Evelyn stared at the card long after the stranger had vanished into the night. Damian Blackwood. Even the name felt heavy, dangerous, as though it carried its own reputation.
Her fingers hovered over the embossed letters. Should she throw it away? Or keep it? Logic screamed for her to toss it in the nearest trash can, but something deeper—something reckless—made her slip it into her bag instead.
She hated herself for it.
The waitress came by to refill her coffee, glancing at the empty seat across from her. "Friend of yours?" she asked casually.
Evelyn shook her head quickly. "No. Not at all."
But her trembling hands betrayed her.
---
By midnight, Evelyn had found herself outside a cheap motel. The neon sign buzzed overhead, flickering in and out, casting shadows that made the place look even more miserable. Still, she paid for a room with the little cash she had left and dragged her suitcase inside.
The room smelled faintly of mildew, but it was shelter. She set her bag on the creaky bed and exhaled, trying to release the tension in her shoulders.
Yet, when she closed her eyes, all she saw were his.
That stranger—Damian—his gaze had sliced through her like he already knew everything she was hiding. Who was he? Why had he bothered to approach her when he could have ignored her like everyone else?
She shook her head, forcing the thoughts away. She needed a plan—job, money, apartment. That was reality. Men like him didn't belong in her world.
Still, when she finally drifted into sleep, she dreamed of him.
---
The next morning, Evelyn dressed in her cleanest outfit and hit the streets. She had an interview lined up at a small marketing firm—a job she desperately needed if she was going to survive here.
The receptionist barely glanced up when she entered the sleek office building. Evelyn smoothed her skirt nervously, clutching her folder of documents.
"Name?" the receptionist asked, chewing her gum lazily.
"Evelyn Hart. I—I have an interview scheduled for ten o'clock."
The receptionist tapped a few keys, then frowned. "It says here your appointment was canceled this morning."
Evelyn's chest dropped. "Canceled? But I didn't—"
The receptionist shrugged, already looking past her. "You'll have to reschedule. Next!"
Evelyn walked out in a daze. The city's noise felt louder, crueler. She hadn't even had her chance, and already it was slipping through her fingers.
"Maybe this was a mistake," she whispered.
As she stepped onto the sidewalk, a sleek black car pulled up in front of her. Her stomach twisted. She knew that car.
The window slid down, and there he was. Damian Blackwood.
His eyes locked on her with that same piercing intensity as last night. "Get in."
Evelyn froze. "Excuse me?"
He leaned an arm against the door, calm and commanding. "I don't like repeating myself. Get in."
Her pulse spiked. Every instinct screamed danger, but curiosity—dangerous, reckless curiosity—rooted her to the spot. "Why?" she managed.
His lips curved slightly, though it wasn't quite a smile. "Because, Miss Hart, your life is about to get a lot more complicated. And I'm the reason why."
She took a step back, shaking her head. "You don't even know me."
"Oh, I know enough." His voice was velvet, but beneath it was steel. "You came to this city with nothing. No family here. No apartment. No job. Tell me, how long do you think you'll survive before the city swallows you whole?"
Evelyn's blood ran cold. How did he know that?
"You've been following me?" she whispered.
Damian's eyes didn't waver. "I don't follow. I find. And I found you."
The driver opened the back door from the inside, waiting. People were beginning to stare—pedestrians slowing down, curious about the luxury car and the intense exchange.
Evelyn's breath quickened. She could walk away, disappear into the crowd. Or she could step into that car and straight into the unknown.
Both choices terrified her.
Damian tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. "You can keep struggling against a city that doesn't care whether you breathe or starve. Or…" His voice dropped lower, magnetic. "You can take my hand and let me show you a world where you'll never have to beg again."
Evelyn's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. Her heart hammered so loud she was certain he could hear it.
This was madness. He was madness.
And yet—her feet moved. One step. Then another.
Before she knew it, she was sliding into the backseat of his car, the leather cool against her skin. The door shut with a heavy thud, sealing her inside.
Damian leaned closer, his scent of expensive cologne and danger filling the air. His eyes lingered on her lips before meeting her gaze.
"Good girl," he murmured.
The car pulled away from the curb, and Evelyn realized she had just made the most dangerous decision of her life.