Chapter 13 A Silent Warning

The hallways were eerily silent, the air thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder. Each step Ivy took felt heavier as if she were walking deeper into the belly of a beast that had already decided she wouldn’t leave in one piece. Damien’s grip on her wrist was unrelenting, his touch branding her like a heated iron. He wasn’t just holding her—he was claiming her, dragging her through the dimly lit corridors like she was a piece of his world now, whether she wanted to be or not. Elias moved ahead of them, gun drawn, eyes scanning every corner with sharp precision. They had barely made it past the study when another body fell at their feet. A man in black tactical gear, a bullet lodged cleanly between his eyes. Elias barely spared him a glance. “He was already dying,” he muttered. Damien didn't reply. His focus remained ahead, unreadable, calculating. They stepped over the corpse and continued forward. The deeper they went, the clearer the sounds of the fight became—muffled screams, the crack of bones, the occasional gunfire ringing through the night. The estate was a battlefield now. Ivy felt her stomach twist. This wasn’t just an attack. This was a warning. Someone had sent these men with a clear message: she was the target. She knew it. Judging by the way Damien’s grip on her tightened, he knew it too. They reached the grand staircase. The moment they stepped onto the landing, Ivy’s breath caught. The entrance hall below was painted red. Bodies—guards and intruders alike—littered the marble floor, the glossy surface now slick with blood. Some were still alive, groaning in pain, clutching at their wounds. Others lay still, their eyes glassy and lifeless. The chandelier overhead swayed slightly, its golden glow casting flickering shadows across the massacre below. Elias was already moving, his steps swift but quiet. Damien followed without hesitation, leading Ivy down the stairs. But halfway down— A figure emerged from the shadows. Dressed in black, face partially obscured by a mask, he was different from the other intruders. He didn’t move like a mercenary or some disposable thug. He moved like someone who knew exactly what he was doing. Damien stilled. Ivy felt the shift in his energy—the slight tension in his stance, the way his fingers twitched slightly at his sides. This man wasn’t just another attacker. He was someone important. The masked man tilted his head, his voice smooth and taunting. “Quite the welcoming party, Damien.” Ivy’s blood ran cold. He knew Damien. Which meant this wasn’t just a random attack. Damien’s expression didn’t change. “You picked the wrong house to step into.” The man chuckled, the sound rich with amusement. “Did I?” He shifted his gaze to Ivy, and something in his stare made her skin crawl. “Or did I come for exactly what I wanted?” Damien moved before Ivy could blink. In a blur, he pulled out his gun, aiming directly at the intruder’s head. The masked man merely smiled. A second later, the lights cut out. Darkness swallowed the room. Then— A sharp whoosh sliced through the air. Damien grabbed Ivy and yanked her behind him just as something sharp embedded itself in the floor where she had been standing. A knife. The masked man had thrown a knife. Ivy barely had time to process before a scuffle erupted in the darkness. The sounds of movement, of fists colliding with flesh, of grunts and sharp exhales filled the air. Damien and the masked man were fighting. Ivy could only hear them, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she struggled to see through the pitch-black void. Then, a soft click. A red dot appeared on Damien’s chest. Sniper. Ivy’s instincts kicked in before her brain could catch up. She lunged. Her body crashed into Damien’s just as the gunshot rang out. The force sent them both tumbling to the ground. A sharp crack echoed through the hall as the bullet struck the marble where Damien had been standing a second ago. The lights flickered back on. The masked man was gone. Damien’s expression was unreadable as he stared down at Ivy, their bodies pressed together on the cold floor. “You—” His voice was rough, but he didn’t finish his sentence. Elias appeared a second later, gun raised, scanning the area. “They retreated.” He turned to Damien, eyes narrowing. “You’re bleeding.” Damien looked down. A thin line of red dripped from his arm. The bullet had grazed him. Ivy pushed herself up, her breathing uneven. She wasn’t sure what possessed her, but before she could stop herself, she reached for his wound, fingers brushing against the torn fabric of his shirt. Damien caught her wrist in midair. His grip was tight, his gaze unreadable as he studied her. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, he spoke. “Why did you do that?” Ivy’s lips parted, but no words came out. She had no answer. Why had she done that? Why had she moved without thinking? Why had she cared if he got shot? Damien’s grip loosened, and he let go of her wrist. Without another word, he stood, towering over her as if nothing had happened. Elias exhaled sharply. “We need to move. Whoever they were, they’ll be back.” Damien’s jaw clenched. “Not just them.” Ivy frowned. “What do you mean?” He turned to her, his expression darker than she had ever seen it. “There’s more than one group after you,” he said simply. Ivy felt her stomach drop. The attack tonight— It wasn’t just a warning. It was just the beginning.