Plans

Plans
Tara’s wrists burned from the rough rope, but she didn’t stop pulling. Every time Ethan came close, her heartbeat spiked with equal parts terror and rage. She’d spent days trying to reason, to plead—but now, all that was left was fight.

When he came toward her again, carrying a tray of food, she waited. Her breath shallow. Her pulse loud in her ears.

“Eat,” Ethan said, setting the tray down. “You need your strength.”

She forced a bitter laugh. “For what? To keep being your prisoner?”

His expression twitched, irritation slipping through his mask of calm. “You make this harder than it has to be.”

“Then let me go,” she shot back, voice trembling but sharp.

He crouched down beside her, eyes narrowing. “You still don’t get it, do you? You belong to me.”

That was it — the breaking point. Tara’s knee shot up, slamming into his ribs. He grunted, staggering back, and she used the moment to twist her bound hands, yanking hard enough that the rope bit into her skin until—snap—it gave way.

“Damn it!” he growled, reaching for her.

But Tara was already moving. She shoved him hard, her shoulder crashing into his chest, and the tray of food spilled to the floor. He stumbled back, his hand catching the edge of the table. She darted for the door, fumbling with the handle—locked.

“Tara!” Ethan roared, lunging for her.

She turned, grabbing the first thing her hand found — a broken plate. “Stay away from me!” she shouted, holding the jagged edge between them.

Ethan paused, chest heaving, anger flickering like a storm in his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” she snapped.

For a moment, neither moved. Then he smirked, a cold, dangerous curve of his lips. “You can’t run from what’s already yours.”

Before she could respond, he lunged again. They crashed to the ground, the plate shattering between them. Tara clawed, kicked, fought — pure adrenaline fueling her. She managed to land a hit, then another, her voice breaking as she screamed, “You don’t own me!”

Finally, she rolled free and scrambled to her feet, running to the far corner. Ethan stayed where he was, chest rising and falling, blood trickling from a cut on his arm.

He smiled through it — not angry, not afraid. Just certain.

“You’ll come back,” he said softly. “You always do.”

Tara’s hands shook as she pressed her back to the wall, her chest heaving, the metallic taste of fear in her mouth.

“Not this time,” she whispered.

But deep down… she wasn’t sure he was wrong.

Damien stood in his office, the glow of the city lights reflecting off the glass walls. His jaw was tight, his fingers drumming against the desk in slow, deliberate rhythm. The air around him felt heavy—tainted by obsession and revenge.

“She took everything from me,” he muttered under his breath, pacing slowly. “First my heart… then my control. Now she’s in his arms.” His voice broke, then hardened. “No. Not anymore.”

A knock sounded at the door. His most trusted man, Cole, stepped in, dressed in black, silent and composed.

“You called?” Cole asked.

Damien turned toward him, eyes cold as steel. “I need her brought to me. Alive. Unharmed.”

Cole’s brow furrowed. “You’re talking about Aria, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Damien replied without hesitation. “I want her. Tonight.”

Cole hesitated. “Dante’s security is tight. We’ll need inside help, or—”

“I don’t care what you need,” Damien snapped, cutting him off. “Make it happen. I want her scared, confused, desperate to see me.” He exhaled, leaning against the edge of his desk, lowering his voice. “She needs to remember who really loved her first.”

Cole exchanged a glance with another man by the door. “And Dante?”

Damien’s lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. “If he gets in the way… make sure he regrets it.”

The men nodded and left the room. Silence filled the space once more, save for the faint hum of the city below.

Damien walked over to the window, staring out into the night. In his reflection, his own eyes looked foreign—dark, haunted.

“Aria,” he whispered, tracing her name against the cold glass. “You’ll see. I’m the one you were meant to be with… not him.”

Lightning flickered across the sky, and his reflection seemed to smirk back at him—like even fate knew what was coming next.

Damien’s office fell silent again after his men left, but his mind roared like a storm. The rain outside began to pour, each drop hitting the glass like a countdown to his next move. He poured himself a drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass as he stared into it, lost between guilt and madness.

“She’ll understand,” he whispered to himself. “She has to.”

But deep down, a voice whispered otherwise—a voice he silenced by tossing back the drink in one burning gulp.

A soft buzz broke through his thoughts. His phone lit up: Cole – Update.

“We have eyes on her. 

Damien smirked, his hand tightening around the glass until it cracked slightly. “Perfect,” he murmured.

He dialed another number—a different contact. One that only handled the dirtiest of jobs.

“Ethan,” he said when the man answered, his tone calm but deadly. “I hear you’ve been keeping yourself busy.”

A low chuckle on the other end. “Depends who’s asking.”

“I have a task for you. A woman. I want her brought to me—quietly. No blood, no mess.”

There was a pause. “You’re not talking about Aria?”

Damien’s lips curved. “Exactly her. You already handled Tara well. Now, it’s time for the main act.”

Ethan let out a slow whistle. “You’re playing with fire, Damien.”

“I’ve already been burned,” he muttered. “Now I’m just returning the favor.”

The call ended, leaving Damien alone once more in the quiet room. He turned to the photo on his desk—an old one of him, Aria, and Dante, before everything fell apart. His thumb brushed over her face.