Elena
The doorman barely glanced at me as I slipped past, clutching my clutch tighter than I needed to. Obsidian didn't look like any club I had ever stepped into before. It wasn't loud in the way Manhattan clubs were loud. There were no neon signs, no drunken shouting, no sticky floors. Here, everything pulsed with precision the bass a steady heartbeat, the lights low and sultry, the scent of expensive cologne and perfume mingling with leather and velvet.
I froze for a second at the entrance. The room stretched out before me, bathed in shadows and flashes of red and gold. Velvet booths curved along the walls, low tables gleamed under candlelight, and the dance floor moved like one living organism bodies swaying, hips grinding, strangers brushing against each other as though intimacy were currency.
And above it all, suspended from the ceiling like a crown jewel, was a chandelier of black crystal, dripping with chains that caught the light like stars.
I didn't belong here.
Every inch of me screamed it the tailored black dress I had picked because it was "safe," the heels meant for boardrooms, not dance floors. But something else hummed beneath the discomfort, a low current of anticipation I hadn't felt in years.
And then I saw him.
Damian.
He was at the far side of the room, half-shadowed in a booth that commanded attention without needing to try. People hovered around him men in tailored suits, women in dresses that looked painted on but he was the gravity in the room. Everyone else simply orbited.
His dark shirt clung to broad shoulders, the top two buttons undone to reveal a glint of skin. One hand rested lazily on a glass, the other draped along the back of the booth, but the posture was deceptive. Even from across the club, I could feel it that coiled strength, the unspoken warning that he was a man you didn't cross.
And his eyes…
They found me almost instantly. As if he'd known the second I walked in.
I swallowed hard, heat crawling up my neck. The bass pounded beneath my feet, but suddenly it felt like the only sound in the room was my pulse.
Damian
She came.
I knew she would, but seeing her standing there, framed in the glow of Obsidian's chandelier, hit harder than I expected. Five years hadn't dulled her. If anything, they'd sharpened her edges. That little black dress clung to her curves with stubborn elegance, her chin was tilted in that way she always did when she was pretending she wasn't afraid, and her eyes… Christ, those eyes. They looked at me like I was a memory she wanted to forget but couldn't.
I didn't move right away. I wanted her to squirm, to feel the weight of me watching her. Around me, conversations blurred. Drinks were poured, laughter rose and fell, but I barely heard any of it. My focus was Elena.
She shifted her weight, her hand tightening around that clutch like it was a shield. The city hadn't stripped her of that tell she always clung to something when she was nervous. I wondered if she remembered I knew that.
When I finally stood, the crowd shifted instinctively. People stepped aside without thinking, the way they always did. Power has a scent, and in Obsidian, I wore it like a second skin.
Her breath hitched as I crossed the floor.
Good.
Elena
He moved through the crowd like the sea parting, like every person in the room recognized the unspoken command of his presence. The closer he came, the harder it became to breathe.
And then he was in front of me.
"Elena."
My name on his lips was softer than I expected, but it still struck like lightning.
"Damian." My voice almost broke, but I steadied it at the last second. "Nice place."
His mouth curved not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. "Obsidian suits me, don't you think?"
It did. Dark, sleek, dangerous. Like him.
I forced myself to lift my chin. "I didn't come here for you."
"Of course you didn't," he said, and somehow the certainty in his tone told me he knew I was lying.
Damian
She wanted to sound strong. God, I loved that about her. But the way her pulse fluttered at her throat gave her away.
"You shouldn't be here," I said, leaning close enough for my breath to brush her ear, letting her feel the danger in my words. "But since you are…" I offered my hand. "Dance with me."
Her eyes widened, a protest already forming. I didn't give her the chance. My hand closed around hers, warm, firm, and I led her onto the floor.
The bass swallowed us whole.
Elena
The dance floor was a blur of heat and movement. His hand slid low against my back, guiding me into the rhythm as though my body had always been made for his. I stiffened at first, every nerve screaming in alarm, but his grip was steady, unyielding, pulling me closer until there was no space between us.
The music throbbed. My heart raced to match it.
I hated how easily my body remembered. The press of his chest, the brush of his thigh, the way his lips hovered near my ear without touching. Every part of me was alive, aware, trembling.
"This isn't a good idea," I whispered, even as I let him spin me back into his arms.
"Probably not," he murmured. "But when have we ever been good at resisting bad ideas?"
His words curled inside me like fire.
Damian
She was melting. She didn't want to, but I could feel it the way her breath hitched when my fingers grazed her waist, the way her body arched ever so slightly when I leaned in.
She thought she was fighting me. She wasn't.
I could have kissed her right there, taken her mouth and reminded her what it was to burn, but no. Not yet. I wanted her undone slowly. I wanted her begging.
So instead, I whispered against her ear: "Still pretending you don't miss this?"
Her body went rigid, and for a heartbeat, I thought she'd pull away. Instead, she stayed, trembling against me. Perfect.
Elena
I couldn't do this. I couldn't. The heat of his hand, the brush of his breath it was too much. Memories clawed at me, unbidden: his mouth on mine, his body pinning me to cool sheets, the sound of his voice when he whispered my name in the dark.
I broke.
"I can't," I gasped, pulling back. The crowd pressed around us, but suddenly I felt suffocated, trapped. I stumbled toward the edge of the dance floor, shoving past strangers until I found a shadowed alcove.
The air was cooler here, quieter, but my chest still heaved.
And then he was there.
Damian
I didn't chase. I followed. There's a difference.
She stood in the alcove, her arms wrapped tight around herself, trying to breathe, trying to hold together pieces that had already started to unravel.
I stopped just close enough that she could feel me without me touching her. "You always did run when it mattered."
Her head snapped up, eyes flashing. "And you always pushed when you shouldn't."
For a second, the silence between us felt like a wire pulled taut. Then, softer, almost broken, she whispered: "You hurt me."
And just like that, the power shifted. Because she was right.
Elena
His silence was worse than anger. For once, Damian Rivera didn't have a quick retort, didn't wear that smug control like armor. He just… looked at me.
Something flickered in his eyes, raw and unguarded. Vulnerability.
And it terrified me more than his power ever could.
Damian
I stepped closer. Close enough that my lips brushed her temple when I spoke.
"You hurt me too."
Her breath hitched, and I knew she wanted me to say more, to peel back every wall I'd built in the years since she left. But I wouldn't not yet. Not until she was ready to give me something in return.
So instead, I gave her one truth, low and dangerous against her skin.
"You'll never outrun me, Elena. Not here. Not anywhere."
Her shiver told me everything I needed.
Elena
I bolted.
I didn't answer, didn't look back. The weight of his words pressed against me, hot and heavy, and if I stayed another second, I wasn't sure I'd survive it.
The crowd swallowed me, the bass pounding in my chest as I pushed toward the bathroom, desperate for air, for distance, for anything that wasn't him.
Behind me, I knew he was watching. Not chasing. Not stopping me. Just waiting.
Because Damian Rivera never needed to chase.
He always knew I'd come back.