that lingered a little too long.
The one that almost asked, What if?
I wanted to tell her.
So many times, I tried.
But the fear of losing what we already had—it strangled the words in my throat every time.
So I waited.
Waited for the right time.
Waited for the moment when it would matter most.
But now I see it—
That look she gives him.
Damon.
And my heart twists because it's the look I've dreamed of for years.
The look she never gave me.
I regret it.
I regret not speaking when I should've screamed.
But I won't let that regret become a grave for her.
Because I know what I see in him.
The shadows. The control.
The kind of man who doesn't fall in love—he possesses.
She doesn't see it yet.
But I will find out who Damon really is.
And when I do, I'll show her.
With proof.
With truth.
Even if she never loves me back.
Even if I lose her forever.
Because this isn't about what I feel anymore.
It's about saving her before it's too late.
And I swear on every unspoken word I ever swallowed—
I won't let her drown in him.
Alinas pov
Alina ran into the house, her eyes brimming with tears—though she couldn't tell if they were from anger or hurt.
The moment she opened the door, she saw Anaya curled up on the couch.
Anaya's eyes widened in shock. Alina, in tears, was a rare sight. Her sister was the one who always held it together.
Without a second thought, Anaya rushed toward her, wrapping her arms around her tightly.
"What happened, sis? Why are you crying?"
Alina clutched her back, burying her face into her shoulder. Her voice came out in a broken whisper.
"Kevin…" she hiccuped, "he hurt me... with his words, An. He doesn't understand me… he's not even trying."
Anaya gently stroked her hair. "I'm here, okay? You don't have to say anything more right now."
And for a long moment, they just stood there—one sister broken, the other trying to hold the pieces together.
Anaya slowly guided Alina to the couch, as if afraid she might shatter if handled too fast. Alina sank into the cushions, her shoulders trembling. Anaya stayed beside her, waiting—not pushing, just present.
After a long silence, Alina finally spoke.
"He said I need saving, An… like I don't know what I'm doing… like I'm blind."
Anaya frowned. "Kevin said that?"
Alina nodded, wiping her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. "He looked at me like I was throwing myself into a fire and didn't care about the burn."
Anaya hesitated. "And are you?"
Alina turned sharply, her voice suddenly sharper than she intended. "You think that too?"
"No," Anaya said quickly, reaching for her hand. "No, Lina. I'm just asking because… I care."
A silence settled between them—heavier than before, but somehow more honest.
Alina leaned her head on Anaya's shoulder, her voice barely a breath.
"I miss when life was simpler."
"I know," Anaya whispered. "But even in the mess, I'll be right here. No matter what you choose."
And in that moment, despite the ache still blooming in her chest, Alina felt something she hadn't in a long time—safety.
She wiped her tears and let out a soft laugh.
"What?" Anaya asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Since when did my little witch practice comfort like this?"
"Seriously, Alina—not now," Anaya rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips.
They both laughed quietly, a moment of light in the darkness.
Then Anaya asked with a curious glint in her eye, "So... may I know who that handsome man from the hospital was?"
Alina's heart skipped. Damon.
"Hm… it's Damon," she admitted softly, then hesitated.
"And?"
Alina looked away. "I don't know… I just feel—" she paused, searching for words, "—different around him. Not like how I feel with Kevin or anyone else."
Anaya didn't interrupt. She just listened.
"He notices things," Alina continued slowly. "When I'm uncomfortable. When I'm cold. When I'm quiet. He doesn't ask... he just acts. No one's ever done that for me before."
She swallowed hard, twisting the hem of her sweater between her fingers.
"I know it sounds silly. But when he looks at me, it's like I exist in a way I haven't in years. Like I'm not broken. Like I'm… seen."
Anaya's expression softened. "Do you like him?"
"NO!" Alina shouted, too quickly.
Anaya smiled knowingly. "Are you sure, Alina?"
Alina flushed. "I don't know what this is. But I like the way he makes me feel. Cared for. Safe—even when he barely speaks. And maybe that's why I'm scared, An. Because it feels too easy."
Anaya tilted her head. "Maybe it's not about easy. Maybe it's about time someone made you feel worth that effort."
Alina exhaled. "There's something else…"
She sat up straighter and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"I… I took the job."
"What job?"
"At the mansion. Atlanta's. To babysit her son. It's full-time. She offered… and she said I could bring you with me. That we'd be safe. That we'd be taken care of."
Anaya blinked. "You're moving?"
Alina nodded. "No. We're moving. Tomorrow."
A beat of stunned silence passed before Anaya spoke. "And… will it be okay? Do you trust him enough to live there?"
Alina looked down at her hands, unsure how to answer.
"I want to. I think I do."
She didn't say it aloud—but a part of her had already started folding itself into the idea of Damon. Into the warmth he offered without needing words. Into the calm that seemed to settle around him like a shadow.
"I just… I want a fresh start, An. For both of us. A place where we don't have to keep patching our lives with worry. Maybe… this is it."
Anaya studied her, then gave a small, quiet nod.
"Then I'm with you. Wherever you go."
Alina's throat tightened—but this time, it wasn't pain.
It was something gentler.
Something that felt dangerously close to hope.
The apartment buzzed with quiet movement. Sunlight spilled through the windows, casting golden stripes across the floor. Their bags stood ready by the door—neatly packed, labeled, sealed with hesitation and hope.
Alina moved around the small kitchen, hands busy with routine, but her mind far away—on the man who had become more than a stranger and not yet something she could define.
Anaya, meanwhile, was struggling to zip her overnight bag, muttering under her breath.
"Do you need help?" Alina asked.
"No. I'm fighting with a pair of jeans that apparently decided I'm not worthy," Anaya grumbled, yanking the zipper with both hands.
Alina let out a small laugh.
Then—the doorbell rang.
Both sisters froze for a second, eyes meeting.
"I'll get it," Anaya offered quickly, brushing invisible dust off her T-shirt.
She padded to the door barefoot, her heart unexpectedly thudding. When she opened it, the breath she hadn't known she was holding caught in her throat.
He was tall. Dark. Impossibly composed.
And somehow—familiar.
Damon stood there, dressed in a charcoal-black shirt and tailored coat, as if the morning itself bowed slightly in his presence. His gaze flicked over her shoulder briefly, then returned to Anaya.
Her voice broke the silence first.
"So… you're Damon."
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. Not quite a smile—something quieter. Controlled.
"And you must be Anaya."
She stepped aside. "Come in."
Damon entered the apartment with slow, silent steps, like he belonged to places people were taught not to enter without permission.
From the kitchen doorway, Alina looked up—and her breath hitched. He was here. He came himself.
She wasn't sure what unsettled her more—that he had come… or that she was glad he did.
Damon's eyes met hers across the room.
There was no need for words. The look was enough.
A question. A promise. A claim.
Alina's throat tightened. She couldn't explain what that gaze did to her—how it pulled her in like a tide she didn't want to fight anymore.
"I hope I'm not too early," Damon said, his voice smooth, threaded with restraint.
"No," Alina replied, almost too softly. "We're ready."
Anaya, standing to the side, watched the subtle energy between them. She saw the flicker in her sister's eyes—the way Damon looked at Alina as if she were his gravity. There was something possessive in it. Something dangerous. But also something protective.
"You could've sent someone," Anaya said, studying him.
"I don't send people to collect what matters to me," Damon answered without looking away from Alina.
Anaya blinked, caught off guard by the weight of that sentence.
Alina lowered her gaze, heart pounding so loud she wondered if they could hear it.
"I'll just… grab the last bag," Anaya mumbled, retreating down the hall.
Left alone, Damon took a step closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough for her to feel the shift in the air.
"So… hmm… had breakfast?"
She cringed at her question. Seriously, bruh? Out of all questions—this one? she thought.
"No, I don't eat in the morning. And you look beautiful in this outfit," he said, moving closer.
She looked up and saw his face—it was far more than handsome, and she had no words to describe it. "Hmm… yeah," she murmured.
There was no space between them now. Alina's back hit the counter. Damon placed both hands on either side, caging her in.
"So, you had your breakfast?" he asked, voice low.
He was too close. Alina felt hot. Anxiety struck as flashes of the night they shared flooded her mind.
"No… hmm… yeah, I had," she stammered.
As soon as the words left her lips, her stomach made a thunderous sound.
Damon smiled.
Alina was mortified.
"You are very poor at lying, love," he whispered.
Then—they heard a loud cough.
Anaya stood near the hallway, her expression wide-eyed and amused.
Alina wished the ground would just open and swallow her whole.
Her stomach had really picked the worst time to rebel.
Damon's smirk deepened—the kind that danced too close to dangerous.
"You were saying?" he murmured, his voice a slow drag across her skin.
She glanced away, cheeks on fire. "That was… not planned."
"I'd hope not," he said, clearly enjoying himself.
Then—another loud, purposeful cough.
They both turned their heads to see Anaya standing with arms crossed, eyebrows raised like a proud, nosy aunt.
"Don't mind me," she said innocently, rocking on her heels. "Just enjoying the morning show."
Alina groaned, pushing gently at Damon's chest. "Move."
Damon didn't budge. But his hands slowly lowered, and he stepped back—not because she told him to, but because he allowed it.
Anaya walked in with the last duffel bag, dropping it dramatically near the door. "Okay, all packed. I hope your palace has coffee."
Damon glanced at her with mild amusement. "There's a full kitchen. And staff. You'll be taken care of."
"Oh, staff," Anaya repeated with a grin. "We're really moving up in the world, huh, Lina?"
Alina gave her a warning look that said please don't make this more awkward, but Anaya was already humming as she headed toward her shoes.
"I'll get the bags," Damon offered, already moving toward them.
Alina caught herself watching him—not just how easily he lifted them with one hand, but how naturally he fit into her world, like he belonged there all along.
He turned back once more, holding the door open.
"You ready?"
Alina glanced around the apartment—at the cracked corner wall, the coffee-stained rug, the small memories etched into every nook.
Then she looked at Anaya, who winked and said, "Adventure time?"
She nodded. "Yeah… I'm ready."
And as Damon closed the door behind them, Alina had no idea that she wasn't just walking into a new home.
She was stepping straight into his world.
Into a web spun from desire, danger—and obsession.
The moment they stepped inside, laughter echoed from the grand staircase.
Alina barely had time to look around before a small blur came rushing toward her.
"Linaaa!" Noah's voice rang with pure excitement.
She bent down just in time to catch him. The little boy flung his arms around her neck, planting a loud kiss on her cheek.
"I missed you!" he grinned, pulling back slightly but still clinging to her.
Alina laughed, her heart swelling. "I missed you too, my little storm."
Behind them, Anaya folded her arms, one brow lifting. "Ugh. I hate this kid."
Damon, standing beside her, added dryly, "Agreed."
They exchanged a look—mutual annoyance in perfect sync.
Noah turned, smirking at them like a tiny conqueror. "You both are just jealous."
"Jealous?" Anaya stepped forward, hand on hip. "Of what? Your sticky hair and tiny socks?"
"I'm her favorite," Noah said smugly, burying his face in Alina's shoulder. "And you know it."
Anaya gasped dramatically. "Excuse me?!"
Damon, watching this unfold with faint amusement, leaned against the polished doorway. "I believe war has been declared."
"Oh, it's on," Anaya said, crouching to Noah's eye level. "One-on-one. Let's settle this, shortcake. Who gets more Alina attention?"
Noah stood tall on his little feet. "Bring it, big girl."
Alina couldn't stop laughing. She stood between them, arms raised like a referee. "Okay, okay! There's enough of me to go around."
"No," Noah huffed, holding her hand. "She's mine."
"She's my sister," Anaya countered, linking arms with Alina's other side. "Blood wins."
Alina giggled, looking between them. "You both are unbelievable."
"You love it," Anaya teased, ruffling her hair.
"I really do," Alina admitted, beaming. "I've never felt this light in so long."
From across the room, Damon watched it all unfold.
Her smile. Her laugh. The easy joy in her eyes.
He didn't speak, didn't interrupt. Just stood still—watching her glow in the warmth of simple happiness, her laugh bouncing off marble walls like music.
And for a moment, he didn't feel like the monster in the shadows.
He just felt like the man who wanted to be the reason she always smiled like that.
Damon leaned against the polished marble pillar, half-shadowed by the ornate archway. He wasn't listening—he was watching.
Alina's head was thrown back in laughter, her hair falling around her face like a curtain of silk. Noah was clinging to her like a little monkey, demanding a piggyback ride, while Anaya grumbled that she was being ignored and playfully pulled Alina's other arm.
Their voices echoed in the high-ceilinged foyer like something out of a memory t