The Gravity Of Your Eyes

The Second Pull

Chapter Two – The Second Pull

The subway groaned beneath me as I swayed against the pole, my tote bag bumping against my hip. New York mornings were always chaos—crowds pressing in, the smell of burnt coffee clinging to the air, the constant roar of impatience. Normally, I blended right into the madness, focused only on surviving the day.

But not today.

Because I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Damian Voss.

The name still pulsed through me like a drumbeat, as if my body refused to let me forget. His gaze had been more than a look—it had been a brand, seared into my memory with a force that felt unfair.

I hated it.

I hated that a man like him—powerful, untouchable, terrifying in his intensity—had unsettled me so easily.

And yet, some secret, traitorous part of me wanted to see him again.

I shook my head, scolding myself silently. “Focus, Leona. You’ve got bigger problems.”

Because I did. My interview at Sterling Architecture hadn’t been a disaster, but it hadn’t been a triumph either. Mr. Kensington had been polite, noncommittal, and I knew what that meant. I wasn’t getting the job.

Which left me exactly where I started—overworked, underpaid, and stuck drafting designs for a boutique firm that treated me like a glorified assistant.

Still, I clung to hope. One more application. One more interview. One more chance.

The subway lurched, and I stumbled forward, landing against a man’s shoulder. He grunted without looking at me, shoving earbuds deeper into his ears.

I muttered an apology and gripped the pole tighter. My phone buzzed, and Elena’s name flashed on the screen.

“You survived!” she squealed when I answered.

“Barely,” I muttered. “I don’t think Kensington was impressed.”

“He’s never impressed. He collects candidates the way rich men collect wine. You should’ve seen him when I interviewed. I thought he was going to fall asleep.”

“Comforting,” I said dryly.

“You’ll get another chance. Besides, you’ve got that stubborn thing going for you. You’ll wear them down eventually.”

I smiled faintly. Elena always believed in me more than I believed in myself. “Thanks. I needed that pep talk.”

“Anytime. Now promise me you’ll eat today.”

“Maybe.”

“Elona—”

“Fine, fine. I promise.”

We hung up, and I tucked my phone away. The train screeched into my stop, and I joined the flood of passengers spilling onto the platform.

As I emerged into the crisp bite of morning air, I squared my shoulders. Another day. Another battle. I could do this.

Or at least, I thought I could—until fate decided otherwise.

My office building was a modest one compared to Sterling’s gleaming tower, but I took the elevator ride like a soldier heading to war. By the time I reached my desk, my boss had already left a stack of assignments and a passive-aggressive sticky note about deadlines.

I muttered a curse under my breath and sat down, opening my laptop. The hours bled together in a blur of sketches, edits, and endless revisions. I barely looked up until my phone buzzed again, this time with a new email.

I frowned. My inbox wasn’t exactly a hotspot. But when I clicked it open, my stomach dropped.

Subject: Invitation to Voss Enterprises Gala.

I blinked, certain I was hallucinating. Voss Enterprises? The Voss Enterprises? The same empire ruled by the man whose eyes had unraveled me?

The message was simple:

Ms. Leona Hart,

You are cordially invited to attend the Annual Voss Enterprises Charity Gala this Friday at the Plaza Hotel. Please confirm your attendance.

I read it three times, waiting for logic to catch up. Why on earth would I be invited to something like this? I wasn’t wealthy, powerful, or even remotely connected to the world of billionaires.

And then it clicked. Elena.

She had mentioned she was doing design work for one of the gala sponsors. This had her fingerprints all over it.

I groaned and called her immediately.

“You’re welcome,” she said cheerfully before I could speak.

“Elena—”

“Before you say anything, yes, I put your name down as my plus-one. And yes, you’re going. Don’t even try to argue.”

“Elena, I don’t belong at something like that!”

“Correction: you don’t think you belong. Big difference. And you never know who you’ll meet. Networking, babe. It’s all about networking.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Networking with billionaires isn’t exactly my wheelhouse.”

“Which is exactly why you need to come. Expand your wheelhouse.”

I sighed. Resistance was useless. Elena always got her way, and deep down, I knew she was right. Maybe rubbing elbows with the rich and powerful could lead to opportunities.

Still, a shiver ran down my spine as I thought of one particular billionaire. The one man I wasn’t ready to face again.

Damian Voss.

Friday arrived faster than I expected. Elena all but dragged me to her apartment for what she called “emergency glam prep.”

By the time she was done, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. My normally tame brown hair spilled in loose curls over my shoulders. The deep emerald dress she’d chosen clung to me in all the right places, the neckline daring without being scandalous.

“You look like you were born to walk into a billionaire’s ballroom,” Elena declared proudly.

I swallowed hard, adjusting the thin strap. “I look like someone else entirely.”

“Exactly. That’s the point. Sometimes you’ve gotta step into a new skin to find the old one.”

Her words stayed with me as we arrived at the Plaza. The ballroom glittered with chandeliers, laughter, and music that seemed too elegant for mortal ears. Everywhere I looked, people shimmered in diamonds and confidence, their conversations laced with the easy arrogance of wealth.

I felt like an imposter.

Elena disappeared into the crowd almost immediately, leaving me with a glass of champagne and a desperate need to avoid eye contact.

That’s when it happened.

The second pull.

I sensed him before I saw him. A ripple moved through the room, subtle but undeniable, as though everyone subconsciously shifted in response to his presence. My pulse quickened, my chest tightening.

And then I saw him.

Damian Voss.

Tall, commanding, devastating in a black tuxedo that fit him like sin itself. His hair was slicked back, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. Those storm-gray eyes scanned the room, cool and assessing—until they found me.

And just like before, the world stopped.

Our gazes locked, and the air grew heavy, charged, impossible to ignore. I gripped my glass tighter, my knuckles white against the stem. Every instinct screamed at me to look away.

But I didn’t.

Couldn’t.

He started walking toward me. Slow, deliberate, each step a warning and a promise. People shifted out of his path instinctively, as if they knew better than to stand in the way of a man like him.

My breath stuttered. My heart pounded so loud I was sure the entire ballroom could hear it.

And then he was there, standing in front of me, close enough that his presence pressed against me like a physical weight.

“Miss Hart,” he said, his voice deep, smooth, and devastating.

I froze. He knew my name.

“I—” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “You… know who I am?”

A shadow of something—amusement, perhaps—flickered in his eyes. “I make it my business to know the people who enter my orbit.”

Orbit. The word sent a shiver down my spine.

He extended his hand, and though I hesitated, I placed mine in his. His grip was firm, warm, and something electric sparked through me at the contact.

“This evening just became more interesting,” Damian murmured, his gaze never leaving mine.

And in that moment, I knew—I was already lost.