Chapter 5 - The Hidden Camera
I scrambled off the bed the second the bathroom door clicked shut, my bare feet hitting the hardwood floor in a silent rush.
I didn't plan on staying here. I didn't care how many guards were stationed outside the elevator or how thick the iron gates were. Eight months of absolute independence had taught me how to disappear once, and I could do it again.
My eyes scanned the massive bedroom. No exterior windows that opened—they were reinforced ballistic glass. The only exit was the private elevator lobby or the connecting hallway leading to the service stairs.
I crept toward the heavy oak door of the bedroom, my hand reaching for the brass handle.
Before my fingers touched the metal, a sharp, metallic click echoed from the corner of the ceiling.
I froze, looking up.
A small, high-definition dome security camera, mounted discreetly in the crown molding, slowly swiveled its lens downward until its red indicator light blinked directly at me.
He’s watching, the realization hit me like a splash of ice water.
I snatched my hand back from the door as the sound of running water in the bathroom abruptly stopped.
Footsteps approached the inner door.
I whirled around, my heart hammering against my ribs, just as Damen stepped back into the bedroom. He had removed his suit jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt to reveal the strong, scarred forearms that had built his empire from blood and concrete.
He stopped when he saw me standing by the door, my chest heaving, my eyes darting toward the security lens above.
A slow, knowing smile touched the corner of his mouth—not a warm smile, but the expression of a hunter who had just watched his prey test the boundaries of the cage and find them unbreakable.
"Don't bother looking for blind spots, Serena," Damen said, his voice smooth and deliberate as he took a step toward me. "Every square inch of this estate was wired before you were even born."
"You're sick," I whispered, backing away until the back of my thighs hit the edge of the dresser. "You're a paranoid, controlling monster."
"I'm a man who lost his world once," Damen replied, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating off his chest, until the scent of his familiar cologne—woodsmoke and cedar—wrapped around me like a trap. "I won't make the mistake of looking away twice."
He reached out, his long fingers gently cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lower lip with a tenderness that clashed violently with the dangerous gleam in his winter-gray eyes.
"Doctor’s on his way," Damen murmured, his face drawing dangerously close to mine. "And after he clears you, we're going to have a very long conversation about why you tried to hide my child from me."
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Before I could pull away, before I could strike his chest or scream, his lips brushed softly against mine—a terrifyingly familiar warmth that instantly made my knees weak, a reminder of the prison I had spent eight months trying to escape, and the man I had never truly managed to forget.
Suddenly, a loud, violent crash echoed from the downstairs security foyer through the internal intercom system, followed by the sharp, undeniable crack of a silenced gunshot.
