Michaella, a gifted writer, finds herself haunted by the memories of a love that slipped through her fingers. As she pens down her heartache and cherished moments with Gabrielle, an architect whose charm and warmth once made her world brighter, she...
Michaella's phone buzzed again as she stepped into her apartment, its soft glow illuminating the dimly lit room. She knew who it was before she even looked, Damien. The man always knew when to reach out, and after last night, he was never far from her mind.
Damien: "Be ready in half an hour. My driver will pick you up."
No question. No discussion. Just a direct command, as always. A part of her wanted to ignore it, to push back against his constant need for control. But another part of her—the one that couldn't stop thinking about him—found herself reaching for her coat before she could fully think it through.
She had already been to his office once to discuss the rumours after their night out. The media storm had raged on, and Damien had been quick to address it with his usual blend of cool detachment and quiet authority. Now, it seemed, he wasn't finished. But tonight felt different. It wasn't about clearing the air or managing headlines. There was something else in the way his message sounded—something more personal, more intense.
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Michaella slipped into the black car, its interior dark and sleek, like the man who had sent it. As the car wove through the city streets, she stared out at the passing lights, her thoughts racing.
Damien's office was as imposing as ever, towering over the city like a monument to his success. When Michaella stepped inside, Damien was already waiting by the window, his silhouette sharp against the backdrop of the skyline.
He didn't greet her with pleasantries. Instead, his gaze locked onto hers, that familiar heat sparking between them immediately.
"You're here," he said simply, as if her presence was a given.
"I told you last time," she replied, her tone firmer than before, "I'm not going to let these rumours dictate my life, Damien."
He smirked, a slow, dark curl of his lips. "And I told you I don't care about the rumours. But the media does, and whether you like it or not, they're going to keep talking."
Michaella crossed her arms, holding her ground despite the pull she felt toward him. "So why call me here again? We already dealt with this."
Damien stepped forward, closing the distance between them with an ease that made her pulse quicken. "Because the last time we spoke, we didn't finish the conversation."
The heat in his voice was unmistakable. He wasn't talking about the rumours anymore. He wasn't talking about the media. This was about them—the tension that crackled between them, the fire that simmered just beneath the surface of every interaction.
Michaella swallowed, her heart racing. She could feel the intensity in the air, thick with unspoken words and unresolved desires. Damien was right—nothing had been finished the last time. If anything, everything between them had only escalated.
"I'm not someone who can be controlled, Damien," she said, her voice steady, even though every inch of her wanted to lean into whatever this was between them. "I don't care how powerful you are."
His eyes darkened at that, and he took another step toward her, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I know you're not. That's why I like you."
The air between them hummed with tension, the kind of tension that made her skin tingle and her breath catch in her throat. Damien reached out, his hand grazing her arm, sending a shiver through her. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.
"I don't like to wait," he whispered, his voice dark and seductive.
Michaella's heart pounded at his words, and for a moment, she could feel herself leaning in, drawn to the heat between them, to the sheer pull of his presence. But she pulled back, just before his lips could meet hers.
"No," she whispered, her voice breathy but firm. "Not like this."
Damien's expression didn't change. If anything, his eyes flared with something deeper, more dangerous. He wasn't angry. He was intrigued. More than that, he respected her resolve, even as he fought against his own desire.
"You're making this hard," he said, his voice laced with dark amusement. "But I'll wait."
Her breath was uneven, her resolve shaky, but she nodded. "You'll have to."
Damien pulled back, his gaze never leaving hers. For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air. She could feel the intensity of his desire, the way he was holding himself back. It was intoxicating, knowing she had that effect on a man like him—knowing that, despite everything, she was the one in control.
Damien drove her back in silence, the tension between them still palpable. Every so often, Michaella caught him glancing at her, the heat in his eyes unmistakable. She could feel her pulse quicken under his gaze, but she kept her expression calm, her hands folded in her lap.
When they arrived at her building, Damien stopped the car but didn't immediately turn to her. Instead, he sat there for a moment, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel.
"You're going to keep pushing me, aren't you?" he said, his voice low and dark.
Michaella smiled, leaning back in her seat. "You like it."
He finally turned to her, his gaze burning with a mix of frustration and desire. "You're right. I do."
For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them was thick, charged with something neither of them fully understood. Damien reached out, brushing his thumb gently across her cheek, a small gesture that sent a shockwave through her.
"I'll see you soon," he said, his voice full of promise. "And when I do, things will be different."
Michaella's heart raced, but she refused to let him see just how much he was affecting her. She nodded, opening the car door and stepping out into the cool night air.
As she walked toward her building, she felt his eyes on her the entire time, the weight of his presence lingering long after the sound of his car faded into the distance.
Whatever this was between them, it was far from over.
The next morning, Michaella woke to a barrage of notifications. Her phone lit up with messages, DMs, and missed calls. Sarah had already sent her a frantic text: "The rumours are getting worse. People are speculating about you and Damien again. It's all over the news."
Michaella sighed, running her fingers through her hair as she scrolled through the headlines. Photos of her and Damien leaving the bar the night before, their faces inches apart, dominated every major gossip site. The speculation was growing, and so were the questions from her fans.
Then, another message popped up—this time from Gabrielle.
Gabrielle: "How's your Christmas?"
Michaella stared at the screen, her stomach flipping. She hadn't expected him to reach out again, not after everything. But here he was, like always—just when she thought she was moving on, he reappeared.
She didn't know how to respond, didn't even know if she should. For the first time, she felt like she was at a crossroads, caught between the fiery pursuit of Damien Knight and the cold, familiar tug of her past with Gabrielle.
But one thing was clear—whatever came next, Michaella was going to be the one in control.
