Cornered
1396 Words
Three days.
It’s only been three f*****g days since I last saw Damian and I swear I’m coming apart at the seams. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat without tasting him in the back of my throat.
And then, boom.
I walk out of the foundation office on Fifth and there he is. Like he’s been waiting for me this whole time. Leaning against some sleek black car, sunglasses on, arms crossed, owning the sidewalk like it belongs to him.
My heart just… stops. And then takes off like it wants to run away without me.
He’s not even dressed like the usual billionaire asshole. No suit. Just jeans and a black t-shirt that hugs every line of muscle. Casual, but somehow scarier. Like the suit was armor and this is the real predator underneath.
“Elena.”
The way he says my name, low, steady, certain, I nearly lose it.
“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out sharp, too quick. This street, this office, my safe little bubble, he doesn’t belong in it.
“Waiting for you.” He slides the sunglasses off, and those gray eyes cut through me like knives. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I haven’t,”
“You have.”
He moves closer, and I get hit with that smell, sandalwood and heat, the one I can’t wash out of my skin. The one that’s been stalking me in my dreams.
“Three days,” he says. “Three days of silence.”
I swallow hard. He’s right. I’ve been dodging his calls, deleting his texts without opening them, convincing myself I can rewind, go back to “normal.”
But normal’s dead. Normal’s gone the second he put his hands on me.
“I’m married,” I whisper, dragging the same broken shield out again.
“So you keep saying.” His voice is soft, too soft, meant just for me even though people are moving past us. “How was girls’ night?”
I freeze.
“What?”
“Maya said you had fun. Dancing. Rosa kissing bartenders. Sounded lively.”
My blood turns to ice. “How do you know Maya?”
That smile, God, that smile. Sharp and dangerous. “I make it my business to know everything about what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours.”
He steps closer until strangers have to swerve around us. “Aren’t you?”
And f**k him, because my body answers before my mouth does. My pulse is pounding, my knees are weak, my whole chest feels like it’s about to cave in.
“This is public,” I hiss. “It’s, God, Damian, it’s inappropriate.”
“Then come somewhere private.”
“Damian,”
“One coffee. That’s all I’m asking. What are you so afraid of?”
Everything. That I’ll remember how alive I felt with him. That I’ll realize how dead my marriage really is. That I’ll do something I can’t come back from.
“I have to go home. Adrian’s expecting me.”
Damian checks his watch, calm, cocky. “Adrian’s been with Yamamoto since two. Won’t be out until six. It’s four-thirty. You’ve got time.”
My stomach drops. He knows Adrian’s schedule. He’s watching. He’s tracking. And instead of being horrified, I feel heat curl low in my belly.
“How do you,”
“I told you. I know everything that matters to me.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and my whole body shivers. “And you matter.”
I should run. I know I should. But instead I say the words that are going to ruin me:
“One coffee.”
He grins like the devil who’s just signed a contract. “My driver’s here.”
“No car. Someone might see.”
“Then where?”
My eyes dart down the street and land on Rosetti’s. “Two blocks down. Ten minutes.”
“Don’t make me wait. I don’t like waiting.”
Then he slides into his car, and just like that, he’s gone. But the air is still heavy with him, and my legs start moving before my brain catches up.
The walk feels endless. Ten minutes of my pulse beating out of control, every step like a countdown.
When I push through the café door, he’s already there. Of course he is. Back to the wall, watching everything, waiting for me. Two coffees on the table.
“You came,” he says, standing up, polite in a way that feels wrong on him.
“I said I would.”
“You say a lot of things.”
I sit down, the booth too small, too close. My knees brush his and I nearly flinch.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“This. Me. Following me around. You could have anyone.”
“I don’t want anyone. I want you.”
The words land hard. Simple. Final.
“You don’t even know me.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “I know you bite your lip when you’re nervous. I know the sound you make when you’re about to come. I know the crescent moon on your hip.”
Heat rushes to my face.
“I know you bury yourself in charity work because it’s the only place you feel in control. I know you hide romance novels in your closet because you’re starving for something real. And I know you’re suffocating in that marriage.”
“Stop.” My voice cracks.
He doesn’t. “I know you felt alive in my bed. And I know you want to feel that way again.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Everything.” His hand covers mine, warm, heavy. “Leave him. Be with me. Let me call you mine.”
The fantasy tears through me, sharp and cruel.
“I can’t just leave Adrian.”
“Why not?”
“Because, money, property, divorce, the whole damn mess,”
“Bullshit.” His grip tightens. “You’re just scared.”
Tears burn my eyes. “I’m not—”
“You are. You’re terrified of choosing real over safe.”
I blink fast, trying to breathe. He’s right. And that’s the worst part.
“What if it’s just s*x? What if you get bored?”
He leans in, eyes locked on mine. “Do I look like a man who gets bored?”
No. He looks like a man who consumes.
“I could destroy you,” I whisper. “The press. The scandal—”
“Let me handle that.”
“Adrian would fight. He’d try to take everything.”
“I’ve got more than Adrian ever will. And better lawyers.”
He has an answer for everything. Every excuse, gone.
“I need time.”
His jaw tenses. “How much?”
“I don’t know. It’s my marriage,”
“Your prison.”
The word slices me open. Because it’s true.
My phone buzzes. Adrian: Dinner at eight with the Hendersons. Don’t be late.
That’s it. No softness. No care. Just orders.
Damian’s eyes flick to the screen, then back to me. “When’s the last time he asked if you were happy?”
I can’t answer.
“One week,” I whisper. “Give me one week.”
His eyes darken. “And if I don’t want to wait?”
“Then you’ll have to.” I shove out of the booth before I can crumble. “One week, Damian.”
He rises too, towering over me, close enough that my whole body hums. “Fine. One week. But Elena…”
“What?”
His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing my lip, and I almost break.
“Don’t make me wait too long. I don’t do patience. And there are other ways to get what I want.”
It should scare me. It doesn’t. It sets me on fire.
He leaves. Just walks out like he already knows he’s won.
My phone buzzes again. Not Adrian this time.
Damian: The black dress looks good on you. Wear it to dinner tonight.
I look down. Black dress. The one Adrian hates. The one Damian somehow already knew about.
He’s been watching me.
And God help me, knowing that makes me want him more.
- Writer
