THE FIRST SOFT MOMENT
Alina's head was pounding. The argument with Damian had left a residue of tension that clung to her skin like a second layer, impossible to shake. She sat in the living room, fingers curled around the edge of the couch, staring blankly at the city lights beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The penthouse that had once felt suffocating now seemed to close in even tighter, pressing down on her chest.
Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. Every corner of the penthouse—the marble floors, the golden light, the invisible security—felt like it was mocking her helplessness. She wanted to run. She wanted to disappear. But the truth was terrifying: she couldn't. Not without him noticing. Not without consequences she couldn't imagine.
"I… I can't…" she whispered to herself, pressing a hand against her forehead.
The door opened quietly before she realized someone had entered. She looked up. Damian was there, standing silently, his expression unreadable—but there was something in his eyes that made her flinch. Not anger this time. Not control. Something softer.
"Alina," he said, voice low. Almost careful.
She looked away quickly, her throat tight. "I… I'm fine," she said, but her voice cracked.
He stepped closer, slowly, deliberately. He didn't reach out. He didn't touch her. But his presence was enough to make her heart race.
"You're not fine," he said quietly. His voice wasn't sharp, wasn't commanding. It was… almost gentle.
Alina swallowed hard, trying to fight the rising panic. "I said I'm fine," she repeated, more forceful than she felt.
He didn't move. Just stood there, watching her. There was a stillness in him that was both calming and terrifying.
Then her chest tightened. Her breaths came faster, more shallow. A sudden wave of panic gripped her. She clutched at the couch, her nails digging into the fabric.
"I… I can't… I can't…!" Her voice trembled, cracking with fear.
Damian's eyes widened slightly, and for the first time, he seemed genuinely unsettled. He moved quickly but without rushing, closing the distance between them.
"Alina," he said firmly, kneeling beside her. "Look at me."
She shook her head violently. "No! Don't—don't touch me!"
He didn't touch her. Not yet. He only reached out, gently, placing his hands near hers, hovering without making contact. "You're panicking," he said quietly. "Breathe with me. Slowly. In… and out."
Her body trembled. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to scream. But his presence anchored her in a strange way. Slowly, shakily, she mimicked his rhythm—breathing in, breathing out, counting each inhale, each exhale.
"Good," he murmured, his deep voice steady and grounding. "That's it. Focus on your breath. Not the room. Not me. Just your breath."
Tears slid down her cheeks. She didn't wipe them away. She couldn't. She was too overwhelmed, too exhausted, too afraid.
"I—" Her voice caught in her throat. "I can't… I can't handle this…"
"You're handling it," Damian said quietly. "Right now, you're surviving. That's more than enough."
Alina's knees shook. She felt ridiculous. She was twenty-two, supposedly capable, yet here she was, panicking like a child in a golden cage. And yet… he didn't criticize her. He didn't mock her. He didn't demand she straighten up and obey. He just… stayed.
"Alina…" His voice softened. "You don't have to do this alone."
"I… I'm alone," she whispered. Her hands trembled, curling into fists. "Even when the maids are here… even when you're here… I'm still alone."
He reached out slowly, finally resting a hand gently on her shoulder. Just one. Light. Non-threatening. Safe.
"You're not alone," he said. "Not anymore. I'm not leaving you."
Her chest constricted. She wanted to push him away. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to scream at him for every bruise, every rule, every suffocating moment he'd imposed on her life. And yet, for the first time, she let herself lean slightly into that single touch.
She didn't fully relax. She couldn't. But it was enough. Enough to feel human again, if only for a moment.
Damian's other hand hovered near her, unsure. She didn't flinch this time. She didn't pull away. The tension between them shifted—not dangerous, not combative, but fragile.
"You're safe," he said again, almost a whisper now. "Here. Right now. You don't have to fight everything all at once."
"I can't… I shouldn't…" Her voice was small, uncertain.
"You can," he said firmly. "And you will. But not alone. I won't let you be alone."
The words were strange. Unfamiliar. Terrifying. And yet… they carried a strange comfort. She wanted to reject them, to push him away, to remind herself he wasn't her savior. But the panic had drained her strength, and for the first time, she realized she didn't want to fight entirely.
"Damian…" Her voice wavered. "I don't… I don't understand you."
He chuckled softly, a rare sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "I don't understand me either," he admitted.
Her eyes widened. She didn't know if she should be angry or incredulous. The man who had bought her, controlled her, scared her… admitted he didn't understand himself?
"Yes," he continued quietly. "I don't know why I… care. Why I… can't let you leave. Why every moment you're scared, it feels like… like it's mine to fix."
Her chest tightened. A strange mix of fear, anger, and something else—something she couldn't name—rose inside her. She wanted to run, wanted to shout, wanted to tell him he had no right. And yet… she didn't move.
"I… I don't know if I can trust you," she whispered, voice small.
"I don't expect you to," he admitted. "Not yet. But I'm here. I'll wait. I'll stay. Until you can."
The weight of the words sank into her, heavy and suffocating, yet oddly grounding. She felt… fragile. Exposed. And strangely… safe.
The maids appeared quietly at the doorway, unsure whether to intervene. Lila's eyes were filled with concern, and Sofia held her hands together nervously. Damian gave them a small nod. They understood. They wouldn't interfere.
Alina finally let herself exhale, the breath she'd been holding for hours—or days—leaving her in shaky, uneven waves. She lowered her head, pressing her hands to her face, letting herself feel the fear, the tension, the overwhelming emotions that had been building since the auction.
"You're… still trembling," Damian said softly, voice carrying that strange gentleness. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. She flinched, but he didn't stop. "It's okay. You're allowed to feel. You're allowed to be scared."
Her breath caught. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to resist. She wanted to scream at him for making her feel this way. But instead, she allowed herself to lean slightly against him, her body trembling but finding some strange solace in his presence.
"I… I don't know why I'm like this," she admitted softly, voice barely audible.
"Because you're human," he said simply. "Because you've been through something no one should ever face. And because… you're learning to survive again."
She swallowed hard, her throat tight. The tears were coming freely now. Not just from fear, but from exhaustion, frustration, and an emotion she couldn't name. Pain. Relief. Confusion. All tangled together.
"Alina," Damian said quietly, almost a whisper, "look at me."
She lifted her tear-streaked face. His eyes were fixed on hers—dark, intense, but soft in a way she hadn't expected. Vulnerable, almost.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said. "I don't want to scare you. I only… want to protect you. And sometimes… I don't know how to do it the right way."
Her heart ached. She wanted to scream. She wanted to reject him. And yet… the truth was undeniable. She wanted his protection. She wanted it despite herself. She wanted him, even though he terrified her.
"I… I'm scared," she admitted, voice trembling.
"I know," he murmured. "And that's okay. You're allowed to be."
The world outside the penthouse didn't matter in that moment. The city, the guards, the golden marble floors—all of it faded. It was just them. Two flawed, broken people trapped together in a dance neither fully understood.
Alina leaned back slightly, letting herself feel the weight of the moment. For the first time, she didn't have to be strong. She didn't have to fight. She didn't have to pretend she understood what was happening. She just… was.
And Damian… he stayed.
Not as a captor. Not as a threat. Not as the man who had bought her. But as something else. Something human. Something terrifyingly close to care.
"I… I don't know what this means," she whispered.
"It means…" He paused, eyes never leaving hers, "that you're not alone. Not anymore."
Alina closed her eyes, letting herself absorb the words, the presence, the first soft moment of unexpected tenderness in a world that had never been gentle.
Somewhere deep inside, she knew the fight wasn't over. She knew Damian wouldn't let go. She knew she wouldn't let go either.
But for the first time since the auction, she realized… maybe, just maybe, she could survive him.