From Chains to Forever

Evelyn's breath caught in her throat as Tommy's face burned in her mind—those familiar brown eyes, now hollow, darting away as he fled the rooftop bar. Her childhood friend, the boy who'd snuck her into the community theater, who'd promised they'd escape their dead-end town together. How was he here, in L.A., with a camera, part of this twisted game of "Mine"? Her heart pounded, a mix of shock and betrayal, as she pushed through the rooftop crowd, Lila hot on her heels.

"Evie, wait!" Lila called, grabbing her arm. "You can't just chase some creep into the night! We need to call security or—"

"No," Evelyn snapped, her voice sharper than she meant. She spun to face Lila, her curls bouncing, her eyes wild. "That was Tommy. From home. I *know* him. Or I thought I did."

Lila's jaw dropped. "Trailer-park Tommy? The one who—" She stopped, reading Evelyn's face. "Okay, but you're not going after him alone. This is getting way too creepy."

Before Evelyn could argue, a strong hand caught her wrist, pulling her back. She turned, ready to snap, but it was Damian Blackwood, his gray eyes blazing with something fierce, almost feral. "You're not going anywhere," he said, his voice low, possessive, sending a shiver down her spine she didn't want to acknowledge.

"Let go of me," she said, yanking her wrist free, though the heat of his touch lingered, making her pulse race in a way that infuriated her. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

Damian stepped closer, towering over her, his presence overwhelming, like a storm she couldn't escape. "Someone's targeting you, Evelyn," he said, his voice a rough whisper, meant for her alone. "They're using your past, and you running off half-cocked is exactly what they want. You're mine to protect now."

Her breath hitched, her heart stuttering at the word *mine*. Not the chilling red scrawl of the photos, but something else—something that made her feel claimed in a way that was both terrifying and thrilling. She hated it. Hated how his voice, his gaze, made her feel like she was losing control, like her carefully built walls were crumbling under the weight of him.

"I'm not *yours*," she shot back, her voice trembling with defiance and something else she refused to name. "I'm not marrying you, Damian. I'm not your property."

His eyes darkened, not with anger but with something deeper, more dangerous. "I don't want to own you," he said, stepping so close she could feel the heat radiating from him. "I want to keep you safe. But I won't lie—I want you, Evelyn. More than I should. And I'll be damned if I let Vincent or anyone else take you from me."

Her knees weakened, and she cursed herself for it. She was Evelyn Hart, the girl who'd fought her way out of a trailer park, who'd faced down casting directors and critics without flinching. But Damian's words, the raw edge in his voice, the way his eyes burned into hers—it was unraveling her, pulling at something deep inside she'd kept locked away.

"Guys, can we save the soap opera for later?" Lila interjected, her voice sharp but her eyes wide with worry. "There's a literal stalker out there, and Evie's about to bolt after him."

Evelyn blinked, snapping out of the haze Damian's presence had pulled her into. "I'm not bolting," she said, forcing her voice steady. "But I need to know why Tommy's here. What he's doing. And if you're so hell-bent on protecting me, Damian, then help me find him."

Damian's jaw tightened, but he nodded, a silent agreement. "Fine. But we do this my way. No running off alone."

She rolled her eyes, but the fight in her softened, just a fraction. "Deal."

---

Damian led them to his car—a sleek black SUV parked just outside the bar, a driver waiting like this was all part of his plan. Evelyn slid into the backseat with Lila, her mind racing. Tommy. The photos. The voice on the phone. It all pointed back to her past, to the life she'd buried. And Damian, with his possessive promises and cryptic warnings, was tangled up in it, whether she liked it or not.

"Where are we going?" she asked as the car pulled into the L.A. night, the city lights blurring past.

"I've got people tracking him," Damian said, his voice clipped, his eyes scanning the road ahead. "The guy from the rooftop—he was spotted heading toward Skid Row. My team's got a lead."

"Your *team*?" Lila said, raising an eyebrow. "What are you, Batman? Who has a team for this?"

Damian didn't answer, his focus on his phone, texting rapidly. Evelyn watched him, her chest tight. He was all control, all power, but there was something else—a tension in his shoulders, a flicker of worry in his eyes when he glanced at her. Like she was more than a mission to him. Like she was *his*.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said, her voice low, meant only for him.

His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, intense and unyielding. "Like what?"

"Like I'm already yours," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but it carried a challenge. Her heart pounded, and she hated how much she wanted him to keep looking, to keep claiming her with those eyes.

He didn't look away. "Maybe you are," he said, so softly it was almost a confession. "And you don't even know it yet."

Her breath caught, a flush creeping up her neck. She wanted to snap back, to tell him he was wrong, but her body betrayed her, leaning toward him, drawn to the heat of his words. Lila coughed loudly, breaking the spell.

"Okay, you two, chill," Lila said, fanning herself dramatically. "I'm getting secondhand chemistry over here, and it's weird."

Evelyn forced a laugh, turning to the window, but her heart was still racing, her control slipping like sand through her fingers. She needed to focus—on Tommy, on the threat, not on the way Damian's voice made her feel like she was falling.

---

They pulled up to a rundown part of the city, where neon signs flickered and the air smelled of asphalt and desperation. Damian's driver parked near an alley, and he led them out, his hand brushing Evelyn's back as they moved, a possessive gesture that sent another shiver through her. She stepped away, needing space, needing to breathe.

"My guy says he's in there," Damian said, nodding toward a seedy bar at the alley's end, its sign half-lit, buzzing like a dying insect. "Stay close."

Evelyn nodded, her pulse hammering. She didn't know what she'd say to Tommy, what she'd do when she saw him. He'd been her friend, her ally, the one person who'd understood her dreams in that godforsaken town. And now he was here, part of this nightmare.

Inside, the bar was a haze of smoke and low voices, the kind of place where secrets were traded like currency. Damian scanned the room, his hand hovering near Evelyn's, like he was ready to pull her behind him at any moment. She hated how much she wanted that protection, how much she was starting to lean into him.

"There," Lila whispered, pointing to a corner booth. Tommy sat hunched over a beer, his hood up, his face drawn and older than she remembered. Her heart twisted—part nostalgia, part betrayal.

She started toward him, but Damian grabbed her arm, his grip firm but not painful. "Wait," he said, his voice a low growl. "We don't know who he's with."

She pulled free, her eyes flashing. "He's my friend. Or he was. I need to do this."

Damian's gaze softened, but the possessiveness didn't fade. "Then I'm right behind you."

She nodded, her throat tight, and approached the booth. Tommy looked up, his eyes widening as he saw her. "Evie," he said, his voice rough, like he hadn't used it in days. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, sliding into the booth across from him, Damian looming behind her like a shadow. "Why are you following me, Tommy? The photos, the videos—what's going on?"

He glanced at Damian, then back at her, his hands shaking. "You don't get it, Evie. You're in deep, and you don't even know it."

"Tell me," she said, leaning forward, her voice fierce. "Who's doing this? Vincent Kane? Someone else?"

Tommy's eyes darted to the door, fear flickering across his face. "I can't. They'll kill me."

"Who?" she pressed, her heart pounding. "Tommy, talk to me."

But before he could answer, the bar's door slammed open, and a man stepped in—tall, lean, with Vincent Kane's unmistakable golden hair and icy smile. He wasn't alone. Two men flanked him, their eyes cold, their hands in their pockets like they were hiding something dangerous.

Vincent's gaze locked on Evelyn, his smile widening, predatory. "Evelyn," he said, his voice smooth as poison. "And Damian. How cozy."

Damian stepped in front of her, his body tense, his voice a low growl. "Stay away from her, Kane."

Vincent laughed, stepping closer, undeterred. "Oh, I don't think so. She's mine, Blackwood. And you're about to learn what happens when you try to take what's mine."

Evelyn's heart stopped, her eyes darting to Tommy, who was shrinking into the booth, his face pale. And then she saw it—a glint of metal in Vincent's hand, half-hidden by his coat. A gun.