PROLOGUE
I regret so much in my life. I regret ignoring my mother’s warning, regret that I let her voice fade when she was trying to protect me. She had been so clear about this, but I refused to listen, choosing to block her words, choosing recklessness. And now, because of that foolishness, I’m here—in a cold, dark room, my feet bound in chains, tears flooding down my cheeks.
All I remember is being at the club, dancing as usual, letting the music carry me away—until someone started dancing close, behind me. I’ve never let anyone come that close before, never let anyone touch me on the floor. But that night…something was different.
The moment his hand slid around my waist, something surged through me, something thrilling and unknown. I wanted to turn, to see who he was, but before I could, a cloth pressed hard over my nose and mouth, and everything went dark. When I woke, I was here, locked up, not even a memory of his face to hold on to.
Fear courses through me, tangled with the helplessness that I can’t control. I don’t even know who would do this. I don’t remember having enemies—so why me? Then I hear it: footsteps approaching, slow and deliberate, echoing through the silence. I freeze as the doorknob twists. A streak of light cuts through the dark as the door swings open, flooding my eyes with brightness.
I squint, and as my vision adjusts, I see them—a pair of black shoes planted firmly in front of me. I lift my eyes, following up, past dark pants, a strong stance, until my gaze reaches his face. He’s handsome in a way that’s strikingly cold, a face I would never forget but have never seen before.
“W-Who are you?” I stammer, my voice trembling. Tears streak my cheeks, and I can’t stop them. He says nothing, only watches me, expression unreadable. Then, in one fluid movement, he lowers himself to meet my eyes, his face barely inches from mine. My lips part in shock.
Could he be an actor? A model? Men like him don’t just appear out of nowhere. His light brown eyes, almost amber even in the dimness, seem to search me. He has the sharp features of someone who moves through life untouched by doubt—a pair of fierce brows, a narrow, aristocratic nose, and lips set in a near-perfect line. His physique is equally imposing; broad shoulders, well-defined arms that flex even beneath his shirt sleeves. He’s easily over six feet. The kind of height you see in basketball players.
“Damon,” he finally says, voice low, the word reverberating in the room. My pulse quickens, a confusing mix of fear and awe making it hard to breathe.
“Is that…is that your name?” I whisper. “Damon, why am I here? Did you kidnap me? Do I owe you something? Tell me!” I almost plead, desperate to understand. I just want to go home. My mother must be frantic by now.
“You’re here because you need to be,” he replies, his voice cold and assured. “Your mother kept you hidden long enough. It’s time you returned.” His words make no sense, but my mind races, clinging to hope.
“Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want to go home!” I cry, fresh tears spilling over. He simply stares at me, his gaze unyielding, colder than steel.
“You can’t. From now on…this will be your home,” he says, the finality in his tone slicing through me. A mix of rage and dread ignites inside. He’s deranged. This place? My home? I refuse to believe it.
“This is not my home!” I shout, voice raw. “You can’t keep me here, you lunatic! I’ll sue you! I’ll escape, no matter what it takes!” I scream until my throat burns, but his eyes remain indifferent, as though my outburst was nothing more than an inconvenience.
“Just stay here. I’ll be back,” he says, his tone as flat as before.
“No! Stay here! What do you want from me? Who the hell are you? Stop this madness and let me go!” I tug helplessly at the chains, the metal digging into my skin, but he just watches, his gaze inscrutable.
“Athena…” he says, barely above a whisper, yet it’s enough to send a chill down my spine. He knows my name. Somehow, he knows me. And my mother. But how?
“Like it or not,” he says slowly, voice darkening, “you’re staying. Don’t test my patience. I hate disobedient women,” he adds with a warning edge before turning to leave the room.
This can’t be happening. Who is he? Why is he keeping me here? And how does he know me?
