The alarm buzzed too early, a shrill reminder that morning had come whether Isla wanted it to or not.
She lay still beneath the soft, ivory sheets for a long moment, heart beating fast, her mind replaying fragments of yesterday.
Damian's voice, low and deliberate, his eyes following her in that controlled way he always did.
The pause in his tone when she teased him.
The way his jaw tightened when she lingered too long near him.
It wasn't just in her imagination anymore. He felt it too.
Her lips curled faintly as she brushed her hand over her chest, feeling the quiet thrum of anticipation under her skin.
She stayed there for another breath, savoring the secret thrill that belonged only to her.
Damian didn't look at anyone else like that.
He was the kind of man women whispered about, a man whose presence commanded attention without him ever raising his voice.
Sharp suits, sharper eyes. That calm restraint that felt like danger, like temptation.
And she was the one he was holding himself back from.
Finally, Isla rose. She moved through her morning routine with deliberate care, tying her hair neatly back, smoothing her blouse over her frame.
The skirt she chose was demure, proper for school, but it hugged her hips in a way that wasn't accidental.
Every detail mattered; she wanted him to notice. She wanted him to feel the ache of holding himself back.
By the time she left her room, the house was quiet, polished, and serene as always.
Damian's scent still lingered faintly in the hallway — that clean, masculine cologne that clung to his suits, his office, the very air he breathed. He'd already left for work.
Isla paused at the top of the stairs, fingers grazing the smooth wood of the banister.
Even the silence here felt like him: intentional, expensive, perfectly controlled.
She inhaled deeply, the faint trace of his cologne settling into her chest like a reminder.
-----
School felt like an entirely different world.
No polished marble floors or perfectly arranged art pieces, no soft leather chairs or quiet hallways that smelled faintly of Damian's cologne.
The corridors buzzed with chatter, lockers slamming shut, laughter bouncing off concrete walls.
Isla drifted through it all like a ghost, head held high, mind far away.
"Hey, Isla."
She blinked, turning her head to see Adrian leaning casually against the wall near her locker.
His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms, and there was a spark in his gaze she'd never noticed before.
He smiled lazily, like he'd been waiting for her.
"You've been distracted lately," he said, voice low enough that only she could hear.
"Everything okay?"
"Fine," Isla replied lightly, forcing a smile.
Adrian had always been charming, in that effortless, boyish way.
He was the kind of guy other girls giggled over, the kind who knew exactly how good-looking he was.
And lately, he'd started looking at her differently—more interested, more curious.
He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice.
"You know, if something's bothering you, you can tell me."
She brushed him off with a polite laugh, though his attention stirred something—pride, maybe, or irritation.
She didn't want Adrian's eyes on her. She wanted Damian's.
As she moved through her classes, she felt whispers follow her.
A few classmates shot her sidelong glances, murmuring behind cupped hands.
She caught fragments—"She's glowing" and "Wonder what's got her so distracted." Isla ignored them, her mind already elsewhere.
By mid-afternoon, she could barely concentrate.
The chatter of her classmates faded into background noise, teachers' voices becoming distant hums.
All she could think of was Damian's study, the scent of polished wood and leather, the quiet intensity of his presence.
The way he leaned back in his chair with that sharp, calculating look.
Every glance from him carried weight, and every pause in his voice hinted at something darker, deeper, forbidden.
She wanted to see that restraint crack.
She wanted to be the reason he lost control.
-----
Across town, Damian's day was a study in luxury and power.
His office was a cathedral of glass and steel, perched high above the city skyline.
Floor-to-ceiling windows let sunlight spill across sleek marble floors, reflecting off the dark wood of his desk and the chrome fixtures scattered with precision.
The room smelled faintly of leather, cedarwood, and success.
Damian sat at his desk, perfectly composed in a tailored charcoal suit.
His watch—a vintage Patek Philippe—caught the light as he tapped his fingers against a document.
A phone call played softly on speaker, his assistant confirming appointments, meetings, and client demands for the next two weeks.
He should have been fully immersed in work.
His empire demanded his attention; every decision he made moved money, influenced markets, shifted lives.
But Isla lingered in the back of his mind.
She was young. Too young. The very thought should have been enough to steady him.
Yet every detail of her flashed unbidden: her soft laughter echoing down the hall, the way she dared to meet his gaze without flinching, her scent lingering in the air long after she'd left a room.
Temptation in its purest form.
Damian adjusted his tie, forcing himself to focus. Control was his strength.
It was what built his fortune, his reputation, his empire.
And yet, around her, his composure frayed in ways he couldn't allow anyone to see.
------
When Isla returned home that afternoon, the house was still.
The kind of quiet that made every sound—her footsteps on the marble floor, the rustle of her bag—feel magnified.
She set her shoes neatly by the door, her gaze sliding toward the hallway that led to his study.
She imagined him there: bent over his desk, sleeves rolled up, brows furrowed in concentration.
She pictured the way his fingers brushed the edge of papers, the slow curl of his hand around a crystal glass of scotch.
She hesitated in the living room, fingers tracing the edge of a polished bookshelf.
Her pulse quickened.
Then he appeared.
Damian moved with that effortless grace he always had, his presence filling the space before he even spoke.
His gaze met hers, steady and calm.
His suit jacket hung perfectly over his broad shoulders, his tie still impeccably knotted.
"Isla," he said smoothly, voice calm but carrying a subtle undertone she couldn't place. "Have you been keeping up with your studies?"
"Yes," she replied softly, meeting his gaze with a hint of boldness. "I was focused… mostly."
His brows lifted slightly. "Mostly?"
"The rest…" She let her voice trail off deliberately, a teasing glint in her eyes. "I suppose I was thinking."
"About?"
"You," she said, almost whispering.
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Damian's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but his expression didn't falter.
"Thinking about me can be dangerous, Isla."
"Then maybe," she murmured, stepping closer, "danger is worth the risk."
His eyes darkened, a storm brewing beneath their calm surface.
"Careful," he said, his voice low, deliberate.
"Temptation is not easily undone."
Isla felt a thrill pulse through her. He wasn't dismissing her.
He wasn't telling her no. He was warning her. That meant he felt it too.
------
Dinner that evening was charged with unspoken tension.
Damian sat at the head of the table, every movement composed, but his gaze flicked toward her too often to be coincidence.
Isla toyed with her fork, pretending to focus on her food while savoring the subtle tension between them.
Every brush of his hand as he passed her a dish, every glance, every silence hummed with something dangerous and irresistible.
After dinner, Damian excused himself, his phone pressed to his ear as he moved toward the study.
His voice was low, serious, but Isla couldn't make out the words.
She caught just enough—names she didn't recognize, references to meetings, and a tone that hinted at something darker.
....something from his past. Exes? Family Secrets? A network of secrets she wasn't privy to yet.
Curiosity sparked in her chest.
Damian was a fortress, but cracks were starting to show.
-----
Later that evening, Isla lingered near his study doorway, pretending to sort through papers.
Damian noticed her immediately, his sharp gaze locking onto hers.
"Do you understand the consequences of crossing certain lines?" he asked quietly, his voice laced with warning.
Her breath caught, but she didn't back down.
"I… understand," she whispered. "And I want it anyway."
The silence between them thickened, humming with tension.
Damian's jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment, his composure slipped—just enough for her to see the fire he kept carefully restrained.
He turned back to his desk, voice cool. "Be careful, Isla."
She exhaled shakily, retreating to her room with her heart hammering in her chest.
------
The next day at school, Adrian's attention intensified.
He leaned closer than usual in the library, his arm brushing hers as he whispered teasing comments.
His gaze carried an edge of curiosity, maybe even possessiveness.
"You've got a secret," he murmured.
Isla smiled faintly, tilting her head. "Do I?"
"You're glowing," Adrian said. "Someone's making you happy."
Her pulse quickened. He was right, but not in the way he thought.
Later that night, her phone buzzed:
Adrian: "I think someone's keeping you occupied… all okay?"
She stared at the message, her lips curving into a sly smile.
If only he knew.
------
That evening, Isla found herself hovering near Damian's study again.
The house was dim, the soft glow of warm lamps reflecting off marble floors.
Damian's voice was low, speaking to someone over the phone.
She caught words—"It's handled" and "She won't be a problem."
She froze. Who was he talking about?
When the call ended, Damian stepped out.
He spotted her immediately.
His expression softened, but his eyes held that same warning edge.
"Some desires," he said quietly, stepping closer, "are meant to stay contained."
"Or maybe," Isla whispered, her heart pounding, "they're meant to burn."
The air between them felt electric.
For a moment, Damian didn't move, didn't speak.
His gaze dropped to her lips, then flicked back to her eyes, and she knew she had him.
As Isla slipped away to her room later that night, she couldn't stop smiling.
Damian wanted her.
He was trying not to, but he did.
And the more he fought it, the more intoxicating it became.
She curled under her sheets, Damian's voice echoing in her head, his warning laced with desire.
Soon, she thought. No one will be able to stop us.