Bound By Power

6

Damien’s silence hung in the air like a heavy cloud, making Elena's heart pound even faster. She could feel her palms sweating as everyone in the room turned to them, waiting for a response. Her father, Giovanni, remained oblivious to her inner turmoil, speaking up with a casual nod toward Lorenzo.

"That’s a good idea," Giovanni said, glancing at Damien. "It’s important they get to know each other. After all, they have a future together."

Future together. The words echoed ominously in Elena’s mind, constricting her chest. Her heart began to race, thumping wildly in her ribcage. She felt the urge to shout, to refuse, to declare that this was not her choice, not her desire. But her lips remained sealed, as if bound by some invisible force.

Vittorio, with his commanding presence, added to the pressure, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Yes, Damien, why don’t you take her for a walk in the garden? It’s a beautiful afternoon."

His words weren't a suggestion; they were an order. Even in his calmness, there was an unyielding authority that demanded obedience. Damien, who had remained still until that point, finally moved. Rising from his chair with a deliberate slowness, his tall, imposing figure cast a shadow over everyone in the room. He turned, his sharp green eyes locking onto Elena’s. The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine. Those eyes... cold, calculating, yet holding something more beneath the surface—something darker, possessive even.

Without a word, Damien extended his hand toward her. The room seemed to freeze in that moment, as if even time held its breath. Elena’s pulse quickened, her eyes darting around the room for some escape. But there was none. Her father was watching, Vittorio’s gaze lingered on her, and every pair of eyes in the room was focused on her next move. Reluctantly, she placed her trembling hand in Damien’s, feeling the coolness of his skin against her own. His grip was firm, unyielding, yet not harsh—though it carried a silent message. Control. Authority.

He led her out of the room, and she followed, feeling as though she were being led to her fate. The ornate hallways of the mansion passed in a blur, the luxurious décor meaningless as her mind swirled with panic and uncertainty. When they stepped into the garden, the sun bathed the world in soft golden light, casting long shadows across the stone pathways and perfectly manicured flowerbeds. But even the beauty of the surroundings couldn’t calm her racing heart.

Damien continued walking until they reached a more secluded area of the garden, where the towering hedges and trees shielded them from view. The distant chatter from inside the mansion faded, leaving them in heavy silence. He finally released her hand, and Elena immediately took a step back, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself as if to create some semblance of distance, of protection.

The silence between them stretched on, tense and suffocating. Elena could feel her pulse thudding in her ears. She tried to muster the courage to speak, to say something—anything—but the words stuck in her throat. She felt so small in his presence, as though the mere act of standing before him was enough to strip away her defenses.

Damien’s gaze never wavered. He stood tall, his hands slipping into his pockets, his eyes boring into her with an unreadable intensity. He was observing her, assessing her like she was some puzzle he intended to solve. And then, finally, he spoke.

"You don’t want this."

The bluntness of his statement caught her off guard. His voice was deep, calm, and disturbingly composed, but there was no malice in it—just cold, stark truth.

Elena blinked, unsure how to respond. Her throat felt dry, and she found herself staring at the ground, unable to meet his gaze. "What do you mean?" she whispered, though she already knew.