Elena Rivers
It was late afternoon, but the sky was already bruised, hanging heavy like it knew something I didn't.
I sat in my apartment, facing the window, hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long gone cold. The hum of the city below was faint, distant. But the silence in here?
It was unbearable.
I had spent the entire day trying to forget him.
Damien.
The encounter at the café.
His words.
His eyes.
They haunted me.
I couldn't escape the way he made me feel—like I was standing on the edge of something I couldn't name, but that I was meant to fall into.
I turned the teacup in my hands, watching the ripples fade.
There was a knock at the door.
My breath caught.
I didn't need to look through the peephole to know who it was.
I knew his rhythm.
His presence.
His shadow, even from behind the door.
I stood up slowly, heart pounding. It didn't matter how many times I tried to lie to myself. Damien was always there. Always waiting.
And I—
I let him in.
When I opened the door, I was met with nothing but his eyes.
I didn't say a word.
He didn't need me to.
He stepped inside like he already belonged, like I wanted him to belong.
His eyes flicked over me with that slow, deliberate gaze—taking everything in, analyzing it. I felt small under his scrutiny, like I was on display, but it wasn't just me he was looking at. It was the pieces of me I hadn't even acknowledged yet.
"I didn't expect you to answer," he said, voice low, too familiar.
I didn't answer. Didn't trust myself to.
Instead, I watched him—how he didn't even need to take control of the space. He simply owned it. Just like he owned every second I spent thinking about him.
There was a shift in the air, something electric. Tense. It felt like the space between us was too narrow, the atmosphere too thick with things unsaid. I could taste the tension on the back of my tongue.
He crossed the room, stopping just inches away from me.
"I didn't expect you to want me here," I whispered.
"I don't care what you expect."
His voice was calm, but the way he said it made my skin burn. "You know what you feel, Elena."
I swallowed hard, trying to gather some semblance of control. "You don't get to do this."
But he only stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "I'm not doing anything, Elena. I'm just here." He studied me with an intensity that made my throat close. "You wanted me to be."
I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to pull away, but every inch of me wanted to stay.
He made me want things I was too afraid to touch.
"You think you can just walk into my life like this, make me feel things—things I can't control—and then leave whenever you want?" I asked, the words coming out more desperate than I intended.
"I'm not leaving," he said, his voice rougher now, like he was holding something back. "You're the one running, Elena. You always have been."
The words hit me harder than I expected. I wanted to deny it, to shout that he was wrong, but deep down, I knew he wasn't. I had always run. From the truth, from my feelings, from the way he made my heart beat faster with every glance, every word.
I took a step back, trying to create distance, but he closed the gap, his body a wall of heat and need. "You don't know what you want," he whispered, his voice nearly a growl now. "But I do. I know exactly what you need."
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could do was stand there, torn between the urge to fight and the overwhelming pull of everything he was offering—everything I was afraid of accepting.
For the first time, I was faced with a choice I didn't want to make.
But I didn't need to make it. Not yet.
Because Damien wasn't giving me an option.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek, soft, almost gentle, and I felt the world slip away.
"I'm not going anywhere, Elena," he said, his words a promise that both terrified and thrilled me. "You'll see. You'll understand soon enough."
I closed my eyes, leaning into the touch, even as my mind screamed for me to stop. To push him away.
But I couldn't.
And deep down, I didn't want to.