Bound By Power

29

For a second, Elena thought he might react. That he would say something—anything—to acknowledge the revelation. But instead, he simply exhaled through his nose and stood up from the bed in one fluid motion.

"I have some work. I might be late tonight. Don't wait for me," Damien stated, his tone final.

Elena frowned, watching as he reached for his coat and phone. "But you just came back from the office," she pointed out, concern lacing her voice.

Damien paused for the briefest moment before slipping his arms into his coat. He straightened his sleeves with calculated ease, his movements precise and controlled. "Yeah," he said, his voice carrying the faintest edge of distraction, "but I just remembered something important I left unfinished."

Something about the way he said it made the hairs on Elena’s arms rise. There was an underlying meaning in his words, one she wasn’t sure she wanted to decipher.

She opened her mouth, debating whether to press further, but Damien was already moving toward the bedroom door. His hand gripped the handle, ready to leave, when he suddenly stopped.

Turning back, he studied both women for a second before speaking.

"You both should eat and rest," he said, his voice smoother now, eerily calm. "Tomorrow, you have a prom night to enjoy."

Elena’s stomach twisted. There was something off about the way he said it—something unsettling in the way his gaze lingered on her before he finally turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

The soft click of the latch echoed in the silent room.

Bianca let out a shaky breath, glancing at Elena with wide eyes. "He's… he's going to do something, isn't he?" she whispered.

Elena didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stared at the closed door, a sinking feeling settling in her chest.

She knew Damien too well.

And she knew—whatever he was about to do, it wouldn’t be anything good.
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The clock struck 4 a.m. when the bedroom door creaked open. The dim glow from the bedside lamp cast long shadows as Damien stepped inside, his movements slow and deliberate.

His crisp white shirt, once pristine, was now marred with splashes of deep crimson. Without hesitation, he walked toward the bathroom, the faint scent of metal lingering in the air.

Inside, he stripped off the stained fabric, his muscles tense as he threw the shirt into the dustbin. The sound of rushing water filled the quiet space as he stepped into the shower, letting the scalding heat wash away the remnants of the night. He stood still for a long moment, eyes closed, feeling the water pound against his skin—cleansing, but never quite enough.

By the time he emerged, the clock had inched past 5 a.m. Clad in a loose black tee and trousers, he made his way to the bed, where Elena lay curled beneath the covers, her breathing soft and even in sleep.

Damien didn’t hesitate. Slipping under the blanket, he reached for her, his strong arms pulling her effortlessly into his chest.

As if sensing him, Elena stirred. Her hand moved on its own, threading into his damp hair, her fingers rubbing slow, comforting circles against his scalp.

“You came?” she murmured sleepily, her voice barely above a whisper.

He hummed in response, his grip around her tightening.

“Are you tired? Your hair is still a bit wet,” she mumbled, half-conscious, her warmth seeping into him.

“Shhh… sleep,” Damien murmured against her, his voice lower, softer than usual. “I’m tired.”