Past that hunt
1871 Words
“Missy,” he said smoothly, his voice like velvet laced with steel. “It’s been a while.”
She swallowed hard. “Damion.”
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze raking over her like a predator assessing its prey. “I almost didn’t believe it when I heard you were in trouble. But here you are.”
She clenched her fists at her sides. “You made sure of that.”
A smirk played at the corner of his lips, though there was no real amusement in it. “I simply presented an opportunity. You accepted.”
Her jaw tightened. “What do you want?”
He stood, his movements fluid and deliberate. The air around him seemed charged with an intensity that made her pulse race. He didn’t speak immediately, instead walking to a bar cart against the wall and pouring himself a drink. The sound of liquid splashing against glass filled the silence.
Finally, he turned back to her, glass in hand. “You know, I spent years wondering what I would say if I ever saw you again.”
Missy shifted uncomfortably. “Damion ”
“Did you ever think about me?” he interrupted, his voice deceptively soft. “Even once?”
Guilt twisted inside her like a knife. She had thought about him. More times than she cared to admit. But saying it out loud felt like a betrayal of everything she had done to move on.
“I…” Her voice faltered. “I didn’t have a choice back then.”
His eyes darkened. “And yet you made one.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Missy forced herself to hold his gaze, even as her knees threatened to buckle. He took a slow sip of his drink, his expression unreadable.
“I didn’t come here to rehash the past,” she finally said. “I came because you said you could help.”
Damion studied her for a long moment before setting his glass down. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a sleek black folder. He flipped it open and slid it across the desk towards her.
Missy’s throat tightened as she read the bold letters at the top of the first page. A contract.
Her gaze snapped back to his. “What is this?”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “A solution to your problem.”
She hesitated before picking up the document. Her eyes skimmed over the words, but the meaning behind them was impossible to ignore.
A marriage contract.
Missy’s stomach dropped. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious.” His voice was calm, measured. “You need money. I have it. But I don’t hand out favors for free.”
Her fingers trembled as she gripped the contract. “Why?” she demanded. “Why would you do this?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Because I want you to understand what it feels like to be powerless.”
Missy’s breath hitched. She shook her head, pushing the contract back toward him. “No. I can’t.”
Damion didn’t flinch. He simply leaned back in his chair, his expression eerily composed. “Suit yourself.”
She turned on her heel, striding toward the elevator. But just as she reached for the call button, his voice stopped her cold.
“You’ll be back.”
Missy’s hand hovered over the panel. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to ignore the certainty in his tone. But deep down, she knew he was right.
She had nowhere else to turn.
A uniformed concierge barely spared her a glance as she approached. “Miss Myles?”
She swallowed, nodding. Her throat was dry.
“Mr. Knight is expecting you.” He gestured towards a private elevator at the far end of the lobby. “Penthouse suite.”
Missy forced her feet forward, her heart pounding in her chest. She should turn around. She should leave while she still could. But her mother’s voice echoed in her mind. We’re going to lose the house, Melissa.
She stepped into the elevator, and the doors closed with a hushed finality. The ride up was eerily silent. Each passing floor felt like another nail sealing her fate. When the doors finally opened, she stepped into a sleek, dimly lit hallway. At the very end, double doors loomed like the entrance to a kingdom where Damion ruled unchallenged.
Summoning every ounce of courage, she lifted her fist and knocked.
The door swung open almost immediately, and there he was.
Damion Knight.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them crackled with unspoken words, unshed emotions.
“Come in,” Damion said finally, stepping aside.
Missy hesitated, then walked in, her stomach twisting into knots. The penthouse was breathtaking floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline, the furniture sleek and expensive. It smelled of leather, expensive cologne, and something uniquely Damion.
Missy stepped into the grand lobby of the high-rise, her fingers tightening around the strap of her worn-out purse. The opulence of the place was suffocating. Gold-trimmed chandeliers bathed the space in warm, golden light, and the polished marble floor reflected her hesitant steps. It was a stark contrast to the damp, cramped apartment she had just come from. This was Damion Knight’s world immaculate, controlled, and leagues away from the life she now struggled to survive in.
slow, knowing smirk curled Damion’s lips. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled together as if her defiance amused him. “Won’t you?” he drawled. “Tell me, Missy, where else will you find a solution? You have no job, no savings. Your mother’s house will be gone in a matter of weeks. But by all means, walk away.”
Her nails dug into her palms. Every word he spoke sliced deep, too painfully accurate to ignore. Missy had spent every waking moment searching for another way. There wasn’t one. Yet the idea of tying herself to Damion, of surrendering to him like this, made her stomach twist.
“Have a seat.” He gestured to the couch, but Missy remained standing.
“I don’t have time for games, Damion,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended.
His lips curved into a smirk, one that sent a shiver down her spine. “Neither do I.”
He walked to the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “You need money,” he stated, not even bothering to phrase it as a question.
Missy’s stomach turned. She hated how easily he could see through her.
“I’m not here for charity,” she bit back.
“No, you’re here because you have no other choice.” He took a slow sip of his drink, watching her over the rim of his glass. “And I’m your last resort.”
She bristled. “If you’re just going to gloat ”
“Sit down, Missy.”
Something in his voice made her comply, sinking into the plush leather chair across from him. He studied her, his expression unreadable.
“You left me without a word,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “Vanished. No calls, no explanations. And now, years later, you show up at my door because you need help?”
Shame burned through her. She had been young, scared, and foolish. But she refused to let him tear her apart.
“I had my reasons.”
His jaw tightened. “And now I have mine.”
He reached into a sleek black folder on the table and slid a document across to her. A single sheet of paper, crisp and official-looking. Her stomach twisted into knots as she read the first line.
Marriage Contract.
She looked up, horrified. “What is this?”
“A solution to your problem,” Damion said smoothly. “Sign it, and I’ll save your house.”
Missy’s pulse roared in her ears. This couldn’t be real. “You’re joking.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
Her hands curled into fists. “You think you can just buy me?”
He leaned forward, his gaze dark and unreadable. “You left me once, Missy. Now, I own your future.”
The room spun. She wanted to scream, to tell him to go to hell. But her mother’s desperate face flashed before her eyes, and her throat closed up.
Damion sat back, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Take your time. I’m not in a hurry.”
Missy shot to her feet. “I’m not signing this.”
He simply smirked, the same damn smirk that made her stomach twist in equal parts fury and something far more dangerous.
“Then leave,” he said coolly. “But we both know you’ll be back.”
Missy’s hands shook as she grabbed her purse and stormed towards the door. But as her fingers curled around the handle, his voice stopped her cold.
“One way or another, Missy, you’re mine.”
Her breath caught, her resolve cracking.
She left without another word, but the contract still burned in her mind, haunting her as the elevator doors slid shut.
Missy’s fingers trembled as she gripped the edge of the contract. The neatly printed words blurred before her eyes, their meaning more suffocating than the heavy air in Damion’s penthouse. Her pulse pounded against her ribs.
“You left me once,” Damion murmured, his voice like silk stretched over steel. “Now, I own your future.”
Missy’s head snapped up, her emerald eyes blazing. “You don’t own me,” she spat, shoving the papers back toward him. “I don’t care how much money you have. I won’t let you control me like this.”
“I won’t sign it.” The words left her mouth with more certainty than she felt. She grabbed her purse, forcing herself to stand tall, to meet his gaze without faltering. “I’ll figure something out.”
Damion didn’t move, but something flickered in his dark eyes something that sent a shiver racing down her spine. “Very well,” he murmured. “I won’t stop you.”
Missy turned, walking toward the door with as much dignity as she could muster. But just as she reached for the handle, Damion’s voice stopped her cold.
“You’ll be back.”
“You don’t get to play the martyr, Missy,” he murmured, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Not with me.”
She swallowed hard, willing her body not to react to his touch. “You’re a bastard,” she whispered.
His smirk deepened. “And yet, I’m still your only way out.”
Missy wrenched the door open, stepping into the hallway before she could second-guess herself. The moment the door shut behind her, she exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her chest. Her heart was a traitor, racing for all the wrong reasons.
Damion had won this round. But this wasn’t over.
And they both knew it.
- Writer
