DARKEST DESIRES

1

♡♡MONET♡♡

My head throbbed as if it had been slammed against a stone wall. I could feel my veins pulsing, the room around me spinning in dizzying circles. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and my body sank deeper into an unfamiliar mattress. The room was painted a stark, sterile white, and the king-sized bed I was lying on wasn’t mine. Panic seized me as I realized I had no recollection of how I’d ended up here.

Just then, a husky voice drifted over from the bathroom. “I thought you’d never wake up.” I flinched, eyes snapping open to see a man standing in the doorway, wrapped in a towel. His toned physique was covered in tattoos, and his piercing aquamarine eyes held a mischievous glint. My heart fluttered, half in fear and half in something I couldn’t name.

“Who are you?” I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

He smirked, crossing the room to pour himself a drink from a glass decanter on a nearby table. The scent of alcohol drifted through the air as he raised the glass to his lips, his gaze never leaving mine. “Not the kind of guy you’re probably thinking.”

I raised an eyebrow, still trying to shake off my disorientation. “And what kind of guy is that?”

He chuckled, his eyes sweeping over me with a lazy confidence. “I’m sure you have a few guesses.”

Ignoring the quip, I forced myself to sit up, trying to make sense of the situation. But the effort was too much; a wave of nausea crashed over me, and I barely managed to gasp out an apology before I vomited all over his chest. He didn’t flinch, just murmured, “Beautiful,” before stepping back, clearly unperturbed.

Embarrassed, I mumbled a barely audible apology. “Is that… spaghetti?” I muttered, genuinely puzzled. “When did I eat spaghetti?” His lips quirked into an amused smile as he glanced toward the bathroom, shaking his head in silent laughter. The alcohol from last night bubbled up again, and I staggered after him, desperate to reach the toilet in time.

As I sank to the floor, too weak to brush my hair out of my face, I felt a hand gently pull it back. “Careful,” he murmured softly. When I finished, I leaned back, exhausted, and muttered, “You smell funny.” He laughed softly, his voice threaded with sarcasm. “Hmm, I wonder why.”

After cleaning up, I slipped back into yesterday’s blue jeans and white hoodie, feeling more alert. My phone buzzed in my pocket, filled with missed calls from my grandfather, Lauren, Sacha, and a barrage of messages from Christian. I was grateful to be safe, but my confusion only deepened. This stranger hadn’t once asked where I lived, and I wasn’t about to volunteer the information.

As we left the bedroom, I took in the surroundings—a grand home with white walls adorned by framed portraits, flower arrangements adding unexpected warmth. The floors gleamed, reflecting everything like a mirror. I swallowed hard as I glanced up at a staircase that seemed to stretch on endlessly. “You never told me your name,” I said, breaking the silence.

He smirked. “You didn’t ask.”

We reached the elevator, and he gestured for me to enter first. Just then, his phone rang, and his expression shifted as he listened intently. When the call ended, he looked at me with a faint, unreadable smile. “Darren,” he finally said, almost as an afterthought.

“Nice name,” I replied, feeling an unexpected warmth in my cheeks.

The elevator opened onto a vast foyer. I felt out of place in this opulent setting, my mind buzzing with questions. Who was this man, and why had he brought me here? As we moved towards the door, I noticed a woman seated on a plush couch, her green eyes kind but curious. “Good morning,” she said, offering a warm smile.

“I’m okay,” I managed to reply, though I wasn’t entirely sure.

A young boy with long braids and a gray headscarf bounced into the room, casting a curious glance at me before whispering something to Darren and scampering off with a laugh. Darren led me outside to a sleek black Mercedes G-Wagon, where I caught sight of a beautifully painted flowerpot by the entrance.

“That’s a beautiful flowerpot,” I commented, more to fill the silence than anything else.

“It is,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Got it in Africa.”

We climbed into the car, and the silence settled heavily. Eventually, he broke it. “Do you usually drink that much?”

“No… it was my first time,” I replied, my voice soft. Then, curiosity got the better of me. “Who changed my clothes?”

His eyes flicked over to me, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “I did. But I left your undergarments on—relax.”

My cheeks flushed at the thought. “You could have left me in my jeans,” I muttered, flustered.

His gaze softened. “You looked uncomfortable.”

I turned to stare out the window, trying to process everything. We were driving through unfamiliar streets lined with towering trees. After a moment, I ventured, “Why did you bring me to your house?”

A smirk curled his lips. “For my own selfish pleasure,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Then, seeing my wide-eyed look, he chuckled. “I’m kidding. You were passed out on the floor at closing time. Figured if anything happened to you, it’d be on me.”

“Why would it be on you?” I asked, skeptical.

“Because it’s my club.” His voice was matter-of-fact, and I found myself staring at him, taking in this new piece of information.

“Oh,” I mumbled, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. “Do you even know where I live?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No. Was hoping you’d tell me.”

I laughed at the absurdity. “The countryside. It’s close.”

As I messaged Christian back, Darren’s gaze kept flickering over to me, the weight of it tangible even when I wasn’t looking. “Could you stop staring at me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s hard to look away from something so… captivating,” he replied, his voice smooth and steady.

I felt a flutter in my chest. “You’re really beautiful,” he murmured, his gaze lingering a little too long.

The rest of the ride was filled with quiet, comfortable music. When “Sprinter” by Central Cee and Dave came on, I asked him to turn it up, and he obliged, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.

As we pulled up to my grandfather’s house, I felt a wave of relief. “Come with me,” I said, realizing I’d need his help explaining the situation.

Papa looked up from his magazine, his eyes narrowing as he took in Darren’s tattoos. “Mr. Jackson?” Darren greeted, his tone polite but unwavering.

Papa’s expression shifted from curiosity to something deeper. He rose slowly, his gaze fixed on Darren. “You look familiar,” he murmured, studying him intently. “Could it be… no, you couldn’t have grown so much.”

Darren’s lips curved into a knowing smile, and he waited, watching as recognition dawned on my grandfather’s face. “Tell me… who are you?” Papa’s voice was barely a whisper, laced with wonder.

I stepped back, watching the two of them, feeling a strange sense of foreboding.