Veiled Obsession

He Knows My Name

LILA

I didn’t expect to see him again. Not after that fleeting moment in the rain—his umbrella shielding me from the storm, his piercing gaze leaving an imprint on my soul. But life has a way of throwing curveballs, doesn’t it?

It was two days later, and I had finally dragged myself out of my apartment to attend an art exhibit downtown. My mentor, Claire, had been relentless in her nagging, insisting that I needed to “put myself out there” if I wanted to make a name for myself in the art world.

“Lila, you can’t hide forever,” she’d said over the phone. “This is your chance to network, meet people who can help you grow.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to grow. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and forget everything—Bryant’s cruel words, the emptiness gnawing at my chest, the haunting memory of that stranger in the rain.

But Claire wouldn’t take no for an answer. So here I was, standing awkwardly in a room full of people who seemed far more confident and accomplished than I’d ever be. The gallery buzzed with conversation and laughter, the air thick with the scent of wine and expensive perfume.

I felt out of place immediately.

Clutching my glass of champagne like a lifeline, I wandered aimlessly through the exhibit, pretending to admire the paintings while avoiding eye contact with anyone who might try to strike up a conversation. My gaze lingered on one particular piece—a haunting portrait of a woman shrouded in shadows, her expression unreadable yet captivating.

“That’s one of my favorites,” a deep voice said from behind me.

I froze. That voice—it was unmistakable.

Turning slowly, I found myself face-to-face with him: Damien Voss. The man from the rainstorm. The man who had offered me his umbrella without asking for anything in return.

Up close, he was even more intimidating than I remembered—tall and imposing, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that screamed wealth and power. His dark eyes bore into mine with an intensity that made my heart race.

“You have good taste,” he added, his lips curving into a faint smile as he gestured toward the painting.

“Thank you,” I managed to say, though my voice sounded embarrassingly small compared to his commanding presence.

Damien tilted his head slightly, studying me as if trying to place where he’d seen me before. “You’re the girl from the rain,” he said after a moment, his tone laced with curiosity rather than surprise.

I nodded, feeling my cheeks flush under his scrutiny. “Yes… Thank you for helping me that night.”

“It was nothing,” he replied smoothly, though his gaze lingered on me longer than necessary. “Are you an artist?”

“Yes,” I said quickly, eager to shift the focus away from myself. “I’m just starting out.”

“Interesting.” His eyes flicked briefly to the painting before returning to me. “Do you have any pieces here tonight?”

“No,” I admitted, feeling a pang of embarrassment at how unaccomplished I must seem compared to him and everyone else in this room. “I’m just here to… observe.”

Damien’s smile widened slightly at that, as if amused by my answer. “Observation is important,” he said cryptically before taking a sip of his drink. “It teaches us more than creation sometimes.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that—or why his words sent an inexplicable shiver down my spine—but before I could respond, he extended his hand toward me.

“Damien Voss,” he introduced himself formally.

“Lila Rhodes,” I replied hesitantly as I shook his hand.

His grip was firm but not overpowering—just enough to make me feel small and vulnerable under his touch.

DAMIEN

She was different from anyone else in this room—different from anyone I’d encountered in years.

The moment I saw her standing alone by that painting, her shoulders hunched slightly as if trying to make herself invisible amidst the crowd, I knew she didn’t belong here—not because she lacked talent or ambition but because she carried an air of fragility that set her apart from these vultures masquerading as artists and critics.

And yet… there was something about her that intrigued me.

When she turned around and met my gaze, recognition flashed across her face—followed by uncertainty and perhaps even fear.

Good.

Fear meant she understood what kind of man she was dealing with.

As we exchanged pleasantries and shook hands, I couldn’t help but notice how small her hand felt in mine—delicate yet strong enough to hold its own against whatever storms life had thrown at her.

She reminded me of someone—a ghost from my past whose memory still haunted me despite all my efforts to bury it deep within the recesses of my mind.

But Lila wasn’t her… She was something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

Something tempting.

Something I shouldn’t want but couldn’t resist.

LILA

The rest of the evening passed in a blur after meeting Damien Voss.

He didn’t linger long—just enough to leave an impression before disappearing into the crowd like smoke dissipating into thin air—but his presence stayed with me long after he was gone.

Who was he? Why did he seem so familiar yet so foreign all at once? And why did his mere existence make me feel things I hadn’t felt in years—things Bryant could never evoke no matter how hard he tried?

As I left the gallery that night and stepped out into the cool evening air, clutching Claire’s business card tightly in one hand while replaying Damien’s words over and over again in my mind like a mantra… one thing became clear:

This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

Our paths had crossed twice now—and something told me they would cross again soon enough.

Whether I wanted them to or not.