HIS TOUCH,HER FIRE🔥

The scent of roses and fresh linen hung thick in the air, clashing with the tension in Zara Monroe’s chest. She stood behind the silk curtain of her private showroom, peeking through a slit as the final model walked the floor, draped in a crimson satin gown that shimmered like fire under the lights. Applause rose like waves. But Zara heard none of it. Her eyes weren’t on the model. They were on him. He stood at the back of the room, tall, composed — out of place yet completely in command. While the rest of the guests wore exaggerated designer labels and fake smiles, he wore a simple black suit and a stare that cut through fabric, applause, and even breath. His gaze wasn’t wandering like the others. It was locked. On her. Zara ducked away from the curtain, her heart thudding like a war drum. Who the hell is that man? She hadn’t invited him. She would’ve remembered a face like that — eyes so dark they looked carved from shadow, and a presence that made the air feel heavier around him. “Zara,” her assistant whispered, stepping in with a frantic grin. “That investor from CrossTech just walked in. Damien Cross. He’s watching your line.” Zara froze. Damien Cross. The billionaire recluse who turned startups into empires and ignored everything that didn’t scream "tech." What was he doing at a fashion showcase? “Why would he be here?” she whispered, glancing back through the curtain. As if summoned, he turned — and for a heartbeat, their eyes locked. A spark passed through her, dangerous and uninvited. And then, he smiled. Not the kind of smile meant for the cameras or the crowd. A private one. A silent invitation. And it lit something in her chest that hadn’t burned in a long time. --- Ten minutes later, the room buzzed with champagne and congratulations. Zara accepted handshakes and fake praise, all while feeling the weight of his eyes tracking her like heat-seeking fire. He didn’t approach. He waited. And she, foolishly, walked to him. “Mr. Cross,” she said, her voice cooler than she felt. “I didn’t know you were on the guest list.” “I wasn’t,” he replied, eyes flicking down her black dress like it was part of the show. “I don’t usually make time for fashion. But your work… doesn’t whisper. It screams.” Her throat tightened, a strange electricity dancing up her spine. “I didn’t make it for people like you.” “No,” he said, stepping closer, voice low. “You made it for people who feel something. People who’ve burned.” Zara’s breath caught. She should’ve walked away. She should’ve said something sharp. But instead, she asked, “Why are you really here?” Damien’s eyes held hers. No games. No lies. “I came to see if the fire in your designs matched the fire in you.” Silence stretched between them. And somewhere deep inside, something cracked. Something sparked. His touch hadn’t come yet. But his gaze? It burned. --- End of Chapter One