The Love Clause

Chapter 6: The Man I Can’t Ignore

Avena’s POV



The moment I stepped into my apartment, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the couch, every muscle in my body screaming in exhaustion.

One day.

That was all it took for Damian Carter to take up residence in my mind, completely uninvited.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling.

I hated him.

Not in the way you hate rainy days when you forgot your umbrella. Or the way you hate your alarm clock when it drags you out of sleep.

No, this was different.

I hated the way he made me feel. The way my pulse quickened when he looked at me too long. The way his voice, calm and steady, sent an uninvited shiver down my spine. The way his presence alone seemed to take up all the air in a room, leaving me suffocated—and yet, somehow, craving more.

The worst part?

I knew he knew.

That damn smirk, the amused glint in his stormy gray eyes whenever I pushed back.

Like he enjoyed the way I challenged him.

Like he was waiting to see how far I’d go.

It made me want to punch him.

Or kiss him.

Which, honestly, made me want to punch myself.

I groaned, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.

"No," I muttered. "Not happening. Not today, not ever."

With a deep breath, I pushed myself upright and grabbed my laptop.

Work.

That was what I needed. To focus on something else.

I had been trying to finish my next book for weeks, but between school, taking care of Dad, and now this job, I barely had time to breathe, let alone write.

But tonight? I had a solid few hours of uninterrupted silence.

I opened the document, stared at the blinking cursor.

And… nothing.

I blinked.

Why wasn’t anything coming?

I knew this story inside and out. I had the ending planned, the next scene mapped out. But instead of words, my brain kept feeding me memories of today.

Damian, leaning against his desk, sleeves rolled up, his forearms flexing slightly as he typed something into his laptop.

Damian, speaking into his phone, voice low and smooth, barely hiding his irritation.

Damian, running a hand through his hair in frustration, the strands falling slightly out of place before he pushed them back with an impatient flick of his fingers.

I slammed the laptop shut.

No. Absolutely not.

I was not about to let him take up space in my head.

I needed a distraction. Something to drown out the way his voice still lingered in my ears, the way his scent—something crisp and expensive—clung faintly to my clothes after spending all day in his office.

God, I hated him.

And yet, beneath all that hate…

A dangerous curiosity stirred.

Because the truth was, Damian Carter was unlike anyone I had ever met.

And that? That terrified me more than anything else.