Chapter Four
1290 Words
{ DOMINIC }
The music pulsed like a heartbeat—deep, heavy, and merciless—vibrating through the nightclub walls and straight into my skull. Lights flashed over bodies that moved without restraint, strangers dancing like they had never tasted pain, never lost anything, never spent a night chasing a ghost they couldn’t forget.
I wished I could be like them. Just for one night.
But it had been two months, and I still hadn’t found her.
Every Friday, I dragged myself into this same nightclub, sat at the same bar stool, drank the same expensive champagne, and stared at the crowd hoping—aching—for a glimpse of her. My raven-haired temptation. My midnight storm. My woman.
But she was nowhere.
I rubbed my thumb over the cool glass, remembering the warmth of her skin. The softness of her lips. The shape of her waist under my hands. The way she breathed against my neck when she whispered my name like a sin she wanted to commit over and over again.
I was losing my mind without her.
My eyes drifted to the dance floor where Ethan was performing what he believed was dancing. He spotted me, grinning like an i***t as he waved, his arm still wrapped around a girl whose dress looked one blink away from ripping.
“Stupid bastard,” I muttered to myself.
“Dominic Meyer.”
The voice came from behind me. I turned, scanning the crowd until I saw that familiar smirk and those mischievous eyes.
“My boy, come here. Have you forgotten your uncle?”
I cracked a genuine smile. “Charles Reed. Old man, what business do you have in a club?”
“Don’t call me old man,” he scoffed. “I’m only older than you by five years.”
“Fifty,” I corrected dryly.
He barked a laugh and slapped my back. “You little devil. Come upstairs. VIP.”
I followed him through the thick haze of perfume, sweat, and neon lights. Upstairs, the air was quieter, softer, almost breathable.
“Sit, my boy,” he said, patting the seat.
I sank into the chair. “How have you been, Uncle Reed?”
He crossed his legs, smirking. “Better than you, from what I hear. Word is… you’re searching for a raven-haired beauty.”
My jaw clenched. “How did you know that? My search was discreet.”
“I own this nightclub,” he reminded me. “I hear everything. And for two months, my staff has been reporting that a certain billionaire keeps asking for a woman with black hair and brown eyes.”
Her eyes.
God, those eyes.
I dragged in a breath, swallowing the ache.
“I heard about the lawsuit too,” Charles continued. “Marchand is a conniving bastard.”
“I’ll deal with him tomorrow in court,” I said. “He just wants attention.”
“Mm. And you’ve been distracted… with your Cinderella.”
I emptied my wine glass in one gulp. “I’ve been searching for my wife-to-be, old man.”
I didn’t care if that sounded insane. One night with her had ruined me. Nothing and no one else could touch me after that. She lived under my skin now.
Charles laughed. “It’s late. Go fetch that useless friend of yours.”
I nodded and stood. Downstairs, Ethan was slumped at the bar flirting aggressively and unsuccessfully.
I grabbed his elbow. “Let’s go.”
“No, man, she said yes. I just need her number—”
“You need a brain,” I muttered, dragging him outside and shoving him into the car.
After I dropped him off, I began driving home, exhausted and hollow.
Then I saw her.
A woman ran across the road—dark hair flying behind her, body moving with that same haunting grace. My heart slammed against my ribs.
Her.
It had to be her.
I braked hard and stumbled out of the car.
My pulse thundered as I ran after her, every step pounding like a promise. My breath came fast. My chest tightened. I pushed forward as hope—wild, reckless hope—exploded inside me.
“Wait!” I shouted, my voice breaking.
She didn’t stop.
I ran harder. Harder than I had in years. The night air burned in my lungs, the pavement echoing under my feet. Her hair whipped in the wind—dark, long, familiar—and my heart beat so loudly I could barely hear anything else.
I couldn’t believe it.
I’d found her.
I’d finally—
I reached her.
I reached her.
I tapped her shoulder, breathless, desperate, ready to fall on my knees if it meant she’d turn around and—
She turned.
My entire world shattered.
Not her.
Not my raven-haired storm. Not my woman with brown eyes that could set fire to my soul.
This woman stared at me with crystal blue eyes, wide and confused.
“Can I help you?” she asked softly.
I stepped back, chest tight, throat burning.
“Sorry,” I choked out, barely able to form the word.
Hope died in my hands.
I went home defeated, collapsing on my bed, but the moment I shut my eyes, I saw her—brown eyes, parted lips, the feel of her curves pressed against me, the taste of her kiss lingering like poison and honey.
I groaned, pressing my palms to my eyes. Sleep refused me again.
Morning arrived too quickly.
In my office, I stared at Marchand’s lawsuit file without really seeing it. All I could think about was her. Her scent. Her voice. Her body tangled with mine in a way I would never forget.
A knock came.
Ethan and Rachel stepped in.
“Ready for today?” Ethan grinned. “Hope there are beautiful women at court. Like your secretary.”
Rachel turned pink. “Sir, Mr. Marchand called. He wanted to confirm that you’re attending the hearing.”
I smirked. “Tell him I wouldn’t miss his humiliation.”
Rachel left.
Ethan stretched. “Let’s go before Charles kills us for being late.”
I grabbed my keys, adjusted my suit, and walked out.
At the courthouse, reporters swarmed us instantly.
“Marchand loves playing dirty,” Ethan muttered.
We pushed through the chaos until we reached the doors.
And then—
Everything changed.
Everything stopped.
---
I opened the door…
My gaze searched for Marchand—but it didn’t land on him.
It landed on her.
I froze.
She was sitting close to him, her black hair tied back into a sleek bun, her delicate fingers holding files, her posture confident yet elegant.
My heart stopped.
My breath vanished.
My world tilted.
I stared at her—my gaze trailing down the graceful line of her neck, the curve of her body beneath her suit, her soft, plump lips moving as she spoke to Marchand.
My woman.
My lost woman.
My obsession.
She turned her face slightly, and for a moment, I saw nothing but her. The courtroom faded. The noise disappeared. Everything narrowed down to the woman who had stolen my sanity two months ago.
Marchand turned toward us.
And she turned too.
Our eyes collided.
Brown.
Warm.
Familiar.
Dangerous.
Her eyes captured me instantly, pulling me under, drowning me in recognition and something deeper—fear, longing, confusion, everything all at once.
Her expression shifted as she and Marchand stood to approach me. I watched her breathe. I watched her blink. I watched as confusion clouded her face…
Then recognition slammed into her.
Her lips parted.
Her breath caught.
She stared straight into my soul and whispered—
“Shit.”
- Writer
