Chapter Four – The Encounter at Midnight

Sleep was a stranger that night.

I tossed and turned, the silk sheets tangling around my legs like they were trying to trap me in place. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Damian Rossi. His face, his voice, the weight of his stare pressing down on me like an unspoken promise.

I pushed the pillow away with a groan, staring at the ceiling’s ornate molding. Get a grip, Elena. He’s just a man.

But no matter how much I repeated it, I couldn’t believe it. Men didn’t command entire rooms with a glance. Men didn’t leave whispers in their wake like shadows that lingered long after they disappeared. Men didn’t unsettle me this way.

I sat up, running a hand through my hair. The clock on my nightstand read 12:47 a.m. The mansion was quiet, the kind of quiet that buzzed with unease. I slipped out of bed, pulled on a robe, and padded barefoot into the hallway.

Sometimes, walking helped. The halls of the Moretti estate were endless, filled with portraits of ancestors staring down with cold judgment. Tonight, they felt suffocating. My feet led me toward the back staircase, the one that servants used. It was narrow, less polished, and creaked in places. But it brought me peace, away from chandeliers and watchful eyes.

The garden drew me in. Moonlight spilled across the marble fountain, the roses glowing faintly in the night air. The autumn chill nipped at my skin, but I welcomed it. Here, at least, I could breathe.

I wrapped my arms around myself and closed my eyes.

“Elena.”

My name rolled through the darkness, low and smooth, like velvet dragged across stone.

My eyes flew open.

He stood at the edge of the garden path, half in shadow, half in silver moonlight. Damian Rossi. His suit jacket was gone, replaced by a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, the top buttons undone. He looked less like the untouchable man from the gala and more dangerous—like the night itself had shaped him.

My throat tightened. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer at once. His gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate, as though he had every right to. Finally, he said, “Couldn’t sleep.”

Neither could I, but I didn’t admit it. I straightened my shoulders, fighting to keep my voice steady. “You shouldn’t be here.”

His lips curved, not quite a smile. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you.”

I took a step back, my bare feet brushing against the cold stone path. “This is my home.”

He moved closer, unhurried, each step measured. “And yet you look like a stranger here.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. A part of me wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong. But another part—the truer part—knew he wasn’t.

“Leave,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.

Damian tilted his head, studying me. “Do I frighten you, Elena?”

“Yes.” The answer slipped out before I could catch it. My pulse hammered in my ears, but I held his gaze. “And I don’t like it.”

He stopped just a few feet away, close enough that I could see the faint scar along his jaw, the kind of mark a blade might have left. His eyes caught the moonlight, turning them into something sharp, almost metallic.

“Good,” he said softly. “Fear keeps people honest.”

I swallowed hard, my fists curling at my sides. “You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I?” His voice lowered, intimate, as though he were peeling back my defenses with sound alone. “I know enough. I know you’re too smart to waste your life smiling for rooms full of men who think they own you. I know you don’t sleep at night, that you walk the halls like a ghost in your own house. I know you don’t belong to this world—and yet you’re trapped in it.”

My breath caught. How does he know that?

I forced a laugh, brittle. “You think a few observations make you an expert? You’re just another man who wants to—”

“To what?” His voice was sharp now, cutting through the cool night. “Own you?”

The word lodged in my chest like a stone.

Damian’s expression softened, just slightly. “No, Elena. I don’t want to own you.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against the cold night air. “I want to free you.”

The garden seemed to fall silent, even the fountain’s trickle fading behind his words. For a moment, it felt like we were the only two people left in the world.

I shook my head, stepping back, breaking whatever spell he was weaving. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know me.”

His eyes didn’t waver. “Not yet.”

A shiver ran through me, and I hated that it wasn’t entirely fear.

I turned, ready to run back into the safety of the house. But his voice followed me, low and certain, echoing through the night.

“You can’t ignore me forever, Elena. Sooner or later, you’ll understand why you were never meant to escape me.”

I didn’t look back. Couldn’t. My heart was already pounding too loudly, my mind spinning with too many questions, too many feelings I didn’t want to name.

I fled up the steps, through the doors, down the hallway, until I was back in the suffocating safety of my room. I pressed my back to the door, my chest heaving.

The house was quiet again, but I knew better now. The silence wasn’t safety.

Because Damian Rossi wasn’t just in my world anymore.

He was in my shadow.

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