The night after discovering Evelyne's warning, Lila is summoned by Damien. But this is not a reprimand. It's something more intimate, more dangerous. An emotional chess game played under moonlight in Damien's glass-walled sanctum above the city. Every word cuts, every silence speaks. And when truth comes, it doesn't come gently—it's pulled from the shadows like a confession in a cathedral.
---
Last Moment:
And at her feet, in the sketch—
A second shadow.
Standing behind her.
---
The elevator opened with a soft ding, barely louder than a breath. Lila stepped into Damien's private floor with her spine tense and her pulse a steady roar behind her ears. Her boots clicked softly against the marble. The lights were dimmed, letting the moonlight spill uninterrupted across the open space.
The entire upper floor of Blackwell Tower was framed in glass. There were no walls—only reflections. The city stretched endlessly beyond the windows, shimmering like a lie she had believed for too long.
He was waiting. Of course.
Not behind a desk. Not flanked by bodyguards or seated like a king. He stood near the edge of the floor-to-ceiling glass, as if one step would send him floating over the city like a god.
Lila didn't speak.
Neither did he.
She walked forward until she stood beside him. Together, they watched the world below.
"I suppose this is the part," she said softly, "where you warn me."
Damien didn't look at her. "No. That part passed a long time ago."
"What comes after the warning?"
His voice was low, like smoke curling beneath a closed door. "Truth."
She laughed once, sharp. "You're going to tell me the truth now?"
"I never said I hadn't already."
"You said Evelyne left."
"She did."
"You said she wasn't important."
"I said she wasn't you."
She stepped closer, heart pounding. "I saw the files. The drawings. The surveillance. She didn't walk away, Damien. She was erased."
He finally turned.
And in that moment, he didn't look like a CEO, or a manipulator, or a monster.
He looked like a man who hadn't slept in years.
"I didn't erase her."
"No? Then what happened to her?"
He exhaled. "She turned the page before I was ready."
Lila's mouth was dry. "What does that mean?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he moved to the low marble table in the center of the room. There was a decanter there. Two glasses. He poured dark red liquid into both.
Offered her one.
She didn't take it.
"Sit," he said.
"I'll stand."
He sat. Slowly. Watching her. Like an artist studying light.
"I should've destroyed those files," he said. "I left them because I wanted to see what you'd do."
"And?"
"You went deeper than she did. Faster. You didn't ask for permission."
She crossed her arms. "I don't need it."
"No," he said. "You never did."
She stared at him. "Why me?"
Damien leaned back, the moonlight catching his profile.
"I've built a world on compliance. On control. But you... you disrupt the pattern. You pull at the seams."
Lila's laugh was bitter. "And that excites you?"
"It terrifies me."
Silence stretched between them. Lila could hear the hum of the city beneath them, faint and distant. Like they were already somewhere else.
He took a sip of wine. "You remind me of something I lost. Or maybe someone I imagined."
"You mean Evelyne."
"No," he said quietly. "I mean myself."
Lila stepped forward. Her voice cracked the space between them like thunder.
"What did you do to her?"
He stared at his glass. "I let her fall."
"And me?"
"I haven't decided."
Her breath hitched. "You're sick."
"Maybe."
"You enjoy this. Twisting people. Watching them unravel."
"I enjoy finding the edges of a person," he said. "And seeing what's underneath the performance."
"Well congratulations," she snapped. "You found mine."
He stood then.
Stepped close.
Too close.
"You think this is about control. But it's about creation. I don't want to own you, Lila. I want to build you."
She slapped him.
The sound cracked through the room like glass.
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
"You don't get to build people," she said. "They're not blueprints."
His eyes burned. "Everything is a blueprint. Everything can be remade. Sculpted. Perfected."
"Even love?"
Especially love."
She turned to leave.
He spoke her name.
"Lila."
She froze.
He walked to a nearby shelf. Removed a box. Opened it.
Inside—a sketch.
Of her.
Not present-day. Not from the tower.
From years ago.
Her as a teenager.
In a café in Brooklyn.
The scarf she wore. The mug she held. The book on the table.
She'd never told anyone about that night.
She stared at the drawing.
"Where did you—?"
"I saw you," he said. "Before I knew you."
She backed away.
"This is obsession."
"This is destiny."
The lights in the room dimmed further.
Her hands shook.
He stepped closer.
"I see what you are. Even if you don't."
"Then tell me," she whispered. "What am I?"
He reached up.
Touched her face.
"You're mine."
She slapped his hand away.
"I don't belong to you."
"Not yet."
She bolted.
The elevator opened before she touched it.
She stepped in.
Pressed the lobby.
The doors began to close.
But he called out—
"You're still drawing, Lila. Just remember who sharpened your pencil."
And the doors shut.
Leaving the night colder than it had been.