From Chains to Forever

The air in the bar was thick with smoke and tension, the dim lights casting jagged shadows across Vincent Kane's icy smile. Evelyn stood frozen, her heart hammering as she stared at the glint of metal in his hand—a gun, half-hidden by his coat, but unmistakable. Damian's body was a wall in front of her, his broad shoulders tense, his voice a low growl as he faced Vincent. "Stay away from her, Kane."

Vincent's laugh was sharp, cutting through the bar's low hum. "Oh, Damian. Always playing the hero. But she's not yours to save." His blue eyes slid to Evelyn, predatory and unyielding. "Isn't that right, Evelyn? Or should I say… Evie?"

Her stomach lurched at the nickname, the same one the voice on the phone had used, the one tied to her past. She glanced at Tommy, hunched in the booth, his face pale, his hands trembling around his beer. He wouldn't meet her eyes. Whatever he was caught up in, it was bad—worse than she'd feared.

"Put the gun down," Damian said, his voice steady but laced with a dangerous edge. "You don't want this fight, Vincent."

"Don't I?" Vincent stepped closer, his two goons flanking him, their hands hovering near their jackets. The bar's other patrons were starting to notice, their voices dropping to whispers, eyes darting toward the exit. "You think you can just swoop in, claim her like some prize? She's *mine*, Blackwood. And I don't share."

Evelyn's blood boiled, her fear giving way to fury. She stepped out from behind Damian, ignoring his sharp glance. "I'm not anyone's," she said, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Not yours, not his. So whatever game you're playing, Vincent, I'm done with it."

Vincent's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Bold words, Evie. But you're in over your head. You think those tabloid stories are bad? I've got more—enough to bury your little career before it even starts."

Her heart stuttered, the memory of the trailer photo flashing in her mind—her old life, her mother's car, the word *Mine*. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice low, steady, though her hands were shaking.

"You," Vincent said simply, his gaze raking over her, possessive and cold. "Sign with my studio. Be my star. I'll make you untouchable. Or I'll break you."

Damian's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, pulling her back. His touch was firm, possessive, and it sent a jolt through her, a mix of irritation and something she refused to name. "She's not signing anything," he said, his voice a growl. "And if you don't back off, Kane, you'll regret it."

Vincent laughed again, but there was no humor in it. "You're out of your depth, Blackwood. You can't protect her forever."

Evelyn yanked her wrist free, her eyes blazing. "I don't need protecting," she snapped, glaring between them. "I'm not some pawn in your billionaire pissing contest."

But even as she said it, her resolve wavered. The gun, Tommy's fear, the photos—they were closing in, and she was starting to feel like a cornered animal. She glanced at Tommy, desperate for answers. "Tommy, talk to me. Why are you doing this? Who's got you scared?"

Tommy's eyes flicked to Vincent, then back to her, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry, Evie. I didn't have a choice. They… they know things. About me. About you."

"Who's *they*?" she pressed, her voice breaking. "Vincent? Someone else?"

But before Tommy could answer, Vincent raised the gun, just enough to make his point. "Enough," he said, his voice cold. "Time's up, Evie. Make a choice—me, or nothing."

---

Damian moved faster than she thought possible, shoving her behind him, his body a shield. "Touch her, and you're done," he said, his voice low, lethal. The air crackled with tension, the bar's patrons now openly staring, some slipping toward the exit.

Evelyn's heart raced, her mind spinning. Vincent's threat, Tommy's betrayal, Damian's protectiveness—it was too much. And yet, Damian's presence, his warmth against her, was grounding her in a way she didn't want to admit. She hated how safe he made her feel, how his possessiveness stirred something deep inside her, something that made her want to lean into him, to let go.

"Stop," she said, stepping out from behind him, her voice shaking but firm. "Both of you. I'm not choosing anyone tonight. But I'm not running either."

Vincent's eyes narrowed, but he lowered the gun slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "You think you have a choice? Cute. I'll give you one more day, Evie. Then the world knows who you really are."

He turned, his goons following, and disappeared into the night, leaving the bar in stunned silence. Evelyn's knees wobbled, but Damian's hand was on her arm again, steadying her, his touch both a comfort and a cage.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice softer now, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her chest ache.

"No," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked at Tommy, who was still hunched in the booth, his face a mask of guilt. "Tommy, you're coming with us. You're going to tell me everything."

---

They were back in Damian's SUV, Tommy in the front passenger seat, looking like a trapped animal. Evelyn sat in the back with Lila, her mind a whirlwind. Damian drove, his hands tight on the wheel, his jaw clenched. The city lights blurred past, but all Evelyn could see was Tommy's face, the boy who'd once been her lifeline now tied to her nightmare.

"Start talking," she said, leaning forward, her voice sharp. "Why are you here? Who's making you do this?"

Tommy's hands shook, his eyes darting to Damian. "I… I got in trouble, Evie. Back home. Bad people, bad debts. I thought I could start over in L.A., but they found me. Said they'd wipe my slate clean if I helped them."

"Helped them how?" she pressed, her heart sinking. "The photos? The videos?"

He nodded, his voice breaking. "They wanted dirt on you. Pictures, anything they could use. I didn't know it was you at first, I swear. Not until I saw you at the gala."

"Who's *they*?" Damian cut in, his voice like steel. "Vincent?"

Tommy hesitated, his eyes flicking to Evelyn. "Yeah. And… someone else. I don't know who. They never showed their face. But they know everything—about you, about your mom, about the theater."

Evelyn's breath caught, her past crashing over her like a wave. Her mother, the drunken rages, the nights she'd hidden in the theater to escape. Whoever was behind this wasn't just targeting her career—they were digging into her soul.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, her voice cracking. "We were friends, Tommy. You could've come to me."

"I was scared," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "I'm still scared."

Damian's grip on the wheel tightened, his voice low, possessive. "You're done being scared, Tommy. You're under my protection now. But you tell us everything, or you're on your own."

Evelyn shot him a look, irritation flaring. "Stop acting like you own us," she said, but her voice lacked conviction. His protectiveness, his need to claim her as his to save, was getting under her skin, making her feel things she didn't want to feel. She was losing control, and it terrified her.

Damian's eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just them. "I'm not letting you go, Evelyn," he said, his voice a low promise. "Not to Vincent, not to your past. Say yes to me, and I'll end this."

Her heart pounded, her body leaning toward him despite herself, drawn to the fire in his words. She wanted to fight it, to cling to her independence, but the weight of the threats—Vincent's gun, Tommy's betrayal, the voice on the phone—was breaking her down. She opened her mouth to answer, to say no, but the words wouldn't come.

Lila squeezed her hand, grounding her. "You don't have to decide now," she whispered. "But we need to get somewhere safe."

Damian nodded, pulling the car into a private garage beneath a sleek high-rise. "My place," he said. "No one gets in without my say-so."

Evelyn wanted to argue, but exhaustion and fear won out. She followed him into the elevator, Tommy and Lila trailing behind, the silence heavy. Damian stood close, his arm brushing hers, and she hated how much she wanted to lean into him, to let his strength hold her up. She was Evelyn Hart, damn it. She didn't need anyone. But the way he looked at her, like she was his entire world, was making her question everything.

---

Damian's penthouse was all glass and steel, the city sprawling below like a glittering promise. He led them to a sleek living room, where Tommy collapsed onto a couch, his head in his hands. Evelyn stayed standing, her arms crossed, her mind racing. She needed answers, not just from Tommy but from Damian. His proposal, his intensity—it was too much, too fast, and yet it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

"Talk," she said to Tommy, her voice firm. "Everything you know. Now."

Tommy nodded, his voice shaky. "They wanted me to follow you, get photos, scare you. Said it'd make you… vulnerable. Easier to control. Vincent's got a whole operation—people watching you, digging into your life. But the other guy, the one I never saw—he's the one calling the shots."

Evelyn's blood ran cold. "Someone above Vincent?"

Tommy nodded, his eyes haunted. "They know things about you, Evie. Things even I didn't know. Like… what happened to your mom."

Her heart stopped. Her mother—dead for years, lost to addiction and despair. No one knew the full story, not even Lila. "What about her?" she whispered.

Before Tommy could answer, Damian's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his face darkening. "We've got a problem," he said, turning the screen toward her.

It was a live feed from a security camera outside the building. A black car idled across the street, its windows tinted, but the driver's door was open, and a figure stood there, staring up at the penthouse. A figure holding a phone, its screen glowing in the dark. And then a text popped up on Damian's phone, from an unknown number: *You can't hide her forever, Blackwood.*

Evelyn's breath caught, her eyes locked on the figure. Not Vincent. Not Tommy. Someone else, someone who'd been watching all along. And as the figure raised their phone, snapping a photo of the penthouse, the red glow of their screen lit up their face—just for a second. A face she didn't recognize, but one that sent a chill down her spine.

Because whoever they were, they weren't just after her. They were after everything she'd built—and everyone she cared about.