The night was thick with tension, a palpable weight hanging in the air as Damon paced through the dimly lit halls of his mansion. Cigarette smoke curled from his lips, disappearing into the shadows like a ghost. He had been on edge all day, waiting, watching. His phone buzzed every few minutes, updates from his men stationed discreetly around the city, following her every move. She hadn’t told him where she was going. That bothered him.

He hated not knowing.

With a sharp exhale, he flicked the cigarette into a crystal ashtray and ran a hand over his tattooed arm, brushing over the scars he refused to acknowledge. It didn’t matter where she was. He knew she was safe. His men would make sure of that. Still, the possessiveness gnawed at him, tightening his chest.

He walked over to the large window that overlooked the sprawling estate. The city lights twinkled in the distance, but his eyes were trained on the long driveway, waiting for her car to return. Damon wasn’t used to this—caring, worrying. He was always in control, except when it came to her.

The heavy front doors creaked open. She was home.

Relief swept over him, but his expression remained cold.