5.

Chapter 5: Into the Dark

A sickening crack echoed through the warehouse. Brielle flinched as Damian took a brutal hit to the ribs, stumbling back against the ropes. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, and the crowd roared with excitement.

“Come on, Phantom!” someone shouted, their voice blending with the chorus of wild cheers.

Damian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes burned with fury as he dodged another swing. He retaliated with a vicious punch to his opponent’s jaw, the man’s head snapping back violently. The crowd erupted, chanting, “Phantom! Phantom!”

Brielle crouched lower behind the stack of crates, her pulse racing. Phantom? That was his name here?

Her thoughts were jumbled. This wasn’t the Damian she knew—the arrogant, spoiled jerk who ruined her van. This was someone else entirely. Someone hardened by violence.

She tried to wrap her mind around how she had ended up here. Just an hour ago, she had been painting on the balcony outside her room, sketching his sleek motorbike on canvas. Despite her dislike for him, the bike’s dangerous allure had caught her imagination.

But everything changed when she saw him rush out of the house in a hoodie, his expression tight and grim. She had followed him, her instincts screaming that something was wrong. Now, here she was, in the middle of an illegal fight ring.

Damian’s opponent stumbled, blood streaming from his nose. The crowd screamed for a knockout. Damian hesitated, his fists tightening, as if he were weighing something in his mind.

“Finish him, Phantom!” a cold voice commanded.

Brielle’s head snapped toward the source of the voice. A tall woman in black stood near the ring. She was striking, with sharp features and an air of authority that made the crowd fall silent at her words.

Damian's gaze locked on her. His jaw clenched, his muscles tensing.

"I said finish it," the woman repeated, her voice dangerously low.

Damian’s hesitation vanished. He delivered a powerful kick that sent his opponent crashing to the ground. The man lay motionless, unconscious. The crowd exploded into cheers.

The woman stepped into the ring, her heels clicking on the blood-stained mat. The noise in the warehouse dulled as she approached Damian, her eyes glinting with cold amusement.

“Not bad,” she said, circling him slowly. “But you’re slipping. That hesitation almost cost you.”

Damian said nothing. His face was a mask of restrained anger.

The woman stopped in front of him, tilting her head. “You know the consequences of failure,” she added softly, though the menace in her voice was unmistakable. “I’d hate to see you become... dispensable.”

Damian’s fists clenched tighter, but he didn’t respond.

Brielle’s stomach churned. What the hell is going on? This wasn’t just a fight for money or glory. There was something much darker at play, and this woman was at the center of it.

The woman’s eyes flicked briefly toward the crowd, and for a terrifying moment, they seemed to land on Brielle’s hiding spot. Brielle froze, holding her breath. But the woman turned away, giving instructions to one of the men outside the ring.

Damian climbed out of the ring, grabbing a towel and wiping his face. He didn’t celebrate his victory. His expression was grim as he stalked toward the back of the warehouse.

Brielle hesitated for a moment, then quietly followed. She needed answers.

Damian leaned against a rusted beam near a dark corner, breathing heavily. He hadn’t noticed her yet.

“Damian,” she called softly.

His head snapped up, eyes wide with shock. “Brielle?” he hissed. He pushed off the beam and strode toward her. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that,” she fired back. “Are you seriously fighting in some underground ring? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You have no idea what kind of shit you’ve just walked into.”

“Then explain it to me,” she demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re in serious trouble.”

“Leave, Brielle,” he said through gritted teeth, glancing around as if worried someone might see them. “You don’t belong here.”

“Like hell I’m leaving! That woman—who is she? What does she have on you?”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, she thought he might actually tell her. But then his jaw tightened. “You don’t need to know. The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”

“Oh, that’s real reassuring,” she snapped. “You’re bleeding, Damian. You just beat someone unconscious in front of a mob, and I’m supposed to walk away like nothing happened?”

“Yes.” His voice was sharp, final. “Walk away.”

She shook her head, anger and fear warring within her. “You think you can keep pushing me away, but I’m not stupid. Something’s going on, and I’m not going to pretend I didn’t see it.”

He stepped closer, his eyes flashing with frustration. “This isn’t your fight, Brielle. I’m telling you—if you don’t stay out of it, you’ll get hurt.”

“Why do you even care?” she challenged, meeting his gaze head-on.

Damian faltered for a moment, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Because I don’t want you caught in this mess,” he muttered, barely loud enough to hear.

Her breath hitched. There was something raw in his voice, something real. But just as quickly as it appeared, he shut it down, stepping back into the shadows.

“Go home,” he said coldly. “Forget you saw anything.”

Brielle stood frozen, watching as he turned and disappeared into the dark corridors of the warehouse. Her mind raced, filled with questions and a gnawing sense of dread.

Whatever Damian was involved in, it was dangerous. And she had the sinking feeling that leaving wasn’t going to protect her from the storm brewing around him.