Craving You

Chapter Two: The Gala

The week leading up to the gala passed in a blur. Isla barely slept, spending long nights in her studio, working feverishly to refine her pieces. Damien’s words echoed in her mind, a constant reminder that she wasn’t just being evaluated on her talent. She had to prove she could handle the pressure, the game, the very essence of what Damien Knight represented.

Her nerves were a tangled mess as the night of the gala finally arrived. Standing before her full-length mirror, she adjusted the simple black dress she’d chosen—elegant but understated, nothing too bold to overshadow the artwork she hoped would speak for itself. She had no idea what to expect at the event, but she knew one thing for certain: Damien would be there, and his presence would shape everything.

She ran a hand through her hair, making sure it cascaded in soft waves around her shoulders. It wasn’t her usual messy bun or loose ponytail. Tonight, she had to look composed, professional—a woman who belonged in his world, even if she was terrified that she didn’t.

The knock at her door made her jump. A moment of hesitation passed before she opened it, revealing the same man who had escorted her to Damien’s suite. His stern face betrayed no emotion as he handed her a sleek black car key.

“Your ride is here,” he said, his voice flat.

Isla nodded and grabbed her purse. The drive to the gala was long, the anticipation in her chest building with every mile. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking into something far bigger than herself. The Knight Hotel’s gala wasn’t just an art show—it was a statement. And Damien Knight was its author.

As the car pulled up to the entrance of the hotel, Isla’s breath caught in her throat. The venue was breathtaking. The front steps were lined with large, glowing lanterns, casting soft light on the guests arriving in an endless stream of luxury cars. The buzz of excitement filled the air, and Isla could feel the weight of every step she took as she made her way up the marble staircase.

The grand doors swung open as she approached, revealing the lavish ballroom inside. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting prisms of light onto the marble floors below. The room was filled with a sea of perfectly dressed people—socialites, art collectors, and wealthy elites, all mingling and laughing as if they owned the world.

Her heart pounded in her chest. This was a world she didn’t belong to, a world she had only ever seen through the lens of her paintings. But here she was, standing on the threshold.

“Miss Reid,” a voice called, smooth and commanding, cutting through the sea of chatter.

Isla turned sharply, her stomach flipping at the sound of Damien’s voice. He was standing a few feet away, as effortlessly powerful as always, his sharp suit fitting him like it was tailored specifically for his commanding presence. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his jawline was as chiselled as the sculptures she had admired in museums. There was something about the way he stood—so still, so confident—that made him seem like the center of everything.

“Mr. Knight,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady as she approached. His gaze slid over her, not with approval or disapproval, but with a critical assessment, as if he were taking her in as one of his latest acquisitions.

“You look... acceptable,” he said, his eyes flicking briefly to the dress. His words weren’t cruel, but there was something inherently cold in the way he spoke, as if his standards were so high that anything less than perfection was a failure.

Isla’s breath caught. She wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a jab, but she knew better than to show weakness in front of him.

“Thank you,” she managed, forcing a calm smile.

He motioned to a group of people standing nearby, the high-profile guests of the evening, before turning his attention back to her. “Come. I’ll introduce you.”

She followed him through the crowd, trying her best to keep up with his long strides. Damien’s presence parted the crowd like a wave, people stepping aside to greet him with varying degrees of awe and deference. There was a sense of inevitability about him, as if everything and everyone in the room orbited around his gravity.

As they approached a small circle of people, Damien’s voice dropped, speaking with the same clipped, authoritative tone he used when giving orders.

“This is Miss Isla Reid,” he said, introducing her to the group. “A promising artist, though I’m still deciding if she’s worth the attention.” His words hung in the air, thick with the weight of his judgment. The others nodded politely, their smiles barely touching their lips.

Isla’s pulse quickened, but she kept her composure. She wasn’t here to be intimidated. She was here to prove herself.

The evening stretched on, a blur of faces, meaningless small talk, and strained smiles. Damien kept her close, but he said little, watching her every move as if he were waiting for her to slip up. His presence was a constant reminder that nothing would come easy. Not even tonight.

At some point, Damien excused himself from the group, his sharp gaze flicking to Isla as he did. “Wait here,” he instructed, his tone brokering no argument. She nodded, the weight of his gaze following her every step as he disappeared into a back hallway.

Isla stood alone in the crowd, her nerves starting to fray. She had worked so hard to be here, to fit into this world, but something about it felt wrong. Her art was supposed to speak for itself, but tonight, she was starting to realize that Damien’s world wasn’t just about art—it was about power.

And power wasn’t something she could simply paint her way into.

A voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts.

“You’re Isla Reid, aren’t you?” a man asked. His voice was smooth, with an air of arrogance that matched the polished demeanor of the other guests. She turned to find a tall man, his expensive suit and confident posture making it clear he was someone important in the art world.

She nodded politely. “Yes, that’s me.”

“I’ve heard about your work,” he said, stepping a little closer. “But I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect you to be so... young.”

His gaze flickered over her, scrutinizing her with obvious judgment. The words felt like a challenge, meant to make her feel small, but Isla held her ground.

“Age has nothing to do with talent,” she said, keeping her voice steady.

The man’s smile faltered, but he quickly regained his composure. “I suppose. But it’s always interesting to see who the people with money decide to back.”

Isla’s stomach tightened. She didn’t need to be reminded of the politics of this world, the way money and power often decided who deserved to be seen. She wasn’t naive. But she also knew that if she wanted to make it, she had to play the game.

Before she could respond, Damien reappeared, his presence instantly shifting the mood of the room. His eyes scanned the crowd before landing on Isla, and a flicker of something unreadable passed between them. He didn’t smile. He didn’t have to.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice commanding her attention.

Isla followed him without hesitation, her pulse racing. She didn’t know what he wanted, but she wasn’t going to turn away now. Tonight wasn’t just about proving herself—it was about surviving Damien Knight’s world.

And she would do whatever it took.The moment Isla stepped away from the crowd, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. The energy in the ballroom had been stifling, each conversation a carefully curated performance, everyone trying to outshine each other. But now, with Damien leading her through a series of private hallways, everything felt different—more intense, more focused.

They passed through a set of double doors, and Isla was hit by the quiet, opulent atmosphere of Damien's private office. It was dimly lit, with rich mahogany furniture and a large window overlooking the city. The only sound was the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant murmur of the gala still ongoing outside.

Damien didn't look at her as he strode to the large desk at the far end of the room, sitting down with an ease that spoke to his dominance. He gestured for her to take a seat across from him, and Isla did so reluctantly, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Relax," Damien said, his voice low but commanding, as he studied her from across the desk. His eyes were sharp, as if he were inspecting her—every movement, every reaction. “You’ve made it this far. But you’re not here by accident, Isla. You’re here because I see potential in you.”

His words should have been reassuring, but the way he said them made her feel like a test subject under a microscope, every flaw and imperfection ready to be exploited.

“What’s your game, Damien?” Isla asked before she could stop herself. The question slipped out as a mix of frustration and curiosity. She knew better than to push, but something about his cold, calculating demeanor made her feel like she was just one small piece in a much larger, more dangerous puzzle.

He raised an eyebrow at her, his gaze narrowing slightly. “My game?” he repeated, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You think I’m playing a game with you, Isla? No. I’m offering you a chance. You want to be something more than a struggling artist, don’t you? You want recognition, success—on your own terms. But nothing comes for free. Not in my world.”

The air between them seemed to grow thicker, more suffocating. Isla’s pulse raced as his words hit closer to home than she cared to admit. He was right. She had spent years fighting for recognition, using her art to scrape by, always one step behind the people she admired.

But something about Damien Knight felt different. His words weren't promises—they were conditions, demands. And the weight of that realization hung heavily on her.

“I didn’t come here to play games,” Isla said, her voice firming with determination. “I came here because I believe in my work. I won’t be anyone’s pawn.”Damien’s smile faded, replaced with a look of something far colder. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense, as if searching for something inside her. “You don’t have a choice, Isla,” he said quietly, his voice now darker, edged with authority. “In my world, everyone has a price. And you’re no different.”

The words hit Isla like a slap. She had known that success came at a cost, but hearing it from him made her stomach churn. She wasn’t naïve—she had always understood that the art world was just as much about connections and power as it was about talent. But Damien made it clear: there would be no easy road.

“I didn’t ask to be a part of your world,” she said, fighting the urge to back down. “I just want to be an artist. That’s it.”

Damien’s eyes softened for a moment, almost imperceptibly, before he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “You will be,” he said, his tone almost contemplative. “But not without me. Not without my help. You want to make it big, Isla? You’ll have to prove yourself to me first. It’s not just about your talent. It’s about your willingness to do whatever it takes.”

His words were like a challenge. And for a moment, she wondered if she could walk away from it all—if she could abandon this dangerous allure, this tempting offer that hung in the air. But deep down, she knew she couldn’t.

Damien Knight had a way of making everything seem like a test, as if every word and every action was meant to push her, challenge her. And though the thought of what he might expect from her made her uneasy, the hunger for success—the desire to finally prove herself—drove her forward.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” she said, the words leaving her mouth before she could second-guess them.

Damien’s gaze flickered, a brief glint of approval flashing in his eyes. But he didn’t smile. Instead, he reached for a small file on the corner of his desk and slid it across to her. It was a contract.

“This is your path forward, Isla,” he said. “Sign this, and you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted. Fame, recognition, everything. But if you refuse…” He let the words hang in the air, unfinished, his meaning clear.

Isla stared at the contract. She knew this was the moment. The decision that would determine everything. But as her fingers hovered over the paper, her mind raced with questions. What exactly would signing this cost her? What was Damien asking for that she couldn’t yet see?

Her gaze flickered up to meet his, and she could see the faintest trace of something in his eyes—something darker, more possessive. The realization hit her all at once: this wasn’t just about art. Damien Knight wanted more than just a piece of her soul on canvas. He wanted her to be part of his world, in every sense of the word.“I’m not a fool, Damien,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm swirling inside her. “I know what this is. But I’ll play your game. I’ll sign it.”

Damien’s lips curled into a cold, satisfied smile, his eyes glimmering with something darker. “I knew you would,” he said softly, his voice like a promise. “But remember, Isla, you’ll never be the same once you cross this line.”

Isla picked up the pen, her fingers brushing the smooth surface of the paper. It was her choice. And with one signature, everything would change.

With a deep breath, she signed the contract.

As soon as the pen left the paper, Damien stood up, moving around the desk toward her. Isla’s heart skipped a beat, her breath shallow, unsure of what would come next. He wasn’t just her mentor now—he was her partner in this dangerous, high-stakes game.

He took a step closer, his presence towering over her, overwhelming her senses. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the pull of his dominance, his power.

“Good choice, Isla,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper. His hand brushed against her cheek in a soft, possessive touch that made her skin tingle. “Now, you belong to me.”

For the first time, Isla wasn’t sure if she was ready for everything that would follow.

But it was too late to turn back.