Chapter 12 A Dance With Death

A suffocating silence blanketed the study. The tension, thick as smoke, curled between Damien and Ivy. His smirk, that ever-present display of amusement, had disappeared. His sharp, predatory gaze bore into her as if he were trying to carve out her secrets, to peer into the depths of her soul. But before he could speak— A gunshot shattered the quiet. The sharp, deafening crack sent a jolt through the air, followed by the distant sound of glass shattering. Ivy’s breath hitched. The estate was under attack. Damien’s head snapped toward the door, his expression morphing into something darker, more lethal. A second shot rang out, closer this time. Then Elias burst in, gun drawn, his movements swift and precise as his gaze locked onto Damien. “North wing,” Elias said, his voice clipped and urgent. “It’s an ambush.” Damien didn’t move for a split second. His fingers flexed at his sides, his expression unreadable, then he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a gun. His calm was terrifying—controlled, unshaken, as if he had expected this. His voice was steel when he spoke. “Get her out of here.” Elias nodded, stepping toward Ivy. “Come with me.” But Ivy didn’t move. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her fists clenched at her sides. She wasn’t some helpless fool to be dragged around while the men did the fighting. “I’m not leaving,” she bit out, her voice sharp with defiance. Damien turned his gaze on her, eyes as dark as the abyss. He didn’t argue, didn’t scold. He simply stared, his silence heavier than words. Then— The door behind Elias exploded. The force sent shards of wood flying through the air. Gunfire erupted, loud and merciless. Elias shoved Ivy down just as bullets whizzed over her head. A masked intruder stormed in, gun raised, aiming straight at her. A fatal mistake. Before Ivy could react, Elias fired. The shot was clean, precise. The gunman collapsed, blood pooling beneath him. Another figure rushed in behind him, but Damien was faster. He moved like a shadow, silent and fluid, and in a flash, he disarmed the man with a brutal twist of the wrist. The sound of snapping bone echoed in the air. The attacker barely had time to scream before Damien buried a blade deep into his chest, pushing it in with a slow, deliberate force. Ivy barely swallowed back a gasp. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even acknowledge the life he had just taken. The fight wasn’t over. Two more intruders charged into the room, masked, armed, ready to kill. One of them aimed at Ivy. Time slowed. She saw his finger tighten on the trigger. But before the bullet could leave the chamber, Elias took him down with a well-placed shot to the head. The last gunman lunged at Damien, choosing to engage in close combat. A mistake. Damien ducked under the man’s arm, dodging effortlessly, and drove his fist into his attacker’s gut. The man staggered back, but Damien was relentless. He caught the intruder by the throat, pinning him against the wall, gun pressed to his temple. “Who sent you?” Damien’s voice was dangerously low, a lethal whisper that promised no mercy. The man coughed, struggling against the iron grip around his neck, but said nothing. Damien’s expression didn’t change. He pulled the trigger. Blood splattered against the wall. The body slumped to the floor. Ivy’s breath came in uneven gasps. Damien barely spared a glance at the corpse before stepping over it. Elias wiped the blade of his knife on his sleeve and turned to Damien. “More outside,” he said, tone neutral, as if this massacre were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Damien exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. “This was a message,” he muttered. His voice was cold, calculating. “They knew I’d be here. This wasn’t random.” His gaze flickered to Ivy. A strange look passed through his eyes. She was still on the floor, her back pressed against the overturned coffee table, her breath shallow but steady. But there was no fear in her expression. Not the kind one would expect. She wasn’t trembling. Wasn’t crying. Wasn’t pleading for someone to tell her everything was going to be okay. Instead, her fingers dug into the fabric of her dress, knuckles white from the force of her grip. Her heartbeat was erratic, but her mind was racing. This wasn’t about Damien. This was about her. She knew it. And Damien did too. He stepped forward, extending a hand. Ivy slapped it away. His eyes darkened. “Ivy.” His voice was soft, almost gentle, but laced with something unyielding. Her lips parted, but before she could say a word— Another gunshot rang out. This one from outside the study. “Move,” Elias ordered, already pulling his gun up again. “We’re not safe here.” Damien didn’t argue. He grabbed Ivy’s wrist, pulling her to her feet with little effort. She wanted to resist, wanted to fight, but deep down, she knew this wasn’t the time. Not yet. Damien didn’t let go. His grip was firm, possessive, as if he had already decided she belonged to him, whether she liked it or not. She had no choice but to follow him. As they moved through the halls, Ivy stole a glance at him. His face was unreadable, his expression a mask of indifference, but his posture was tense. He wasn’t just angry. He was furious. Whoever had dared to attack them… Had just declared war. And Damien never lost.