Chapter 5 Only a Madman Loves a Madwoman

# Chapter 5: Only a Madman Loves a Madwoman

Two weeks passed in Damien's mansion, each day blending into the next in a strange routine that felt both oppressive and oddly secure. True to his word, Damien kept me close—too close. I ate breakfast across from him in the morning, accompanied him to his home office where I sat reading while he worked, and spent evenings in the same room as he reviewed documents or took calls.

The only privacy I had was in my bedroom at night and the adjoining bathroom. Even then, I knew there were security cameras in the hallway, monitoring my movements.

Marcus had been moved to a secure location for "rehabilitation," as Damien called it. I was allowed video calls with him twice a week, always supervised. My brother looked better physically, the bruises fading, but there was a haunted look in his eyes that worried me.

"How much longer?" I asked Damien one morning as we sat in his sunlit kitchen, the chef having just served us breakfast before discreetly withdrawing.

He looked up from his tablet, those piercing blue eyes studying me. "Until?"

"Until this... arrangement ends. Until I get my life back."

He set down his coffee cup with deliberate precision. "Moretti is still at large. His organization has gone underground, but my sources say he's planning something significant. Until he's neutralized, you remain at risk."

"That's not an answer," I challenged.

"No, it's not," he agreed, his lips curving slightly. "Because you're not asking the right question."

I pushed my plate away, appetite gone. "Fine. What's the right question?"

"You should be asking yourself why you haven't made a serious attempt to escape in these two weeks." His gaze was knowing, almost smug. "The security is good, but not infallible. You're smart enough to find weaknesses if you really tried."

His observation struck uncomfortably close to the truth. I had thought about escaping—had even walked the perimeter of the property noting camera positions and guard rotations. But something held me back, something I wasn't ready to acknowledge.

"Maybe I'm just biding my time," I replied, trying to sound defiant.

"Or maybe," he said, leaning forward slightly, "you're exactly where you want to be."

Before I could form a retort, his phone rang. The conversation was brief, his expression darkening with each word.

"I need to go out," he said after hanging up. "Get dressed. Something formal."

"Where are we going?"

"To meet someone who might know where Moretti is hiding."

An hour later, we were in his car heading downtown. I wore a black dress he'd provided—simple yet elegant, fitting me perfectly like all the clothes that had mysteriously appeared in my closet. Damien was in a tailored suit that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the lean strength of his body.

"Who are we meeting?" I asked as the city skyline came into view.

"Vincent Moretti's ex-wife," he replied. "Diana Moretti, now Diana Castillo."

I turned to him in surprise. "Castillo? As in—"

"Yes, she remarried into the Castillo family. Another criminal organization that competes with her ex-husband's operation."

"And she's going to help us why?"

"Because she hates Vincent more than anyone else on earth," Damien said simply. "And because she owes me a favor."

We arrived at an upscale restaurant where a hostess immediately escorted us to a private dining room. A striking woman in her forties waited there, her dark hair elegantly styled, diamonds glittering at her throat and wrists.

"Damien," she greeted, kissing his cheek with practiced familiarity. "It's been too long." Her eyes turned to me, assessing and curious. "And this must be the woman I've heard so much about."

"Diana, this is Juno Reyes," Damien introduced, his hand settling possessively on the small of my back. "Juno, Diana Castillo."

"Pleased to meet you," I said, wondering exactly what she had heard about me.

"Likewise," Diana replied, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Please, sit. We have much to discuss."

Over lunch, I mostly listened as Damien and Diana discussed Moretti's possible whereabouts. It was clear they had history—the kind that made me inexplicably uncomfortable.

"Vincent always had a backup plan," Diana was saying. "A place to disappear if things went south. He never told me exactly where, but he mentioned the coast. Something about being able to leave the country quickly if needed."

"Any specific location?" Damien pressed.

Diana sipped her wine thoughtfully. "There was a property... under his mother's maiden name. Martin, I believe. In Newport."

Damien nodded, filing away the information. "Anything else?"

"Just that he's desperate now. The shipment you intercepted last week was worth millions. The Colombians won't be forgiving about that loss." She turned her gaze to me. "And he's become obsessed with you, my dear. Word is he's convinced you're the key to bringing Damien down."

I felt a chill despite the restaurant's warmth. "Why would he think that?"

"Because," Diana said, her eyes flicking between Damien and me, "he's never seen Damien protect anyone like this before. It makes you valuable. A weakness to exploit."

Damien's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Juno isn't a weakness."

"No?" Diana raised an eyebrow. "Then why have you barely taken your eyes off her since you arrived? Why is your hand constantly touching her, as if you're afraid she'll disappear if you let go?"

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, suddenly aware of Damien's hand still resting on my back, his thumb occasionally stroking small circles against my spine through the thin fabric of my dress.

"Your concern is noted," Damien said coldly. "But unnecessary."

Diana smiled, knowing she'd struck a nerve. "If you say so." She turned to me. "Tell me, Juno, how did you and Damien meet? He's been frustratingly vague about the details."

Before I could formulate a response, Damien answered for me. "Juno came into my life unexpectedly. The circumstances are private."

"I tried to kidnap him," I said bluntly, tired of the veiled conversation. "To save my brother from Moretti."

Diana's eyes widened momentarily before she burst into delighted laughter. "Oh, I like her," she told Damien. "She has fire. No wonder you're so captivated."

"Diana," Damien warned.

"It's fine," she waved him off. "Your secrets are safe with me. But Vincent will use this... connection between you. Be careful."

After lunch, as we walked back to the car, I couldn't contain my curiosity any longer. "How do you know Diana?"

"We have history," he replied vaguely.

"What kind of history?"

Damien glanced at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Are you jealous, Juno?"

"No," I said too quickly. "Just trying to understand the players in this game I've been forced into."

"Diana and I were involved briefly, years ago, before her marriage to Castillo. It ended amicably. She's a valuable source of information in certain circles."

The confirmation of their past relationship shouldn't have bothered me, but it did. I remained silent as we drove back to the mansion, lost in thoughts I didn't want to examine too closely.

That evening, Damien was unusually quiet as we sat in his study. I could feel the tension radiating from him as he made call after call, pursuing the lead Diana had given us about the Newport property.

"We found it," he finally said, hanging up his phone. "A house registered to Eleanor Martin—Moretti's maternal grandmother's name. Recent utility activations suggest someone's there now."

"So what's the plan?" I asked.

"I'm going to Newport tomorrow. My team will secure the location and, if Moretti's there, end this once and for all."

"I'm coming with you," I said immediately.

Damien shook his head. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous."

"I'm already in danger," I argued. "And I'm tired of sitting here waiting for news. This involves me too, Damien. My brother, my life."

"Your life is precisely what I'm trying to protect," he snapped, standing abruptly. "Do you have any idea what Moretti would do to you if he got his hands on you? Especially now that he knows you're important to me?"

The admission hung in the air between us. Important to him. Not just a responsibility or an obligation, but something more.

"Why am I important to you?" I asked quietly, needing to hear him say it.

Damien ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "You really don't know?"

"How could I? You've kept me here like a prisoner, controlled my every move, dictated my entire existence for weeks without explanation. You investigate my life, monitor my activities, yet reveal nothing of yourself or your motivations."

"I told you from the beginning—this is about protection."

"Is it?" I challenged, standing to face him. "Or is it about possession? Control? What am I to you, Damien? A responsibility? A project? A toy?"

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. In two strides, he closed the distance between us, his hands gripping my arms with restrained force.

"You want to know what you are to me?" His voice was low, intense. "You're the woman who walked into my life with a syringe and a half-baked kidnapping plan, who risked everything for her brother, who challenges me at every turn despite knowing what I'm capable of. You're maddening, frustrating, and the most alive person I've ever met."

My heart hammered against my ribs as his words washed over me. "That doesn't answer my question."

"Doesn't it?" His grip softened, one hand moving to cup my face. "I've known about you for months, Juno. I watched you from afar, intrigued by your dedication to your brother, your resilience despite the hardships life threw at you. When I discovered Moretti's plan to use you against me, I should have had you removed as a threat. Instead, I found myself... anticipating our meeting."

"You knew I was coming to kidnap you," I whispered, realization dawning. "You let it happen."

"I orchestrated it," he corrected. "Made sure you found the information you needed, made myself an easy target that night. I needed to know if you were willing participant in Moretti's schemes or an unwitting pawn."

The manipulation should have angered me, but instead, a strange sense of clarity washed over me. "You've been testing me this whole time."

"At first, yes," he admitted. "But somewhere along the way, it became more. You became more."

"More what?"

Instead of answering, he closed the remaining distance between us, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. I should have pushed him away, should have maintained the boundaries between captor and captive. Instead, I found myself responding with a hunger that shocked me, my hands clutching at his shirt as if he were an anchor in a storm.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against mine. "I'll save your brother," he promised softly. "I'll end Moretti's threat. But you, Juno—you need to decide what you want when this is over."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that when Moretti is no longer a threat, you'll have a choice to make. Walk away and never look back, or stay with me, knowing exactly who and what I am."

The implication was clear—there would be no middle ground with Damien Holt. It would be all or nothing.

"And if I choose to leave?" I asked, needing to understand the full terms.

"Then I'll let you go," he said, though something in his eyes suggested it wouldn't be that simple. "But first, we deal with Moretti."

The next morning, despite my protests, Damien left for Newport without me, promising to call with updates. I paced the mansion restlessly, feeling like a caged animal. By evening, with no word from him, my anxiety had reached a breaking point.

I was about to call him when his security chief, a stern man named Reynolds, entered the living room where I'd been waiting.

"Ms. Reyes, there's been a development," he said, his expression grave. "Mr. Holt asked me to bring you to him immediately."

"What's happened? Is he hurt?" Fear clutched at my throat.

"He's fine, but the situation has changed. We need to move quickly."

Reynolds escorted me to a waiting helicopter on the mansion's private helipad. As we lifted off into the darkening sky, he handed me a secure phone.

"Mr. Holt is on the line for you," he shouted over the rotor noise.

I pressed the phone to my ear. "Damien? What's going on?"

"Juno," his voice was tight with controlled emotion. "Moretti wasn't at the Newport house, but we found something else. Documents, recordings—evidence of every transaction your brother facilitated, every piece of information he sold."

My stomach dropped. "Is that... good news or bad?"

"It's leverage," he replied. "And possibly your brother's salvation. But there's more."

"What?"

"Moretti knew we were coming. He left a message—for you specifically."

I swallowed hard. "What did it say?"

"'Ask her about the baby.'"

The world seemed to stop spinning for a moment as his words registered. "Baby? What baby?"

There was a long pause before Damien spoke again, his voice carefully neutral. "When was your last period, Juno?"

I mentally counted back, realization dawning with horrifying clarity. Six weeks. I was late. Very late.

"It's not possible," I whispered, though even as I said it, small signs I'd been ignoring came rushing back—the fatigue, the sensitivity, the slight nausea in the mornings.

"Moretti has a source close to us," Damien continued. "Someone who knows things only a handful of people should know. Including, apparently, your menstrual cycle."

The helicopter began its descent toward what looked like a private airstrip. I could see Damien standing beside a black SUV, phone to his ear, watching our approach.

"I don't understand," I said, confusion and fear making it hard to think clearly. "How could Moretti possibly know something like that? I didn't even know myself."

"That's what we're going to find out," Damien replied grimly. "Together."

As the helicopter touched down and I stepped onto the tarmac, Damien was there immediately, pulling me into an embrace that felt both protective and possessive.

"I need to know," he said quietly against my hair. "Did you know? About the possibility of pregnancy?"

I pulled back to look at him, needing him to see the truth in my eyes. "No. How could I? We never—" I stopped, realization dawning. "Damien, we've never been intimate. If I am pregnant, it can't be yours."

A strange expression crossed his face—something between relief and determination. "I know that, Juno. But Moretti doesn't. And right now, that misconception might be the only thing keeping you alive."

Before I could process what he meant, he guided me toward the waiting SUV. "I'm taking you somewhere safe," he said. "Somewhere Moretti can't reach you. And then I'm going to end this, once and for all."

"How does he even know about... this?" I gestured vaguely at my stomach, still struggling to accept the possibility.

Damien's expression hardened. "That's what I intend to find out. Because whoever told him is close to us—close enough to know your most intimate details." He opened the car door for me, then paused, his next words chilling me to the bone. "And close enough to know that I've been tracking your cycle since the day you entered my home."