(Evelyn's POV)
The night pressed down on the apartment like a heavy blanket. I had stayed in my room for hours, curled up under the weight of my thoughts, feeling every ounce of guilt gnawing at me. My stomach ached faintly, but I ignored it. Food felt irrelevant when Damien's mood had shifted so abruptly earlier. I couldn't stop replaying his sudden coldness, his piercing gaze, and the way he had pulled back from me without warning.
I couldn't help but feel it was my fault. Perhaps I had pushed him too far. Perhaps I had crossed some invisible line. Or maybe… it was simply his nature to swing between warmth and ice, leaving me to pay the price in confusion and aching anticipation. My fingers twisted the edge of my blanket as I tried to anchor myself, but the spiral of emotions was relentless.
A soft knock at the door startled me. My pulse spiked, and a mixture of fear and curiosity gripped me. Slowly, I lifted my head, my heart tightening as I saw him standing there—Damien. Even in the dim light of the hallway, even standing still, he exuded control and power that made it impossible to breathe normally.
His gaze swept over me immediately, sharp and assessing. "Why didn't you eat?" His voice was angry, harsh, but threaded with concern that made my stomach flip. "Look at you… pale, weak… like you've been punishing yourself."
Before I could answer, he stepped closer, bridging the small space between us, and his fingers brushed my lips. Then, unexpectedly, he kissed me. Short, deliberate, claiming, leaving a burn that ran straight through me. My chest heaved. My body responded before my mind could catch up. He pulled back just slightly, his eyes locking on mine with that unyielding intensity.
"You need to eat," he murmured, low and husky, almost predatory. "…before I eat you."
The words struck me like lightning. My cheeks flushed, my heart raced, and I felt a trembling mix of fear, desire, and guilt. I tried to speak, to explain why I had stayed hidden all night, but my voice caught in my throat.
Damien didn't wait for my explanation. He moved closer again, tilting my chin with his fingers so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. "…you're punishing yourself, aren't you?" he said softly, the anger in his tone fading just enough to let the tension thrum between us.
I couldn't answer. My throat felt tight, my chest constricted. I could only nod faintly, acknowledging what he already knew.
His lips brushed mine again, teasingly, lingering just long enough to make the air between us electric. "…then we fix it," he said. "You eat. Then… we talk. Or maybe I talk."
I shivered under the weight of his presence, torn between wanting to flee and being utterly captivated. His eyes were dark, intent, almost consuming me. I felt like I could disappear into him and be lost entirely.
Reluctantly, I followed him toward the small table where a light meal waited, untouched. The chef had prepared it earlier, but I had been too preoccupied to notice. Damien's gaze stayed fixed on me, sharp and unrelenting, tracking every hesitant step I took.
I picked at the food, my mind racing with conflicting emotions. Each bite grounded me slightly, but it also made the intensity of his presence more impossible to ignore. His eyes followed every motion, analyzing, commanding, and claiming a silent dominance that left me simultaneously terrified and enthralled.
"You're eating," he said, his voice low, almost a growl, carrying that dangerous edge that made my pulse quicken. "…good. That's the first step."
I nodded, unable to meet his gaze fully, trying to focus on the meal. But even as I chewed, I felt him looming, the heat from his body a constant, magnetic force. My thoughts kept drifting back to his words earlier, to the kiss, to the sharp command and the teasing threat in his voice. The guilt, the fear, the desire—all collided in a storm inside me.
He stepped even closer, his hand brushing against my shoulder lightly, just enough to let me feel the solid weight of him. "You know," he murmured, "I could make this easier. Lean in, claim what's mine…" His words trailed, almost a whisper, but the weight behind them pressed against my chest harder than I could have imagined. Every fiber of my body reacted, betraying the storm of emotions I was struggling to hold back—guilt, fear, longing, and something dangerously close to surrender.
I looked down at the plate in front of me, the small meal feeling suddenly insignificant compared to the pull of his presence. My fingers trembled as I picked at a piece of bread, aware that every movement, every hesitance, was being scrutinized by those sharp, unrelenting eyes.
"You're quiet," he murmured, stepping closer, the heat radiating off him in waves. I could feel it even through the simple act of reaching for a fork. "Quiet when you should be talking. Quiet when you should be protesting. And quiet when you should be… resisting." His lips curved into a smirk, low and dangerous, as if he could read every thought I refused to say aloud.
"I… I'm eating," I whispered, voice barely audible. I hoped he wouldn't see through it, hoped he wouldn't notice how shallow my breaths were, how quickly my heart was hammering against my ribs.
"That's good," he said softly, but the growl underneath his tone made me flinch. "Eat. One bite at a time. One step closer to… normalcy." His gaze flicked to my lips, then back to my eyes, and the intensity was enough to make me lose my place, sending crumbs scattering across the plate.
I bent to pick them up, cheeks burning, aware that he was silently judging me, yet that judgment was laced with something deeper—something that made my skin tingle and my stomach twist in knots.
"You know," he said, leaning slightly over the table so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my temple, "it's fascinating. You act like you're punishing yourself, but every part of you is… drawn to me. You can try to deny it, but your body doesn't lie."
I swallowed hard, heat rising to my cheeks. I wanted to protest, to tell him he was wrong, that my hesitation and fear were my own—not his fault—but the words caught in my throat.
"I'm not…" I started, then faltered, unable to finish. The weight of his gaze pinned me, made me feel like a child caught in the act, even as I was painfully aware of my own adult desires.
He straightened slightly, letting a hand rest near mine, just far enough to tease without touching. "Not what?" he asked softly, almost coaxing. "Not affected? Not aware? Not… scared?"
"Maybe…" I whispered, my voice trembling. My fingers twitched as I reached for my glass, hands betraying me in ways I despised.
He chuckled, low and dark, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Maybe isn't enough. I want certainty. You're aware. You're affected. And you're scared." His eyes glinted, calculating, predatory. "And yet you're still here. Eating. Facing me. Trying to act as if nothing has shifted between us."
I looked down at my plate, forcing my hands to stop shaking. I didn't want to meet his gaze. I didn't want him to see how utterly I was unraveling, how much power he had over me without even touching me fully.
"Good," he said softly, a dangerous undertone in his voice. "That's… progress." He leaned back just slightly, giving the illusion of space while still dominating the small room. "Progress for you… but it doesn't change the fact that I'm plotting, thinking, planning. Every moment I watch you, every motion you make, I calculate. I strategize. And tonight…" His lips curved into a smirk that made my pulse spike. "…tonight is very interesting."
I froze, my fork halfway to my mouth. "Interesting?" I whispered, unsure if I wanted to know.
"Yes," he murmured, tilting his head, studying me with piercing intensity. "Because even while you're eating, even while you're trying to act indifferent, you're giving me information. Subtle cues. Reactions. The way you shift your weight. The way your eyes dart. The way your fingers fidget. Every tiny action tells me something."
My chest tightened. I couldn't look away. I couldn't stop thinking about him. And yet, I hated how much I needed him to be close, how much his presence alone unsettled me.
"You're a puzzle," he whispered, almost to himself. "A dangerous, infuriating, addictive puzzle. And I… can't stop examining you." His gaze burned into mine, and I realized I was caught—helpless and willing, even as my mind screamed for distance.
"I…" My voice faltered, and I bit my lip, feeling the warmth of embarrassment and desire swirl together. "I just… I want to eat."
He leaned closer, resting a hand lightly on the table, near mine but not touching. "I know," he murmured. "And you will. But you also need to understand… while you eat, while you try to act normal, I'm thinking. Calculating. Julian Kane… the mess he's created… everything that led to tonight…" His jaw tightened, and the smoldering intensity in his eyes shifted, hardening. "…all of it is being noted. And you… you are part of the equation."
I swallowed, uneasy. His mind always seemed ten steps ahead, and the thought of being caught up in it—used, observed, manipulated—made my chest clench. And yet, I couldn't look away. I couldn't stop feeding the tension that crackled like electricity between us.
"You're thinking," I whispered, voice shaking. "About Julian?"
"Yes," he said, flatly, eyes flicking briefly to the window. "He's reckless, out of control. But that's… predictable. What isn't predictable is you. Your reactions. Your courage. Your… defiance. It's infuriating, maddening, and yet… addictive."
I tried to process his words, tried to focus on the meal, but my hands shook. His intensity was suffocating, thrilling, overwhelming. Every breath I took felt measured, deliberate, like a game I wasn't allowed to win.
"Eat," he said again, softer now, almost tender, though still commanding. "Savor it. Nourish yourself. Because the moment you do, I'll know…" His gaze swept over me, dark and calculating. "…I'll know exactly how much you can endure. How much you can resist me. How much you care, even if you refuse to admit it."
I shivered, fork hovering, unable to meet his gaze. My emotions were tangled in knots—fear, desire, guilt, confusion—all tangled together in a storm I couldn't untangle.
He stepped back slightly, giving me space, but the weight of him lingered. Every movement he made, every word he spoke, was deliberate, strategic, intoxicating. My thoughts spun as I chewed mechanically, the room heavy with tension, the air thick with unspoken threats and promises.
"Finish it," he murmured finally, softer now, almost patient. "Eat. And then…" He trailed off, letting the words hang, charged with implication. "…then we'll see where this night takes us. Whether you survive my attention… or succumb to it."
I closed my eyes, breath shaky, and took another bite. Every nerve in my body screamed, every instinct warned me, yet I felt irresistibly drawn into his orbit. I didn't know how this night would end, or what his next move would be, but I knew one thing for certain—I couldn't escape the gravity of Damien Kane, and I didn't want to.