20. Sasha
20
SASHA
The long drive curves past towering trees, the city long gone by now.
I blink at the sight ahead— mansion feels like the wrong word, but it’s the only one that fits. The place is sprawling, almost too beautiful to exist in real life. Stone walls, tall arched windows glowing warm with light, and an ivy-covered facade that looks straight out of some old European estate. A cobblestone courtyard spreads wide in front of the entrance, lined with trimmed hedges and an ornate fountain gurgling quietly in the center.
But what sends a shiver down my spine isn’t the house.
Men in dark suits stand scattered across the property—at the entrance, near the trees, by the fountain—some talking quietly, some just watching as our car rolls in. They’re not your usual staff. No polished smiles or polished shoes. These men are built like soldiers, faces hard, eyes cold.
Security. His security.
The car stops. Damien gets out first without a word, a tall man immediately approaching him, murmuring something low. Damien just nods, his expression unreadable.
I force myself to move, stepping out onto the cobblestones. The air here feels different—crisper, too still. I glance around, taking it all in, heart racing.
The mansion is…beautiful. Intimidating. Massive French windows line the ground floor, warm golden light spilling out onto the stone terrace. There’s even a damn balcony up top with wrought iron railings. If I weren’t half terrified, I’d probably call it romantic.
And it hits me—this is a world I don’t understand.
Damien turns to me finally, his face half-shadowed under the outdoor lanterns.
I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “Who…who are you?”
Damien just stands there, staring at me like he’s debating what part of the truth to give me—if any at all.
My stomach twists. I should be scared.
I am scared.
“You’re not going to answer me?” I ask, voice brittle. “You’re just going to stand there like that?”
He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time. “Get inside, Sasha.”
“No.” My arms fold across my chest, my voice cracking. “Not until you tell me what the hell this is. Who are those men? Why—why does this place feel like it’s built for a Bond villain?”
His jaw clenches, eyes flashing, but still no answer.
I laugh—sharp, humorless. “Jesus. I was right, wasn’t I? You’re not just my boss.” I motion wildly at the men. “This— this isn’t normal.”
“You’re not safe,” he finally says, low and grim. “That’s all you need to know right now.”
I bark out a bitter laugh. “Oh, great. Good talk. Super reassuring.” I run a shaky hand through my hair. “Damien, they grabbed me…and they knew your name. They said they were sending you a message. And now you’re dragging me to this…goddamn fortress with bodyguards and bulletproof windows—what am I supposed to think?”
His expression finally cracks. He takes one slow step toward me. “You’re supposed to trust me.”
My throat tightens. “I barely know you.”
He nods once, like he was expecting that. “You’re right. You don’t.”
I blink at him, surprised by the honesty.
“But you will,” he adds quietly. “Because it’s too late for either of us to back out now.”
I stare at him, my heart thudding so loud I’m sure he hears it.
“I’m not the man you thought I was,” Damien says, his voice dropping lower. “But I’m the man who’s going to keep you alive.”
There’s nothing else left to say.
I shiver and finally let him lead me toward the front doors, heart in my throat. Because whatever line we were walking before? It’s gone.
The massive double doors swing open as Damien leads me inside. Soft golden light spills from chandeliers, polished dark wood floors gleaming under my scuffed shoes, the faint smell of expensive candles mixing with something homey…lavender, maybe?
It’s too perfect. Too elegant.
Damien barely spares me a glance as he shrugs off his coat and tosses it to a waiting man I didn’t even notice standing there. His staff moves silently, eyes lowered, like they’re trained not to exist unless spoken to.
I shift awkwardly, my arms wrapping around myself. I’m still in my work clothes, covered in city grime, probably looking like I rolled out of a trash can.
Before I can say anything, a voice carries from the hallway. “Damien? Is that you?”
I stiffen. That voice…
Seconds later, she appears.
His mother.
The same striking woman I met at the charity ball, dressed now in a silk blouse and slacks, every inch of her radiating old money elegance. Her blonde hair is swept back in a low chignon, pearls gleaming at her throat. She stops short the moment she sees me, blinking once—twice.
“Oh,” she says, surprise flashing across her face before she schools it into something neutral. “I…wasn’t expecting company.”
I feel like I’m about to sink into the floor.
Damien’s jaw tightens. “It wasn’t planned.”
His mother’s eyes flick to me, sharp but not unkind. “We’ve met,” she says, like it costs her something to admit it. “At the charity gala. You’re…Sasha, yes?”
I swallow hard and nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
She studies me for a long beat. “I didn’t expect you’d be visiting here.” Her gaze cuts to Damien. “Or you.”
“It’s good to see you too, Mom,” he says, and she smiles and steps into his arms.
“I missed you, kiddo.”
“I’m right here,” he says, awkwardly patting her back.
“But what brings you here?” she says, turning back to me.
“It’s not a visit,” Damien says roughly. “She’s staying.”
The words hit me like a slap. Staying?
His mother arches a brow, but there’s something almost amused flickering in her eyes. “I see.” She takes a step forward, clasping her hands. “Well…welcome to the house, Sasha.”
I stare at her, throat dry. I don’t know what I expected—but politeness wasn’t it.
Damien doesn’t let the silence stretch. “We’re done for tonight.” His hand grazes my lower back, urging me forward. “Show Sasha to the guest wing.”
One of the waiting men nods, stepping forward silently.
Damien’s mother watches, eyes unreadable. “I’ll take her.”
Both Damien and I glance at her. He frowns. “You don’t have to?—”
“Nonsense, Damien.” She turns that perfectly polished smile on me. “I’d like to get to know…your guest.”
There’s something pointed in the way she says guest .
Damien hesitates, but eventually nods, jaw tight. “Fine.”
Then, without waiting, she turns on her heel, expecting me to follow.
I shoot Damien a helpless look—he gives me nothing. Stone-cold.
Typical.
With a deep breath, I trail after his mother, heels echoing off the marble floors.
“I’m Ekaterina,” she says finally, glancing at me. “Though you probably remember that from the gala.”
“I do,” I manage. “You…looked stunning that night.”
She smiles, the barest hint of warmth in it. “Flattery won’t get you out of trouble, dear. Not in this family.”
I’m not sure what to say to that.
We walk in silence a bit longer, through hallways that feel more like a museum than a home—rich paintings, antique vases, high vaulted ceilings. Everything screams old money .
“You’re brave,” Ekaterina says suddenly.
I blink. “What?”
She looks at me, eyes glinting. “Coming here. With him.”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”
She chuckles softly. “No. You wouldn’t.” She slows, casting a glance back toward where Damien disappeared. “My son…is a difficult man. Always has been. Too much like his father, though he’d rather chew glass than hear me say it.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I stay quiet.
“So,” she hums, “how did you two meet?”
I blink. “Um. It’s kind of a funny story…but I work at his company.”
Ekaterina’s brow arches. “At Zaitsev Industries?”
“Yeah. I just started a few weeks ago.” I force a smile. “I’m…very new.”
She hums thoughtfully. “You don’t look like the type they usually hire.”
I wince. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
We stop in front of a large oak door. She studies me again, something unreadable passing over her face.
“Whatever you think this is,” Ekaterina says quietly, “you’re wrong. Damien doesn’t bring people here. Ever.”
I swallow, heart thudding. “I didn’t ask to come.”
She nods. “No. But you’re here. Which means…you’re in it now.”
The door creaks open. The room is beautiful—soft cream walls, gold accents, a balcony overlooking the garden. Nothing like the prison I imagined.
Ekaterina glances at me once more. “Goodnight, Sasha.”
And just like that, she’s gone, leaving me alone with too many questions and no answers.
I pace the length of the ridiculously large guest room, arms crossed, teeth sinking into my lower lip until it’s sore. The chandelier overhead flickers slightly with the breeze from the open balcony doors, but all I hear is my own thoughts spiraling out of control.
I should’ve left. Should’ve called an Uber or hell, walked back to the city barefoot. But instead, here I am—practically housed in Damien Zaitsev’s personal estate, watched by men with guns.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Tomorrow morning, I’m marching straight to him. I want answers. All of it—the men, the attack, this house. Who the hell he really is.
And there’s fact that I don’t have any clothes to wear.
I whirl around when there’s a soft knock at the door.
My stomach drops.
I debate ignoring it. But my legs move on their own. When I open the door, Damien’s there—one hand braced above the frame, shirtsleeves rolled up, eyes darker than usual.
I stare. “Are…are you drunk?”
His lips curl, a humorless smirk, and before I can blink, he’s pulling me in by the waist and kissing me hard.
I gasp against his mouth, tasting the whiskey on his breath instantly—rich, smoky, heady. His tongue sweeps past my lips, and I melt so fast it’s embarrassing. My hands fist his shirt, and I’m already wet between my legs and ready to forget every angry thought I had two seconds ago.
Damien groans into the kiss, deep and low, his grip tightening like he’s trying to hold back but failing.
I pull back just enough to whisper, “Come inside.”
His forehead presses against mine, his breathing ragged. “No.”
I blink up at him, lips tingling. “Why?”
His jaw flexes. “I need to keep my head straight…for your sake.”
And then, just like that—he pulls away.
I’m left standing there, breathing hard, tasting whiskey, and wondering what the hell just happened as he disappears down the hall like he wasn’t two seconds from ruining me.
What the hell is this man doing to me?