Episode two: The warning
821 Words
The next morning, Elena woke to the sound of sirens in the distance and the low hum of traffic below her window. London never really slept, but this morning, the noise felt louder. Sharper. Like the city was warning her about something.
She pushed the thought away.
After last night, she was still shaken. Damian Blackwood had only spoken to her for a few minutes, but it had left a mark. The way he looked at her—like she was a riddle he already knew the answer to. Like he saw right through every layer she wore.
And the worst part?
She hadn’t hated it.
“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered, brushing her hair into a ponytail. “You’ve been here before. Men like him don’t notice girls like you. And if they do—it never ends well.”
Her flat was barely more than a box with a bed and a window, but it was hers. For now. She glanced at the little pile of coins on her nightstand—tips from the night before. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
She slipped into black jeans and a plain shirt, shoved her feet into scuffed boots, and headed out.
Back at the club that night, things felt different.
The lights were the same. The air was still thick with perfume and money. But there was a tension hanging over everything—like the whole place was holding its breath.
“Elena,” the manager barked as soon as she stepped in. “Table 6. VIP section. And don’t screw it up.”
She nodded, picking up the tray and balancing two tumblers of whiskey and a bottle of imported wine. The VIP section was quiet, tucked away in a private corner. Most of the faces were unfamiliar.
Except his.
Damian sat alone at the table, a glass already in hand, a phone on the table next to him. He wasn’t scrolling or texting. He was just… sitting. Watching.
Waiting.
Elena steadied her breath and walked over.
“Good evening, sir,” she said, setting the tray down gently.
He didn’t answer.
She glanced up, just once, to find him already watching her.
“I wasn’t expecting you to come back,” he said finally.
“It’s a job,” she replied, lifting the wine bottle and pouring with careful hands. “I need it.”
“And that’s all this is to you?”
She blinked. “What else would it be?”
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharp. “You have a habit of avoiding questions.”
“I have a habit of staying out of trouble.”
“That’s where we differ.”
She set the wine glass in front of him and took a step back, hoping that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t.
“I looked into you,” he said, voice low.
Her blood froze.
She kept her expression neutral. “That’s not legal.”
He shrugged. “It is when you own the place.”
“I’m just a waitress.”
“No one’s just anything.”
The words hung between them like a warning.
She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he had no right. But deep down, she already knew what kind of man he was. He didn’t follow rules. He made them.
“I appreciate the interest,” she said coolly. “But you don’t need to worry about me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
The way he said it—casual, but with something darker underneath—made her stomach twist.
He picked up his glass and took a slow sip, eyes never leaving hers.
“You remind me of someone,” he said after a beat.
Elena didn’t ask who. She didn’t want to know.
Instead, she gave a small nod and turned to leave, but his voice stopped her again.
“Elena.”
She paused, her back still to him.
“Some people walk into fire,” he said. “Others get dragged.”
She looked over her shoulder, meeting his eyes one more time.
“Maybe I’m just passing through,” she said quietly.
He smiled—barely.
“Let’s see how long you last.”
When she finally left the club that night, the air outside felt colder. The street was quiet, the city starting to sleep. She crossed her arms and walked faster, heels clicking on wet pavement.
The further she got from the building, the more her thoughts spun. He knew something. Maybe not everything, but something. And if Damian Blackwood decided to find out more—she didn’t know how far he’d go.
She couldn’t afford to be on his radar. Not now. Not ever.
But it was too late.
Because he’d already seen her.
And once a man like that sets his eyes on you…
He never looks away.
- Writer
