Promises in the dark
1184 Words
By the time dinner is over, I’m not sure if it’s the wine or him that’s making me dizzy. Probably both. Damian has this way of looking at me like I’m fascinating, like I’m worth listening to. And I can’t remember the last time Adrian ever made me feel that way.
We talk about everything—childhood memories, books, stupid little things, places we dream of. It feels… good. Too good.
And all I can think is: when was the last time Adrian even asked me about my dreams? When did he care what I thought about anything that wasn’t his business or some event we had to go to?
“I should call a cab,” I say, checking my phone. Almost eleven. Adrian will be back soon.
“Marcus is outside,” Damian says easily. “He’ll drive you.”
I shake my head. “I can’t pull up in your car. Adrian’s already—he’s already suspicious.”
“Then don’t go home.”
The words just… sit there. Heavy. Dangerous.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying stay with me tonight. Let me show you what you’ve been missing.”
My heart stutters. I knew this was where we were headed, but hearing it—God.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Both.” I say it, but I don’t mean it. My body doesn’t believe me.
He leans forward, his hand covering mine, warm and solid. “When’s the last time you felt wanted? Not tolerated. Not useful. Wanted.”
I stare at the table. I can’t answer, because the truth hurts too much.
“When’s the last time someone touched you like they couldn’t get enough of you? Kissed you like you were the only thing keeping them alive?”
“Stop.” My voice cracks.
“Why? Because it’s the truth?”
“Because this is insane. I’m married. You’re… you. This can’t happen.”
“Anything can happen if you want it.”
“And what do you want?”
His eyes go dark. Hungry. “You. In every way.”
The way he says it—it breaks me open. No one’s said anything like that to me in years. Maybe ever.
“I can’t just throw my marriage away.”
“You’re not throwing it away. It’s already gone. You’re just pretending it isn’t.”
And damn him—he’s right. He’s so right.
“It’s too fast,” I whisper.
“Too fast? Elena, I’ve been watching you for months. Galas, charity dinners. Wondering what it would take to make you smile like you’re smiling right now.”
I blink. “How am I smiling?”
“Like you finally remember you’re alive.”
Alive. That word. He’s right. I do feel alive.
“I should go.” But I don’t move.
“Should you? Or do you want to know what happens if you stay?”
He stands, comes around the table, holds out his hand. “Dance with me.”
“There’s no music.”
“There’s always music.”
I take his hand before I can stop myself. He pulls me close, and suddenly it’s just us, swaying in the quiet, the sound of fabric, our breathing, the city outside.
“Elena,” he breathes in my ear, and my name has never sounded like that before. Like a prayer. Like a promise.
“This is crazy,” I whisper.
“The best things always are.”
His hand presses against my back, drawing me closer. My chest is against his, my pulse wild.
“I want you,” he says. “But only if you want me too. Not just because you’re running from him.”
That stops me. Because he’s not just after conquest—he’s asking for choice. My choice.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t have to know. Just feel.”
“And if I feel too much?”
“Then we’ll figure it out.”
Together. That word nearly undoes me. When was the last time Adrian and I were together in anything?
“Damian…”
“Say yes. Just say yes.”
I look at him, and he’s everything—passion, danger, fire. The kind of man who could ruin me completely.
“I can’t. Not tonight.”
Disappointment flickers in his eyes, but he nods slowly. “I get it. I don’t like it. But I get it.” He steps back, letting me breathe. “Just don’t take too long, Elena. I’m not a patient man.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise. I want you. And I usually get what I want.”
It should scare me. Instead it makes me ache.
“Marcus will take you home,” he says. “Far enough away so your husband won’t notice.”
Practical. Considerate. When was the last time Adrian even thought like that?
“Okay.”
The ride is quiet. Marcus drives. I can feel Damian next to me, though—his presence, his want.
“This is fine,” I say, two blocks from my building. “I’ll walk from here.”
“Mr. Blackwood asked me to see you inside.”
“He’ll know I’m safe when I text him.”
Marcus pulls over. Damian catches my hand before I can leave.
“Thank you for dinner.”
“Thank you for the donation.”
“Elena.” His voice is low, certain. “This isn’t over.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Not even close.”
He lifts my hand, kisses it. Soft. Intimate. Too intimate.
“Goodnight.”
I walk home on shaking legs.
The penthouse is dark. Adrian isn’t home yet. Relief. And disappointment. Both.
I change into pajamas, wash my face, try to pretend it was just business. But when I close my eyes, all I see is Damian.
My phone buzzes. Not Adrian. Damian.
Sweet dreams, beautiful. I’ll be thinking of you.
I should delete it. I should ignore it. Instead I type: Thank you for dinner. It was… nice.
Nice. Pathetic.
Nice? That’s all? Say the truth. You felt it too.
I did. God help me, I did.
I felt it.
Good. Because I’m not giving up. You can run back to him, but this isn’t over.
It has to be.
No. You have choices, Elena. You just need to be brave enough.
And if I’m not?
Then I’ll wait. For a while.
How long is a while?
Typing. Stopping. Typing again. Then finally:
You’ll be mine, Elena. One way or another.
I should be scared. I should block him. Instead I hold the phone against my chest, pulse racing.
An hour later, Adrian comes home. I pretend to be asleep. He doesn’t kiss me. Doesn’t ask about my night. Doesn’t care.
And in the dark, Damian’s words replay in my head.
You’ll be mine, Elena. One way or another.
The worst part?
It’s not that he said it.
It’s how much I want it to be true.
- Writer
