She Tries to Fight Back..

When Eve followed Damian through the heavy glass doors of his compound, her instincts had been screaming.

The space was too quiet.
The walls too smooth.
The corridors too long—built to contain, not to protect.

She waited until they reached the farthest room—vaulted ceiling, sterile light, high windows that let in no sound.

Then she struck.

Every muscle in her body coiled with weeks of dread. She lunged toward the drawer behind her, where she’d seen a flash of metal the night before—a scalpel, likely left for her to find.

She grabbed it. Turned on him. Drove forward.

Damian moved like water, like inevitability. No hesitation. No wasted breath. He caught her wrist mid-air, twisted, disarmed her with a controlled flick—and stepped forward so close her back met the cold wall.

“I wanted you to try,” he whispered.

Because that had been the test.

And she’d failed.

He let the blade fall to the floor between them and leaned in so close her breath hitched.

“No matter which door you run to, I’m on the other side.”

Later—once her fight drained and her pride fractured—he sat across from her in a room lined with old surveillance tapes, flickering reels with timestamps going back years.

He placed a file in front of her.

“Open it,” he said.

Inside were birth records. But not hers.

Not exactly.

They were falsified. Multiple. Different locations. Different names.

And on the last page: Eve Lancaster — Parent: UNKNOWN — Genetic Sequence: Classified.

“What is this?” she whispered.

Damian stared at her, eyes darker than she’d ever seen them.

“It means, Eve… you were never born.”
“You were designed.”

Her world cracked.

Damian revealed everything. The years of monitoring. The failed prototypes. The project that her existence had been part of—GENESIS—a black-budget operation that involved generational behavioural engineering.

Eve hadn’t just survived trauma.
She had been built from it.

Her memories? Curated. Her trauma? Implanted. Every breakdown, every fear of abandonment, every sleepless night—engineered weaknesses to suppress the program buried beneath her skin.

She wasn’t random.

She was a reset trigger.

A biological key coded with encrypted DNA that could unlock the Genesis database—the one that held secrets powerful enough to level governments.

And Damian?

He wasn’t her captor.

He was her handler.

The one sent not to destroy her… but to awaken her before someone else did.

"You weren’t meant to run,” he said gently. “You were meant to remember."

And in that room, with reality folding in around her, Eve felt something stir.

Not fear.
Not sadness.

But recognition.

A dark smile crept across her lips as the lies of her old life fell away.

She wasn’t broken.
She wasn’t prey.

She was the weapon.

Damian placed a silver keycard in her hand. It pulsed faintly, synchronized to her biology.

“You ready to start the war?” he asked.

Eve looked up, eyes no longer afraid—just sharp. Calculating.

She smiled.

“Let’s burn it all down.”

~TO BE CONTINUED....