Chapter 9
689words
The security system rivaled a military base. The heavy alloy door sealed shut behind us, cutting off the outside world. This wasn't an office—it was his fortress, his absolute domain.
He finally released my arm.
I staggered against the cold wall, gasping for breath. The delayed shock of cheating death crashed over me like a tidal wave. My legs trembled so badly I could barely stand.
He stood in the center of the room, back to me, chest still heaving. No lights were on—just New York's glittering skyline through the windows, outlining his silhouette like an angry shadow against a sea of stars.
Neither of us spoke.
The air crackled with tension.
Finally, he turned around.
His face was stained with dust and blood, his eyes burning like twin flames in the darkness. All pretense, all coldness, all restraint had been stripped away in that life-or-death moment.
Standing before me was the real Damian Blackwood. An enraged, ferocious beast.
"Thorne's doing," he stated, his voice deep and hoarse, like steel fresh from the forge.
I nodded, my throat too dry for words.
"He wants you dead," he advanced toward me, each step crushing my heart. "Because you—an intern I've never seen before—suddenly appeared in my office. Because you're too smart, too conspicuous. He hates anything beyond his control."
He stopped inches from me, looming over me.
"Now," he leaned forward, arms braced against the wall on either side, caging me in his shadow, "it's your turn."
"Tell me who you are," his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Why are you getting close to me? What do you want? Cut the bullshit. I want the truth."
I stared into his eyes, mere inches from mine. In them I saw anger, intensity, and something complex I couldn't name.
In that moment, I knew all pretenses were meaningless. We were both backed against a cliff with nowhere to go.
"My real name," I finally said, my voice eerily calm, "is Elena Vantro. My father was Roderick Vantro. He died in that 'accidental' car crash ten years ago."
His pupils contracted sharply. Vantro. The name unlocked something dark in his memory.
"I staged the elevator 'malfunction,'" I laid my cards on the table, throwing all my weapons at his feet. "I infiltrated your system, investigated everything about you. My target, like yours, is Marcus Thorne. I want him to pay blood for blood."
He stared at me, searching for truth in my words.
"Do you have a death wish?" he narrowed his eyes dangerously.
"Better than being someone's pet," I shot back. "You've been wagging your tail at him for ten years. What's it gotten you? A master who'll put you down whenever it suits him?"
"You think you can bring him down alone?" he mocked, ignoring my jab. "You're out of your depth."
"I'm not alone," I retorted, baring my teeth. "I planned to make you my weapon. Thorne's most trusted dog turning on its master—what could be more poetic?"
"You know nothing," he said suddenly, anger draining from his voice, leaving only exhaustion and sorrow.
He straightened, walked to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of whiskey. He offered one. I didn't take it.
He downed his in one gulp, then walked to the massive window, staring out at the glittering city.
"You think your father died from simple business rivalry?" he asked, his voice distant. "You're wrong."
"He wasn't the target. He was collateral damage."
"He was silenced because he tried to save my father."
My mind went completely blank.
"What?"
"Ten years ago, Thorne wanted my father's company. But my father had leverage—something that could destroy Thorne. Your father learned about the hit and warned mine to run. But he couldn't save himself."
He turned to face me, his eyes stormy with emotions I couldn't read.
"My father died later in a yacht explosion. But he left me a recording—his final conversation with your father."
"Elena, we're not here because of shared hatred."
"Our fates were bound together by our fathers' blood ten years ago."
---
