Before Alina could answer, her gaze caught something that made her freeze. Damon's arms—bleeding. The crimson streaks stood stark against his pale skin, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. It was the same spot where she had cut him earlier with the paper cutter, yet somehow, she had failed to notice the resemblance until now.
Shock tightened her chest. "Damon… blood!" she gasped, the words trembling out of her. Without thinking, she reached for him, her fingers trembling as she tried to grab his arm and find something to stop the bleeding.
But Damon pulled back smoothly, his voice firm but oddly gentle. "No," he said. "No need."
Alina blinked up at him, stunned by his refusal. Why? He hadn't said a word when she was cleaning the wound on his forehead. He had let her touch him then, let her fuss over him. But now… now he is stopping her.
Before she could string the questions together, Damon took a step closer, eliminating the fragile space between them. The sudden proximity stole the breath from her lungs. His scent wrapped around her—cold, rich, intoxicating—and she felt herself swayed slightly, overwhelmed.
"You're avoiding my question," Damon said, his voice dropping to a low, velvet murmur. He tilted his head, the faintest, knowing smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
His injured hand lifted—not to push her away—but to lightly graze her jawline, his touch barely a whisper against her skin. Alina stiffened, every nerve in her body waking under his touch, drowning her confusion in a rush of heat and chaos.
"Tell me, Alina," he coaxed, his gaze locking onto hers with unbearable intensity. "Will you accept my offer?"
Her thoughts scattered. The blood, the questions, the alarms ringing faintly in the back of her mind— All of it drowned beneath the force of his presence, the way he loomed over her without touching her, and yet completely ensnared her.
Alina opened her mouth to answer, but nothing coherent came out. Her mind was a blur, fogged by the closeness of him, by the way his fingers lingered at the curve of her jaw, brushing feather-light touches that sent shivers down her spine.
Damon's eyes softened—or perhaps darkened—as he watched her struggle, as if savoring her helplessness. Then, almost casually, his hand trailed lower. He brushed a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her cheek. It was a simple gesture, yet it felt far too intimate, far too heavy, as if he had laid claim to her without saying a word.
"You're bleeding too much," she whispered finally, her voice barely a thread of sound. Some desperate part of her clung to that reality, that fact—something normal she could hold onto. She reached again for his arm, determined to do something, anything that wasn't falling apart under his gaze.
But Damon caught her wrist this time—gently but firmly. The heat of his skin branded her, and she gasped softly, looking up at him.
His thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist once, a slow, deliberate caress that sent her heart into a wild, chaotic rhythm. "You worry too much," he murmured, his lips so close to her ear that she could feel the warm rush of his breath. "You should worry more about yourself, Alina."
The way he said her name—like a secret, like a promise—made her knees weaken slightly. A strange, heavy silence wrapped around them, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous.
Damon tilted his head, studying her as if he could see every thought she tried to hide. Then he took a final step forward, so close that their bodies almost brushed. He was careful, controlled, giving her no real reason to flinch—yet his presence overwhelmed her, swallowed her whole.
Alina's hand fell helplessly against his chest. She could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart under her palm—steady when hers was losing all sense of rhythm. The bleeding, the bandages, the danger—it all melted away. There was only the unbearable nearness of him, and the question he had asked.
"Say yes," he whispered, almost a command, almost a plea.
Alina opened her mouth—but what escaped was not an answer. It was a trembling breath, and a look of confusion that Damon caught—and smiled at, as if that was exactly the reaction he wanted.
Damon moved back before she could answer. Even though he had whispered and said yes, he knew— She wouldn't. Not yet.
As he expected, her voice came, soft but firm. "I think… I can't accept this offer, Damon," she said, a thread of regret weaving through her words. "I already have my college project, my shifts at the café… and babysitting Noah means I need to be with him all the time. You know I can't leave them—my sister, my grandma. I can't."
Her voice broke slightly at the end, a whisper of the burden she carried. Even though she longed for the safety of his arms, for the warmth and protection he promised without words, Alina knew she couldn't take it. Her grandmother's health was slipping, fading like a candle left too long against the wind. Fainting spells had become common; she needed to be there—to catch her if she fell, to be her anchor. She couldn't be selfish, not now.
Saying this, Alina turned away, her decision final.
But Damon— Damon didn't accept defeat so easily.
"You know, Alina," he said, his voice a low murmur curling through the heavy air, "Atlanta will pay you more than you can imagine."
She stopped. Froze, caught in the web he spun so carefully. Her hand trembled slightly at her side.
"You can earn more here," Damon pressed gently, "far more than the café will ever give you."
She turned her head just enough to glance at him, confusion flickering across her delicate features.
Perfect. Damon could see the crack forming, the hesitation. He knew her too well. He knew what she needed.
Money.
Not for herself. No— For them. For the little house barely holding itself together, for the grandmother slipping slowly away, for the little sister whose future rested on fragile shoulders.
He stepped closer again, this time slower, softer— the predator cloaking himself in kindness.
"You could take care of them better, Alina," he said, voice a velvet snare. "Give them everything they deserve."
Her hands curled into fists, struggling, trembling— because what he said was true.
And Damon saw it, the war waging silently behind her wide, dark eyes. He smiled— not cruelly, but with the quiet certainty of a man who knew he had already won.
Just as Alina opened her mouth to respond, her phone rang, sharp and sudden, slicing through the heavy tension in the air. She fumbled to answer it, her heart already pounding in her chest.
It was Anaya.
But the moment Alina heard her little sister's voice, her blood ran cold.
"Hel—Hello, Lina... Grandma... she fainted!" Anaya sobbed uncontrollably, the words broken and jagged. "She—she looked like a dead woman! Alina... she's not breathing... I called 911! They're taking us to the nearest hospital. Please, Alina, come fast! I'm scared—I need you!"
Her voice cracked into desperate, heart-wrenching cries, and Alina felt her own soul shatter at the sound.
For a second, the world tilted.
Alina stood frozen, the phone trembling in her hand, as hot, helpless tears blurred her vision. A crushing weight pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
Not Grandma.
Please, not her.
But even through the rising wave of terror, Alina knew she had to be strong. She couldn't fall apart. Not now. Not when Anaya needed her the most.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she forced her voice to stay calm, to be the anchor her baby sister needed.
"Don't worry, Anaya. I'll be there in ten minutes, baby girl. Stay strong for me, okay? I'm coming. I'll be right there, I promise."
Her voice cracked on the last word, but she didn't let the tears take over. Not yet.
The call ended, but the panic didn't. It clawed at her insides, wild and merciless.
Without thinking, Alina turned to Damon, her movements frantic, desperate. She reached for him, clutching his hand with trembling fingers, as if he was the only thing keeping her from collapsing right there.
"Damon... please—can you take me to the hospital?" she begged, her voice breaking completely. "Please... I need to get to them—I need to be there. I can't lose her. I can't—"
The words crumbled into a sob she couldn't hold back anymore.
Her entire body shook as she stared up at him, her dark eyes wide and glossy with unshed tears, her chest heaving as she fought to hold herself together.
The fear, the helplessness, the unbearable thought of losing the only family she had left—it all poured from her, raw and unfiltered, until she was standing there, shattered and pleading in the most vulnerable way she had ever been.
Damon stood there, watching her with an almost unnerving stillness. The tremble in her hands, the desperation in her voice, it all hit him with a force he didn't expect. Her panic, raw and unrefined, cut through the calm mask he usually wore, leaving him momentarily exposed to something he couldn't quite name.
Alina's fingers dug into his hand, clutching him like a lifeline, and for a heartbeat, Damon didn't move. His eyes darkened, studying her as though he was calculating the weight of her fear, the depth of her need. But beneath it all—beneath the cool detachment—there was something else. Something that tightened in his chest when he saw her so vulnerable, so broken.
He could feel her pain. Her fear. It thrummed in his veins, pulling at something deep within him.
"Damon, please," she whispered again, her voice small, fractured, and he could see the raw agony in her eyes. "I need you. Please, I can't do this alone…"
The words hung heavy in the space between them. It was almost too much for him to bear. She needed him. She was willing to trust him with her most fragile moment, and he couldn't ignore the pull that surged through him, compelling him to act. Compelling him to do something—for her.
Without a word, Damon stepped forward. His hand, still holding hers, was warm, steady, the only solid thing in the whirlwind of emotions around them. His touch wasn't comforting—it wasn't meant to be—but it was strong, like an anchor she couldn't escape.
"I'll take you," he said, his voice low, measured, and with an edge of finality. There was no question, no hesitation.
She didn't speak. She didn't have the words, but her grip on his hand tightened, as if she was too scared to let go of the only thing that could help her now.
Damon studied her for a moment longer, a flicker of something unsettling in his gaze. Then, without another word, he turned, pulling her gently along as they made their way out of the apartment. His steps were measured, purposeful, but inside, something stirred. Something he hadn't allowed himself to feel for a long time.
In this moment, Alina was his to protect, even if it was for all the wrong reasons. And he would do whatever it took to keep her close—no matter the cost.
Soon, they reached the hospital.
The ride had been steeped in silence, broken only by the soft, barely audible whimpers escaping Alina's lips. Damon could feel her trembling through the air itself, even before he saw how her hands shook when she picked up the call from Kevin. Her voice cracked as she cried to Kevin, begging him to come to the hospital.
When they finally arrived, they spotted Anaya standing near the ICU doors, her head bowed low.
The moment Anaya heard Alina's fragile voice call her name, she turned and ran into her sister's arms. Anaya sobbed openly — loud and broken — while Alina's own cries were quiet, bottled tightly inside her chest. Their pain echoed in the sterile hallway, a symphony of despair.
"What happened to my grandma?" Anaya asked quickly.
"I am sorry," the nurse said gently. "She has slipped into a coma and needs full-time medical care. It's better to keep her under close observation here in the hospital."
Alina broke down in tears, shaking from the shock.
The doctor approached them soon after.
"She needs to be admitted to the ICU," he said gravely, his expression taut with concern. "We need a guardian for the formalities."
What did they do to deserve this? Alina's heart screamed. First their parents, then their home and everything they owned — and now, their grandmother?
Wiping her tears, Alina gently pushed Anaya back and stepped forward.
"I am her guardian," she said, her voice trembling but firm.
Turning to Damon, she whispered, "Please stay with her. She needs someone strong right now."
Without waiting for a reply, Alina followed the doctor into his office, her heart pounding with dread.
Left behind, Damon watched Anaya, her small body racked with sobs, standing frozen in the middle of the hallway.
For a moment, he hesitated — then he moved toward her.
Kneeling slightly to meet her teary gaze, his voice, deep and steady, wrapped around her like a shield.
"Listen to me, little one," he said, his tone commanding yet strangely gentle.
"You are strong. You are braver than you know. Right now, your sister needs you to believe — to fight for hope even when it feels impossible. Cry if you must, but don't crumble. Not here. Not now."
Anaya hiccupped, staring at him with wide, broken eyes.
Damon placed a reassuring hand on her trembling shoulder, anchoring her to the ground.
"I will stay with you," he promised, his voice a low oath that vibrated with authority. "You are not alone. None of you are."
Something in his unwavering gaze — something ancient, something unbreakable — made Anaya nod through her tears, her sobs slowly quieting.
For the first time that night, a sliver of strength returned to her fragile frame.
And Damon stayed right there beside her, a silent, immovable force against the storm.
Alina followed the doctor inside after waiting for what felt like forever. Finally, it was her turn.
The doctor explained the treatment procedures and formalities with practiced sympathy. He told her that while part of the cost could be covered by an organization affiliated with the hospital, the rest would have to be paid by the family.
A wave of relief flooded her chest — a brief, desperate hope. But then reality crashed down: even with the help, the remaining costs were a mountain they could never climb. If she used the savings they had scraped together over years, there would be nothing left — nothing for Anaya's education, nothing for their future, nothing to fall back on.
Her heart twisted painfully at the thought, but she forced herself to sign the forms with a trembling hand. Without another word, she stumbled out of the office, gasping for air — needing space to breathe before she drowned.
She was leaning against a cold marble pillar in the hospital garden when Damon found her.
"Hi," he said softly.
She looked up, her voice barely a whisper, soaked in grief. "How did you know I was here?"
Damon gave a small shrug, stepping closer. "I just knew."
Alina let out a broken breath, pressing her fist against her mouth to keep the sob inside. "I don't know, Damon... what did I do to deserve this hell?" she whispered. "I have to save Grandma. I have to take care of Anaya. I have to take care of myself. And I don't know how. I'm so tired — I don't know what to do anymore..."
Her voice cracked, fragile and defeated, the dam inside her heart finally splintering.
Damon moved closer, close enough that she could feel his presence like a wall against the storm.
"You don't have to hold it in," he said, his voice low, steady, almost fierce. "You can break, Alina. Cry. Scream if you need to. Shatter here, if you must."
He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice darkened with something raw and possessive.
"But don't think for a second you'll fall alone. I'm here. And I'll catch every broken piece of you."
Something in the way he said it — a dark promise, an unspoken vow — made Alina's heart ache even harder. And for the first time in days, she allowed herself to crumble, falling not into despair, but into the silent, unwavering strength Damon offered.
She cried loudly, standing near Damon, her body shaking with every broken sob.
It was something new to him.
He had seen — no, caused — countless men and women to cry, to scream, to beg for their lives at his feet.
But this...
This was different.
This time, he allowed someone to cry — welcomed it — not to break her, but to make her stronger.
And he hated it.
Fucking hated it.
He hated the way something inside him trembled at the sound of her sorrow.
The way he softened when all he had ever known was cruelty and coldness.
This wasn't him.
Yet he made sure — swore — that she would share everything with him.
Only him.
Her pain.
Her fears.
Her tears.
All of it — belonged to him.
After a while, Alina wiped her face with trembling fingers, her voice hoarse and fragile.
"Where's Anaya?"
"She fell asleep," Damon said, his voice a low rasp.
"She's in the room. Safe."
Before he could say more, a sudden blur of motion caught his eye —
Kevin, sprinting across the garden like a man possessed.
He reached Alina and grabbed her arms, his fingers digging in too tightly for Damon's liking.
"What happened, Alina?" Kevin demanded, panic thick in his voice.
Alina broke down again, her words tumbling out in broken, breathless pieces — the treatment, the cost, the helplessness swallowing her whole.
And Damon —
Damon stood there, silent, his rage curling like smoke inside him.
His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned bloodless, a primal fury vibrating under his skin.
It took everything he had — every last shred of restraint — not to rip Kevin's hands off her, not to drive him into the ground where he stood.
But one thing, one dark, vicious thing, made a slow, cruel smile threaten to curve his lips:
She hadn't cried to Kevin.
She hadn't fallen apart in his arms.
She had given her tears to Damon.
Only Damon.
And he swore — with a darkness deep enough to drown them both —
he would never let anyone else touch what was his.