Chapter Twenty-Five
Amelia
I walk like I never have before.
There’s a shift in the way I move, a newfound confidence. Darkness clings to me like a second skin. Because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that a man who promised to burn the world for me, and actually did, walks behind me.
He’s an anchor.
A force that steadies me, strengthens me, lets me act like a girl who has finally been unchained.
There’s no more village looming over my head. No more whispered threats. No more sick ideologies pressing down on me with the weight of a thousand suns. No more invisible chains. No more boundaries keeping me locked in a life I never chose.
In this cold, unforgiving city, I’ve been able to form my own community. I made a cocoon with the people who understand me, love me: Margaret, Ruby, Damien. Ruby was beside herself when she heard the news. She kept asking if I was okay, and if I needed anything. I never expected anyone to care so much for me. And I’m so grateful for the people that make me feel like I belong.
My man freed me.
But he didn’t just free me; he freed someone else too. Someone I care about. Someone who’s lived in fear, just like I did.
I sit by Margaret’s hospital bed, holding her hand tightly, my thumb brushing the fragile bones of her knuckles. It’s been a few days since everything went down. Since the world I once knew burned to ash.
The surgery was risky.
But she’s still here.
She looks different. Older. The fear, the exhaustion, the years of hiding have worn her down.
But she’s here.
She survived.
And yet, she hasn’t opened her eyes.
My throat tightens. I reach out, caressing her grey hair.
I hold back my tears. “Margaret.”
Like the past few days, she gives me nothing.
“It’s over,” I whisper. “It’s really, really over.”
I press my forehead against her arm. “Damien burned it all down,” I breathe. “The village. The people. The ones who hurt us. They’re dead. All of them. There’s nothing left. They can’t touch us anymore.”
“Please, open your eyes,” I beg.
Nothing.
The heart monitor beeps beside me, its steady rhythm doing nothing to soothe the storm inside me.
“Wake up, Margaret,” I plead. “The world’s waiting for you.”
Tears fall without my permission. A hand settles on my shoulder, warm, familiar. Damien.
He hasn’t left my side since that night. Since he carried me out of Hell and never looked back.
“She’ll wake up,” he says softly. “She’s strong. Like you.”
My hand finds his, clutching it.
He’s here.
I’m here.
We’re free.
“The nurse is waiting for you.”
I stiffen. He notices instantly.
“Amelia,” he warns, eyes dark and endless, filled with a level of obsession I never thought I’d witness. “You have to do this, or they’ll get worse.”
We dealt with my wounds ourselves the day Damien rescued me. Unfortunately, the burns on my feet got infected. I don’t regret it. I couldn’t handle being around people that day. I needed quiet. I needed him.
The nurse is kind. Gentle. She always makes sure to be careful with me. But after everything, I developed a quirk, I hate anyone but Damien touching me.
“I’ll be right here,” he promises. “She just needs to change the dressing.”
I nod once.
A knock sounds at the door.
“Come in,” he calls.
The nurse steps in with bright eyes and a calm smile.
Damien shifts, pulling me into his lap, his arms caging me.
“You two are adorable,” she says. She always says that.
“Let’s get this over with, sweetheart,” she hums as she sets up.
I feel Damien’s body tense as she kneels and unwraps the gauze on my feet. He watches her closely, never letting her touch me without me being on him. I’m grateful she respects our boundaries. She’s an angel.
She works quickly, replacing the gauze and applying something cool that soothes the sting.
“I see a lot of couples,” she murmurs, “but you two? You’re something else.” She chuckles. “It’s the way he looks at you.”
I glance at Damien.
His eyes are locked on my feet, his jaw tight. He still blames himself for not finding me sooner. For not being able to take me to the hospital that night without falling apart.
I don’t like anyone touching me. He hates anyone else touching me. A match made in heaven…or hell.
She finishes up, securing the last bandage.
I finally breathe. “Thank you.”
As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, Damien’s phone buzzes in his pocket.
He turns to stone.
He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and starts to stand, carefully moving me off his lap. I react instantly, my fingers wrapping around his wrist.
No.
No secrets.
Not anymore.
I don’t say it aloud. He sees it in my eyes.
He makes his choice. He answers.
“I don’t know where your daughter is, Richard.”
A pause. He cracks his neck.
“If you don’t have a tight enough leash on her, that sounds like your problem.”
I can only hear his side of the call, but I don’t need more.
It’s Richard. Linda’s father.
“Didn’t you arrange her marriage? If she ran, that’s on you.” His voice sharpens. Cold. Unforgiving. “This is the last time I want to hear about this. Linda is not my business. Not my concern.”
I am.
Only me.
He sounds convincing. But we both know where Linda is. Somewhere in Hell, her ashes scattered with the dirt. Good riddance.
Damien told me he broke one of his long-standing rules that night: he doesn’t kill women.
But Linda?
She wasn’t a woman. She was evil in flesh.
Neither of us regrets it. He tells me often, if he could go back, he would’ve made her death slower.
His thumb draws circles on my thigh, like he needs the reminder. I’m here. In his arms. And no one will take me away.
Linda took me to my death with a smile on her face.
Guess what, Linda?
Only one of us is still standing. And it’s not you, bitch.
I settle back beside Margaret, who looks too small in that bed. I have to keep reminding myself that we made it.
I squeeze her hand again.
For a long moment, nothing happens.
Then—
A faint pressure.
A weak squeeze back.
I nearly jump out of my chair.
“Damien,” I call, my heart hammering in my chest. “Damien!”
“I see it,” he says, eyes wide.
Margaret’s lashes flutter before she pries her eyes open.
“Hey,” I breathe, reaching for the cup of water on the bedside table. “Here. Drink.”
She doesn’t even glance at the cup. Instead, she reaches for my face, forcing me to meet her gaze.
Her voice is hoarse. “Is it true?”
“What?”
Margaret swallows hard, her throat working. “Is it over?”
I understand now. It takes a second, but I nod.
Her body sinks deeper into the mattress, like she can finally rest.
“I heard you,” she murmurs.
She heard me. The stories I told her, the reassurance, the pleading. She heard all of it.
She turns her head slightly, her eyes landing on Damien. “He burned them?”
Damien pushes off the wall and steps closer. His face is unreadable. “Every single one.”
Margaret chokes on a sound, a half sob, half laugh. But it’s not sadness. It’s relief.
She looks back at me. “We’re free?”
I nod again.
Her lips part like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out.
I know what she’s feeling.
What it’s like to carry fear for so long, only to realize it’s gone.
“We survived,” she marvels.
“We did.”
“Turns out the Hellkeeper was real after all.” Her lips curl into something that almost resembles a smile. “But he was on our side the whole time.”
I’ve never thought about it that way before.
Damien. The Hellkeeper.
My Hellkeeper .
Still lost in thought, I reach for the nurse call button and press it.
Those old scriptures, the myths that filled my childhood with fear, maybe they weren’t myths after all. Maybe they were warnings. But the Hellkeeper, no matter what, has always been on my side.
The nurse arrives and begins fussing over Margaret. I step away and go stand beside Damien.
The news wouldn’t shut up about what happened. A fire, they said. An accident that spread too fast, swallowing everything in its path. Nothing survived. And the bodies? Burned to ash.
I don’t feel guilty for the people I knew my whole life. They tried to kill me, and they would’ve succeeded if Damien hadn’t found me first.
I’m just as morally gray as he is. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
The police were on me the second I returned. Questions. Suspicion. It was overwhelming. But Damien has friends in the right places. Friends who made things easier. They fed me a story, one I had to repeat like I believed it. Damien chased the truck, which made the masked men panic and throw me out before they got caught. Simple. Believable.
No link between us and the burning village. No bodies to analyze, no bullet holes to explain. Everything was reduced to ash.
No evidence. Just a freak accident. A fire that spread too fast, too wild, leaving nothing behind. A shootout with no suspects or motive. And just like that, we walked away clean.
As soon as the nurse finishes checking on Margaret and leaves, I rush back to her.
I hesitate, but the question has been sitting heavy in my chest. Even if it’s not the right time, I can’t keep it in.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Margaret looks at me like she’s been waiting for this moment but dreading it too.
“I didn’t know how,” she admits. “At first, I was scared. You came from them. And for a long time, I thought maybe… maybe they sent you here to drag me back.”
I shake my head. “Never.”
Damien stays nearby. He never really leaves me. But he doesn’t interfere.
“I know that now,” she says with a deep breath. “But back then? I had to be sure. I had to protect myself. After a while, I saw too much of myself in you, Amelia. I knew you were just like me. I didn’t know how to confess that.”
Why did she take the risk? Why take me in, even if she thought I might be one of them?
“But if there was even a one percent chance that you were like me, if there was even the smallest possibility that you ran away from them, I couldn’t risk leaving you out in the cold. I might as well have laid next to you.”
That’s Margaret. A saint.
“I should’ve told you,” she sighs.
“You don’t have to feel guilty, Margaret.” I try to reassure her.
She laughs weakly and brushes away a tear. “We both know that’s not how guilt works.”
I don’t want to dwell on the past anymore.
It’s behind us.
Now?
All I want to focus on is the future. One where Damien and I can finally have our happily ever after.