“A Love That Never Died”

I sit on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in my lap, as Damian watches me from across the room. The fire behind him casts long shadows, flickering against the expensive marble walls of his penthouse.

He hasn’t spoken in over a minute. He just stands there, his blue eyes locked onto mine, like he’s waiting for me to break under the weight of his silence.

I refuse to.

My pulse pounds in my ears, my body still sluggish from whatever drug he used to knock me out. But my mind is sharp. I know what’s coming.

Damian has always been like this—calm, calculating, in control. Even now, when he should be furious when he should be demanding answers, he’s just watching me, taking his time.

Like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Finally, he speaks up again repeating his question. “Who sent you?”

His voice is low, and steady. But there’s an edge beneath it. A quiet fury.

I meet his gaze, refusing to flinch. “No one.”

His lips press into a thin line. He takes a step closer. “Try again.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I work alone.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You expect me to believe that?” He moves closer, stopping just inches from where I sit. “You expect me to believe that you just showed up at my wedding to kill my bride… on your own?”

I keep my face blank. “Believe whatever you want.”

Damian exhales slowly, like he’s trying to control himself. I can see it now—the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands curl into fists at his sides.

He’s angry. But more than that, he’s hurt. And that’s what scares me the most. Because if he’s hurt, that means he still feels something for me.

And I can’t afford for that to happen. Not again.

Two Years Ago

The first time I met Damian Calloway, he was standing in the rain, blood on his knuckles, a dangerous smirk on his lips.

I had been following him for days, tracking his movements, watching from the shadows. He was untouchable, powerful, the heir to the Calloway empire.

But that night, he was just a man.

A man who looked at me like he already knew me.

A man who pulled me into an alleyway, pressed me against the cold brick wall, and whispered, “Who are you?”

I had been ready to kill him.

Instead, I let him kiss me.

It was supposed to be nothing. Just a mistake. A brief moment of weakness.

But then one night turned into another.

And before I knew it, Damian Calloway was mine.

I told myself it wouldn’t last. That I would leave before he could ever really know me.

But then I fell in love.

And love makes people stupid.

Now

Damian is still standing close, too close, his body radiating heat. His hands press against the mattress on either side of me, caging me in.

“You disappeared,” he says, his voice quieter now, rougher.

I swallow hard. “You knew I would.”

His blue eyes darken. “I didn’t want you to.”

I squeeze my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. He should be furious, demanding answers, not looking at me like he wants to drag me back into his world.

Not looking at me like he still wants me.

I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. “You’re getting married, Damian. What do you want from me?”

His jaw clenches. “I don’t know.”

For the first time, he looks unsure.

And that terrifies me.

Because if Damian starts questioning his choices, if he starts doubting this marriage, everything will fall apart.

And that means I have to make the choice for him.

So I do the only thing I can.

I push him away.

“Then figure it out,” I say, standing up, putting distance between us. “Because I’m not part of your world anymore.”

Damian stares at me for a long second. Then—he moves.

Fast.

Before I can react, before I can step back, his hands are on my face.

And then—his lips crash against mine. A shock of heat shoots through me. I should stop this. I should shove him away, remind him that he’s engaged, that this can’t happen.

But I don’t. Because for one second, I let myself forget. I let myself drown in him.

His grip tightens, pulling me against him, like he’s trying to remind himself of something, too.

And then—

The door swings open.

A sharp gasp. I rip myself away from Damian, breathing hard. And there, standing in the doorway, wrapped in bandages, her eyes full of recognition—is Ivy Monroe.

Blood drains from my face.

She stares at me, her expression twisting in pain, in confusion, in something I can’t name.

Then—her lips part.

“You,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.

Her eyes lock onto mine.

“I know you.”