Craving You

Isla Reid’s fingers trembled as she wiped the last streak of dust from the canvas. Her tiny studio apartment felt colder than usual, the air thick with the scent of oil paints and the weight of failure. She had spent months on this piece, pouring every ounce of her soul into it, but something about it still felt... incomplete. She leaned back in her chair, trying to take in the full scope of the work—bright splashes of color, chaos in perfect balance, a depiction of her world just before it all fell apart. A failed artist’s last plea for recognition, maybe. The doorbell rang. Isla glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. No one ever came to visit her this late. Hesitating for a moment, she crossed the room and opened the door. A small, neatly dressed man stood in the hallway holding an envelope. His stiff expression gave nothing away. “Isla Reid?” he asked, as though he already knew the answer. “That’s me,” she said, her voice thick with exhaustion. “This is for you,” he said, handing her the envelope without another word. Isla closed the door behind her and sat down at her cluttered desk, ripping the envelope open. She scanned the letter quickly, her heart pounding as she read the words. Dear Miss Reid, We’ve reviewed your portfolio and are impressed with your work. We would like to invite you to showcase your pieces at the upcoming exhibition hosted at the Knight Hotel. This is an exclusive event, and only a select few artists will be given this opportunity. We believe your work will be a valuable addition. Please contact us as soon as possible to confirm your participation. Sincerely, Knight Enterprises Isla stared at the letter for several long seconds, her mind struggling to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. Knight Hotel. She knew the name well. It was synonymous with luxury, wealth, and power—a place where art wasn’t just admired; it was worshipped. She had spent years painting, selling a few pieces here and there, but nothing that had ever come close to what she’d dreamed. This was her chance. Her shot at real recognition. Her heart raced as she traced her finger over the elegant signature. There was just one problem. Knight Enterprises wasn’t just an art gallery or a venue for the elite. The man behind it was a myth, a figure wrapped in rumors and whispers. Damien Knight. Cold, ruthless, and completely untouchable. He didn’t let anyone into his world—least of all struggling artists like her. A part of Isla hesitated. Was this a mistake? Or was this the opportunity of a lifetime? Before she could talk herself out of it, her phone buzzed on the desk. She glanced at the screen: an unknown number. “Hello?” A low, almost predatory voice replied, “Miss Reid? This is Damien Knight. I’m looking forward to meeting you.” Isla froze. She had expected a formal assistant, a secretary—but he was calling her himself? “I—uh, I didn’t expect...” Her voice faltered. She wasn’t sure what to say. There was an intensity in his tone that sent a shiver down her spine. “I understand,” he continued smoothly, his voice rich and commanding. “I don’t often make personal calls, but I’m not interested in wasting time. Your work shows potential. I’d like to see it in person.” Isla swallowed, her mind racing. She could hear the unmistakable sound of power in his words. “I’d be honored.” “Good,” he said, his tone suddenly colder. “I expect you at the hotel tomorrow at noon. Don’t be late.” The line went dead before she could respond. Isla stared at her phone, her pulse quickening. What had just happened? She was going to meet Damien Knight, the man who could make or break her career. He was notorious for his unpredictability and his cold, calculating nature. But she couldn’t back out now. This was the moment she had been waiting for. The opportunity was too big, too important. She stood, suddenly filled with a nervous energy. “ The next day, Isla stood at the entrance of the Knight Hotel, her palms sweating despite the cool morning air. She had dressed carefully—nothing too extravagant, but enough to show that she wasn’t intimidated. Her art might have been her only form of expression for years, but now, it was her weapon. As she stepped inside the hotel, she was greeted by the quiet hum of luxury. Marble floors gleamed beneath her feet, and the faint scent of expensive perfume lingered in the air. Everything about the place felt too perfect—too polished, too pristine. It was a world that Isla could never fully belong to. But she had to try. The elevator doors opened to the top floor. She stepped out into a corridor that was silent except for the rhythmic click of her heels on the marble. A man in a black suit stood waiting at the door, offering a silent nod as he ushered her in. Inside, the suite was larger than her entire apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a breathtaking view of the city, but Isla barely noticed. Her gaze was fixed on the man standing near the window. His broad back was turned to her, but there was no mistaking the powerful presence he exuded. Damien Knight. He didn’t turn as she entered, didn’t acknowledge her presence for a moment. He simply stood, as though waiting for her to approach. Isla hesitated, then took a step forward, her heart pounding. She was here, standing in the same room with the man who could change everything. He finally turned, and his gaze locked onto hers—intense, piercing, calculating. “Miss Reid,” he said, his voice a low, smooth drawl that sent a chill down her spine. “I’ve been waiting for you.” sla’s breath caught in her throat at the sound of his voice. It was calm, controlled, yet there was an undeniable weight to it—something that commanded attention, respect, and perhaps a hint of danger. She stood frozen for a moment, struggling to find her voice. Damien Knight. The man who owned this hotel. The man who controlled an empire. The man who was now looking at her like she was something to be evaluated, inspected. “Mr. Knight,” she finally managed, her words coming out quieter than she intended. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She extended her hand, hoping to mask the tremble in her fingers. She couldn’t appear weak. Not now. Damien’s eyes flickered to her outstretched hand, but he didn’t move. For a second, the silence between them stretched, suffocating. Then, slowly, his gaze rose to meet hers again, his dark eyes unreadable. He didn’t shake her hand. Instead, he studied her for a long moment, as if weighing something only he could see. There was an unsettling power in his stare, an intensity that seemed to strip her bare, unraveling every carefully guarded part of her. “I’ve heard a lot about your work, Isla,” he said, his voice cool but laced with something that hinted at more—something deeper, more magnetic. “But I wanted to see it for myself.” Isla felt a flash of heat spread across her cheeks. She nodded, trying to steady her nerves, but her heartbeat was thunderous in her chest. This was the moment. Her hands clenched at her sides, betraying her anxiety. “Of course,” she said, walking toward the center of the room where her pieces were set up on the easel. They were nothing like what he might be used to—the sleek, modern art of the high society world. Her work was raw, filled with emotion, with chaos and beauty fighting to exist in harmony. She didn’t know if he would appreciate it—or if he would dismiss it as naive. But she had to show him. She had to prove that she belonged in this world. As she reached the easel, she glanced back at Damien, but he was still standing by the window, his gaze never leaving her. There was something about the way he watched her—like a predator studying its prey, but also like he was waiting for her to prove something to him. “Here,” she said, stepping aside to let him take in the canvas. He walked over slowly, his movements deliberate, each step measured. He leaned in, studying the painting closely, his face impassive. The tension in the room thickened, and Isla felt the weight of every second as he examined her work with clinical detachment. It was both unnerving and exhilarating. He tilted his head slightly, then stepped back. His eyes shifted to meet hers, and for a split second, she could have sworn she saw a flicker of something—admiration, maybe, or perhaps something darker. But it was gone before she could be sure.“It’s... raw,” he said, his voice low. “I can see the emotion, the struggle.” His gaze lingered on her a moment longer. “But it lacks refinement. Technique.” Isla’s chest tightened. She hadn’t expected him to shower her with praise, but the critique felt sharper than she anticipated. She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand, silencing her. “You’ll need to work on that,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “But there’s potential. I think I can help you refine it. Make it... marketable.” Her pulse quickened. Make it marketable. That was what it was all about, wasn’t it? Getting her art into the right hands. Damien Knight could open doors no one else could. This was the chance of a lifetime. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steady now, even if her insides were a tangle of nerves. “I’d be honored to work with you.” Damien’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. It was the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll see. I don’t offer my time to anyone. You’ll need to prove you’re worth it.” His gaze flickered to her once more. “And I don’t tolerate mediocrity.” She nodded, swallowing hard. Mediocrity. The word hung in the air, a challenge in itself. He turned away, his gaze once again sweeping across the room, as though Isla’s art were nothing more than a background to the larger game he was playing. The air between them shifted, and suddenly, it felt even colder than before. “There’s a gala next week. I expect you to be there. You’ll meet with my associates, get a better sense of what we do here,” Damien said, his voice firm. “I’ll decide then if your work deserves a place in the exhibition.” Her stomach clenched. “I’ll be there.” Damien glanced over his shoulder, his eyes locking with hers again. There was an unmistakable power in his gaze now, like he held all the cards, and he was waiting for her to prove that she could play the game. “If you want this,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “you’ll need to prove more than just your talent, Isla. You'll need to prove you can handle everything I expect.” Isla’s breath hitched at the intensity in his words. What was he really asking of her? But before she could respond, Damien gave her a sharp nod and turned away, his commanding presence filling the room once more. “Don’t disappoint me.” He didn’t wait for an answer. As he exited the room, Isla stood there, her heart racing, her mind spinning. She had come here looking for an opportunity, but what Damien Knight wanted from her… was something much more dangerous than just art.