Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter Three – The Storm Arrives

Chapter Three – The Storm Arrive

The cottage felt too small.

The walls pressed in on me with their peeling blue paint and faint lemon cleaner smell. My canvases leaned blank against the window, mocking me with their untouched white surfaces. And the ocean outside, loud and endless, refused to shut up.

That night, the silence inside me grew teeth. It gnawed at my ribs, my throat, my hands that hadn’t held a brush all day.

So I left.

I walked down the narrow coastal road with my coat wrapped tight around me, hair whipped across my face by the wind. The town glowed faintly ahead—yellow windows, neon signs, laughter spilling into the streets.

I hadn’t planned to end up at a bar. But maybe the bar had planned to catch me.

The sign outside read The Rusty Anchor, the kind of name that promised cheap beer and regrets. Its door was heavy wood, paint flaking, but when I pushed it open, I was swallowed by warmth and noise.

Music crackled from speakers—some old rock song bleeding into static. The air reeked of salt, alcohol, and fried food. Conversations overlapped in a jumble of voices, laughter, shouts.

I froze in the doorway, clutching my bag against me like a shield.

I didn’t belong here. Everyone else seemed already woven into the fabric of this place—locals who knew each other’s stories, tourists who knew how to be loud enough not to notice they were outsiders.

And then I saw him.

He was at the bar, back partially turned, whiskey glass in hand. Dark hair fell across his forehead, catching in the dim light. His shoulders carried an ease that didn’t belong to someone ordinary—it was too careless, too calculated. Like he wasn’t just leaning on the bar. He was commanding it.

Even from here, I could tell he wasn’t the kind of man you accidentally noticed. He was the kind of man who dragged your gaze to him whether you wanted it or not.

And then his head turned.

His eyes met mine, and the room evaporated. The music, the chatter, the clink of glasses—it all blurred into background static.

It wasn’t the kind of look Adrian gave me. Adrian’s gaze was warm, steady, like the sun filtering through water. This man’s gaze was lightning. Sharp. Dangerous. A jolt straight through my bones.

My instinct screamed: leave.

But my feet betrayed me. I slid onto a stool two seats down from him, ordered the first drink I could think of, and prayed my voice didn’t shake.

The bartender, a woman with cropped blonde hair and tattoos curling up her arm, gave me a once-over that said new here before mixing my gin and tonic.

I took a sip. Too bitter. Too strong. Perfect.

“You’re new.”

His voice cut through the noise. Low, rough. The kind of voice that scraped across raw skin and left you wanting more of the sting.

I glanced sideways. He hadn’t moved closer, but his eyes were locked on me, lazy but sharp, like a predator watching prey.

“Yeah,” I said, gripping my glass too tightly. “Just moved in.”

He tilted his whiskey, watching the amber swirl. “Why?”

The bluntness of it made my throat tighten. Not where from. Not what do you do. Just why.

I forced a shrug. “Needed a change.”

His mouth curved—not quite a smile, more like a scar. “Everyone who comes here’s running from something.”

My jaw clenched. “Maybe I just like the ocean.”

“Bullshit.”

The word was a strike of flint. Sharp, sparking.

I should’ve bristled. Should’ve shut him down. Instead, my chest tightened in a way that was equal parts fear and fascination.

I turned fully to face him. His features sharpened in the bar’s dim light—strong jaw, faint stubble, shadows carved under cheekbones. His eyes… God. His eyes weren’t one color. They shifted between gray and storm-cloud blue, alive, restless.

“What about you?” I asked before I could stop myself. “What are you running from?”

His gaze held mine, heavy, unflinching. For a heartbeat, something flickered there. Pain? Regret? Then it was gone, replaced by that same unreadable storm.

“I don’t run,” he said slowly. “I destroy.”

My breath caught.

I should’ve pulled away. That was a red flag wrapped in neon lights. But instead, heat unfurled in my chest, reckless and traitorous.

I wanted to know what he meant. I wanted to dig into his words like they were paint on a canvas, layers I could peel back.

Instead, I asked his name.

“Damien.”

“Elena.”

He repeated it, slower. “Elena.” Like he was tasting it. Like he’d keep it.

The bartender slid another whiskey his way. He downed it like water, jaw tightening only slightly at the burn.

I sipped mine, slower. My hand trembled.

“So what do you do here, Damien?”

He huffed a laugh. Not amused—derisive. “I don’t ‘do.’ I just… am.”

Cryptic. Infuriating. Addictive.

“You’re not from here,” I said.

His lips curved again. “Neither are you.”

For a few minutes, silence stretched between us. Not awkward silence. Charged silence. The kind that hummed under the skin, filled with things unspoken.

Around us, the bar kept moving—laughter, clinking glasses, someone shouting over a pool game in the back. But I felt cut off, suspended in some orbit that only held the two of us.

Finally, I slid off the stool. My pulse hammered too fast, my chest too tight.

“Leaving already?” His voice was calm, but his eyes tracked every move I made.

“Yeah,” I said, softer than I meant to. “Long day.”

He leaned back, raising his glass to me in a silent toast. “See you around, Elena.”

The way he said it wasn’t casual. It was inevitable.

When I stepped outside, the sea air hit me hard—cold, sharp. I pulled my coat tighter, but it didn’t stop the heat still crawling under my skin.

Adrian’s smile had made me feel safe.

Damien’s stare made me feel alive.

And I didn’t know yet which one would destroy me first.