Unchained desire

Chapter One – A Deal with the Devil

I should have known the night would end in disaster.

The signs were all there, my alarm failing to go off, the bus splashing dirty water all over my only good dress, and my manager Lisa reminding me for the hundredth time that Le Maison didn’t tolerate “clumsy little waitresses who couldn’t keep their hands steady.”

I wasn’t clumsy. I was exhausted.

Two shifts back-to-back had me running on fumes, and my feet ached from squeezing into these ridiculous black heels that were half a size too small. But I didn’t complain. I couldn’t afford to. Rent was due next week, and I had exactly twelve dollars and forty cents to my name.

So, despite everything, I forced a smile, tied my apron, and carried my tray like my life depended on it, because, in a way, it did.

That’s when I saw him.

I didn’t know who he was at first. I only knew that when I stepped into the VIP section, my skin prickled with awareness. The air itself seemed heavier, thick with a presence that commanded the entire room.

He sat at the center table, his posture relaxed yet entirely in control. The dim lighting of the restaurant did nothing to soften the sharp angles of his face, a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and cold gray eyes that pierced right through me.

He didn’t look at me at first. But I felt him notice me.

Every muscle in my body went stiff. I knew men like him or at least, I knew their type. Rich. Powerful. Untouchable. The kind who never had to raise their voice to make people obey.

And the kind of man who would never spare a second glance at a waitress like me.

Except he did.

I wasn’t sure what made me more nervous the way his gaze lingered on me for a second too long, or the fact that my body reacted before my brain did. My fingers trembled, my pulse quickened, and I suddenly forgot how to breathe.

I forced myself to look away, clutching the bottle of wine on my tray as I approached the table.

“G-good evening,” I stammered. “Would you like a refill, sir?”

He didn’t answer right away. His head tilted slightly, as if studying me, his lips curling at the corners like he found something amusing.

The moment stretched unbearably, and I shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“Red.” His voice was deep, smooth as silk, yet laced with something dangerous.

I swallowed hard. “S-Sorry?”

His gaze flicked to the bottle in my hands. “The wine.” He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lazily against the table. “Red. Not white.”

Oh, God.

My stomach plummeted.

I looked down at the white wine I had already poured into his glass, my heart stopping in my chest.

No. No, no, no.

My hands shook violently as I tried to fix my mistake, reaching for the glass too fast, too carelessly.

And that’s when it happened.

The moment I would regret forever.

The glass tipped. The wine spilled.

Straight onto his expensive black suit.

The entire restaurant fell silent.

I froze, horrified, watching the deep red liquid seep into the fabric of his custom-tailored jacket. My pulse pounded so loudly I could hear it in my ears.

“Oh my God” I gasped, grabbing a napkin. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean”

Before I could finish, he lifted a hand, halting me mid-motion.

For a second, I thought he was going to yell. Or worse demand my manager fire me on the spot. But instead, he simply stared at me.

And then, to my absolute confusion, the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

Interesting?

Lisa, my manager, was already rushing toward us, her expression twisted in panic. “Mr. Blackwood! I am so sorry for this. I’ll have her removed immediately”

Mr. Blackwood?

The name hit me like a slap.

Damien Blackwood.

The billionaire. The ruthless CEO of Blackwood Enterprises. The man who made Wall Street tremble with a single word.

I had just poured wine all over Damien Blackwood.

I braced myself for the worst, expecting him to demand my immediate termination. Instead, he turned to Lisa, completely unfazed.

“That won’t be necessary.”

Lisa blinked. “I, excuse me?”

Damien flicked his gaze back to me, his amusement deepening.

“I like this one,” he said casually. “She stays.”

What?

Lisa looked just as bewildered as I felt.

“But sir”

“That will be all,” he interrupted, his tone dismissing her entirely.

Lisa, though clearly reluctant, bowed her head and backed away.

I stood frozen, struggling to understand what just happened.

Damien Blackwood had just saved my job.

And worse,

He was still watching me.

A slow, almost predatory smile curved his lips. “Tell me, little waitress, what’s your name?”

I hesitated, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Sophia.”

He hummed. “Sophia.” He said my name like he was testing how it felt on his tongue. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a business card, and slid it across the table toward me.

“Tomorrow,” he said simply. “Come to this address at noon.”

I stared at the card, my mind struggling to catch up.

“Why?” I asked, my voice uneven.

His eyes darkened, a silent challenge lurking beneath the surface.

“Because I don’t like being ignored.”

Something in his gaze sent a shiver down my spine.

I should have refused. Should have walked away.

But something about Damien Blackwood terrified and fascinated me in equal measure.

So instead of leaving,

I picked up the card.

And sealed my fate.