CH 17 The Risk I Chose
436 Words
The morning after the gala, Damien left early for a board meeting, his absence lingering in the quiet of the penthouse.
His last words before leaving still rang in my ears: Stay here today, Elara. Don’t go anywhere without me.
Which, of course, was exactly why I grabbed my sketch portfolio and my bag.
I wasn’t going to let Mason — or Damien — dictate where I could and couldn’t go. I had a presentation at the studio, and I’d worked too hard to miss it.
---
The air outside was brisk as I hailed a cab, pulling my coat tighter around me. I told myself it was just another workday. Just another morning.
But when I stepped into the studio, I noticed the shift immediately. My coworkers greeted me, but there was an undercurrent — glances exchanged, whispers half-hidden behind coffee cups.
It wasn’t until lunch break, when I slipped into a small café across the street, that I realized why.
He was there. Mason.
Sitting alone at a corner table, his phone resting beside a glass of water, he looked up as if he’d been expecting me.
“Elara Vale,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Small city after all.”
I froze, every instinct screaming at me to turn around.
“I’m just getting coffee,” I said, keeping my voice even.
He gestured to the chair across from him. “Then sit. No harm in conversation.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think Damien would appreciate that.”
Mason’s smirk deepened. “Exactly why you should.”
I hated that my pulse quickened — not from attraction, but from the awareness that I was already in over my head. Still, something in me bristled at the idea of running.
So I sat.
---
The conversation was light at first — too light. He asked about my designs, my inspirations, the city. But there was an edge beneath it all, a current I couldn’t quite see but could feel.
“You know,” he said finally, leaning forward, “men like Damien… they build walls. High ones. But walls are just invitations to see what’s inside.”
I stood, my chair scraping against the floor. “If you think I’m going to help you climb his walls, you’re wasting your time.”
His gaze flicked over me, calculating. “We’ll see.”
---
When I stepped back into the street, the cold air bit harder. I pulled my phone from my bag — three missed calls from Damien.
And a text: Where are you, Elara?
- Writer
