Chapter 5

Chloe's POV

My wrist throbbed in his grip, but I didn't pull away.

"Who knows what the future holds?"

Victoria watched the two of us, suddenly breaking the silence:

"Aren't you a makeup artist, Miss Vance?"

"The studio just opened, and there are models backstage waiting for touch-ups. Why don't you show us your skills?"

"Let us see what you're capable of."

The crowd immediately jumped on the bandwagon:

"Yeah, Chloe, do one look!"

"Come on, it's a launch party, don't be a buzzkill!"

Damon looked like he wanted to demand an answer to my earlier comment, but with the crowd pressing, he hesitated for a second before nodding:

"Go ahead. We'll leave as soon as you're done."

Victoria guided me toward the back of the facility, into a private photography bay.

My stomach churned. All I wanted was to finish quickly and get out of here.

The moment I set my brushes on the vanity, Damon's phone buzzed violently.

It was an urgent call from his family's driver, claiming his father was having a massive heart attack in the front lounge.

Almost simultaneously, Victoria rushed in, her face white: "Damon! Your dad just collapsed in the lobby! Go check on him!"

Faced with his father's life, Damon's expression shattered.

He turned, whipped his jacket off, and draped it over my shoulders.

He barked at his men: "You three. Stand outside this door. Do not leave her side for a single second."

The guards nodded repeatedly.

Damon bolted toward the front.

Yet the second he disappeared around the corner, Victoria's personal assistant approached with glasses of champagne.

A few muttered words were all it took to draw those bribed guards toward the side exit:

"Need to take a quick call."

"Me too, client issue."

"You guys carry on, be right back."

One by one, they vanished.

Within minutes, the cavernous studio went dead quiet. I was completely alone.

A cold chill raced down my spine. I snatched my bag and bolted for the door.

The door swung open from the outside.

A group of men wearing ski masks and third-party security uniforms piled in, their eyes filthy and predatory.

They locked eyes on me and fanned out, blocking the exit.

"Well, look at that. All by herself."

"Damn, she's gorgeous. Looks like our lucky night, boys."

Terror spiked in my blood. I spun around to dash for the fire exit, but two of them cut me off.

They lunged, their rough hands ripping at my clothes.

The sound of tearing fabric was deafening in the empty studio.

"Get off me! Don't touch me!"

I fought with everything I had, raking my nails down one man's face, but another pinned my wrists to the concrete.

I screamed at the top of my lungs.

My cries were swallowed whole by the roaring bass from the party down the hall.

They shoved me down, their hands groping my body as my clothes were shredded to ribbons.

BAM!

The heavy soundproof door was kicked clean off its hinges.

Damon stood in the doorway, his eyes wild and dripping with murderous rage.

The sight of me on the floor snapped whatever sanity he had left. He charged in, his fists raining down like a freight train on the attackers.

"You're fucking dead!"

His blows were brutal, calculated, and terrifyingly heavy.

Within seconds, the men were broken on the floor, howling in agony, completely unable to stand.

I curled into a ball on the cold concrete, shaking uncontrollably.

My clothes were ruined, tears streaming down my bruised face.

Watching Damon's berserk, bloodied back, darkness rushed in, and I passed out.