UNTAMED DESIRES 🥀

UNRAVELING THREADS

Damon walked out of the Hayes mansion, letting the crisp morning air wash over him. He loved these early strolls—they cleared his mind, silencing the storm of thoughts that often plagued him. Here, in the quiet hum of the world awakening, he didn’t have to think about his father, about the mansion that felt more like a museum than a home, about the weight of a name he hadn’t asked to inherit. This was his escape.

His hands were tucked in his pockets as he walked down the pavement, the soft sound of his footsteps mingling with the distant hum of traffic. Normally, he’d have music playing in his ears, drowning out everything, but today, he didn’t want noise. He wanted to call Dorian.

Dorian Maddox. His best friend. His brother in all but blood. If Damon was the composed, reserved one, Dorian was the wildfire. Loud, reckless, the life of every party. He had this energy, this magnetic charm that made people gravitate towards him, especially women. A Casanova through and through—Dorian made it his mission to never sleep alone. Where Damon kept to himself, Dorian lived in chaos, and yet, they fit. Two halves of a whole.

Dorian had been away for two months now, having taken an impromptu trip—no, an ‘adventure,’ as he called it. Damon missed him. Not that he’d ever say it out loud.

He pulled out his phone, leaned against a lamppost, and dialed Dorian’s number. It didn’t even ring twice before a loud voice boomed from the other end.

“YOOO, MAN!”

Damon winced, pulling the phone slightly away from his ear. “Jesus, Dorian, are you getting screwed over there? Lower your damn voice.”

Dorian’s laughter echoed through the phone, a sound Damon hadn’t realized he missed. “My bad, bro! I just didn’t expect you to call. Thought you were too busy being all broody and mysterious.”

Damon chuckled. “How’s life treating you? Mine’s been weird as hell. My dad won’t let me breathe.”

“Then go to your own house, genius. I don’t get why you keep stressing yourself living in that mansion.”

Damon sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Everything is simple, you just like being difficult.” There was a pause before Dorian added, “Anyway, I’ve been having the time of my life. Girls, drinks, more girls... the usual. But I’m coming back soon.”

Damon smirked. “Great. Then I can finally regret calling you.”

Dorian snorted. “Lie to your father, he might believe it.”

Damon shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “See you soon, idiot.” He ended the call, staring at his screen for a moment longer before locking it.

His eyes flickered to a notification—an update from Ayra Carter’s i********:. He clicked on it, even though he knew she wasn’t the one posting. Still, he couldn’t help himself. There was something about her, something enigmatic, unreachable. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was untouchable, wrapped in layers of ice. And yet, every time he saw a picture of her, something in him melted.

He shut his phone and exhaled. He needed bread.

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BAKERY SHOP | 8:39 AM

The aroma hit him the moment he stepped in—warm, inviting, a blend of vanilla, cinnamon, and freshly baked bread. The kind of scent that wrapped around you like a hug. It made the air thick with nostalgia, reminding him of simpler times, back when happiness came in the form of a warm pastry in his hands.

He was about to move towards the counter when something—no, someone—stumbled into him.

Sasha’s POV

Crap, crap, crap!

I was moving too fast. Boss wanted bread. Urgently. And if I was late—God help me.

I didn’t see him. I swear I didn’t. One second, I was charging forward, and the next—boom!—I crashed into a wall. No, not a wall. A chest. A very firm, very warm chest.

“Look where you’re—” My words died in my throat as I looked up.

Oh. My. God.

He was gorgeous. No, beyond gorgeous. Tall, muscular, with sharp jawlines that could probably cut glass. His skin was smooth, like he had never known a single imperfection. And his hair—dark, perfectly styled, the kind you’d see in a damn commercial.

I swallowed nothing. My throat went dry.

“Hey... hey...” His deep voice snapped me out of my trance. “You okay?”

Oh, hell. He caught me staring.

“Y-yeah,” I stammered. “I’m sorry.”

He simply nodded and walked past me, leaving me rooted to the spot. My boss’s call jolted me back to reality, and I scrambled to get the bread.

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FASHION HOUSE | 9:28 AM

I rushed into Ayra’s office, my breath uneven.

“You’re late,” she said, not even looking up. Her voice was like ice. I swallowed hard.

“I—I know, I—”

“I don’t tolerate tardiness,” she continued. “But I’ll pardon you... because of my bread.”

She finally glanced up, the faintest hint of a smirk on her lips. It was rare to see her smile, and when she did, it was only because of food.

I handed over the bag, feeling the tension ease just a little.

“Sit.”

I did as I was told, watching as she nibbled at the warm bread. For a second, she looked... softer.

Then, the moment was gone.

“The runway show is approaching. I need eight signature pieces. By 5 PM, I want eighteen sketches ready for me to choose from. Make sure the team understands—I want perfection, nothing less.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She waved me off, already lost in her own world.

As I walked out, my phone vibrated.

Mom.

I sighed, picking up.

“Please, don’t forget Mr. Paulson. The time is—”

I hung up.

God, someone tell this woman to let me breathe.

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