His Ruthless Obsession

Flashback to Sin

It hits me while I’m leaning toward the mirror, lipstick halfway across my mouth. One second I’m here in my bathroom. The next, I’m back at that hotel bar last night. Morrison. Twelve hours ago. Right before I lit a match and dropped it on my whole marriage.

The bar was crawling with money. Suits everywhere, women dripping in diamonds, chandeliers so bright they made everything feel fake. Leather chairs, crystal glasses, waiters who looked like they hated all of us. I had champagne I didn’t even want, holding the glass like it was a lifeline while I watched Adrian.

He was doing his thing, handshakes, fake smiles, laughing just a touch too loud, always turning his head so the light caught his profile. Everything rehearsed. Everything perfect. Every once in a while he’d look at me like I was some shiny accessory.

See this?

Look what I’ve got. What you’ll never afford.

And I just sat there wondering when that stopped feeling like a compliment.

Then I heard it.

“Mrs. Moretti.”

His voice.

I swear I felt it before I even turned. Skin prickling, like my body knew before my brain did. And when I turned, there he was. Damian Blackwood. Tall, dark, too sharp around the edges to be safe. In a tux, yeah, but he could’ve worn a garbage bag and I still would’ve stared.

We’d met before. Always quick, always polite, always with Adrian’s hand digging into my waist like don’t even think about it.

This was the first time we were actually alone.

“You look bored,” he said, signaling to the bartender without even asking me. “Two whiskeys. The good stuff.”

“I don’t drink whiskey,” I told him, trying to sound steady.

“You do tonight.”

And God help me, his voice made me want to.

The glasses clinked onto the bar. He slid one toward me, his fingers brushing mine. A tiny touch. But it was enough to send a jolt up my arm.

“Where’s your husband?” His voice carried something sharp underneath, something dangerous.

I nodded toward Adrian, still working the room like a politician. “Networking. Building his empire one handshake at a time.”

“Leaving his queen unguarded,” Damian said, eyes fixed on me. “Risky.”

The whiskey burned down my throat, but not like his stare. He looked at me like I wasn’t invisible. Like he saw all of it, the dress, the ring, the fact that I was standing alone instead of glued to Adrian’s side like a well-trained ornament.

“I can take care of myself,” I said, though I didn’t believe it.

“Can you?” He stepped closer. I could smell him, sandalwood, darker than Adrian’s stale cologne. “When’s the last time someone took care of you, Elena?”

That question. It landed hard. Adrian takes care of my image. My calendar. What dress looks right in photos. But me? Actually me? I couldn’t even think of an answer.

“I,” My throat closed.

“Dance with me,” he said. Not a question.

I should’ve said no. Should’ve walked right back to my husband.

Instead, I gave him my hand.

It was warm, rough, nothing like Adrian’s smooth banker hands. He pulled me toward the dance floor. The band was playing something slow, expensive, and suddenly I was in his orbit.

“Adrian,” I started.

“Isn’t watching.” His hands settled on my waist. Low. Confident. “When’s the last time he danced with you?”

I couldn’t answer. Adrian only dances when cameras are pointed at him. A prop. A photo op. Never like this.

Damian tugged me closer, too close to be proper. Heat rolled off him, seeping into me. My body just… followed.

“You’re unhappy,” he said.

“I’m married.” The words came out automatic. Hollow.

“That’s not the same thing.” His thumb brushed against my hip and I had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound. “You’re lonely. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to be wanted.”

The truth burned.

“You don’t know me,” I whispered.

“I know you bite your lip when you’re nervous.” His hand brushed against my mouth, gentle, maddening. “I know you touch your ring when you’re lying. And I know you’ve been watching me.”

Heat crawled up my neck. Because he was right. I had been watching him. For months.

“This is wrong,” I tried. But my body leaned closer anyway.

“Yes.” His hands tightened, pulling me against him. “Do you care?”

I didn’t. Not one bit.

“Elena.” My name in his mouth sounded nothing like Adrian’s clipped tone. It was soft, rough, hungry. “When’s the last time you did something just for yourself?”

I couldn’t remember. Everything I’d done for years was filtered through Adrian’s rules, Adrian’s image.

The music slowed. Damian pulled me closer still. Our bodies pressed together, moving like we weren’t strangers, like we weren’t breaking every rule.

“Come upstairs with me,” he murmured.

The words lit a fuse in my chest. I knew exactly what he was asking. I knew exactly what I’d be throwing away if I said yes.

But Adrian hadn’t touched me in months.

“I’m married,” I said again, weak this time.

“Married to a man who puts you on display and never touches what’s his.” His voice was low, dangerous, meant for me alone. “When’s the last time he made you feel like a woman, Elena?”

Never.

I looked across the room at my husband, still laughing too loud, not even noticing I was gone. Not even noticing his wife was being stolen.

“One night,” I heard myself whisper. “Just one.”

Damian’s eyes darkened. “Whatever you want. I’m not here to push. Only to give you what you already want.”

And I wanted him. God help me, I did.

I glanced toward Maya, still at the bar. She met my eye, gave me a quick thumbs up. My partner in crime.

“You planned this,” I said, breathless.

“I hoped for it,” he corrected.

The elevator ride was torture. Every floor down was another step away from safety and closer to the cliff I was about to jump off. My pulse wouldn’t calm.

His penthouse wasn’t like Adrian’s cold, glass museum. Warm wood, shadows, art that actually mattered. Lived in.

“Second thoughts?” he asked.

“Third, fourth, fifth.” My voice shook. But I stepped inside anyway.

He turned me gently, hands steady on my shoulders. “Are you sure?”

I kissed him. That was my answer.

And it was nothing like Adrian. Adrian’s kisses were scheduled, rehearsed. Damian’s? Fire. Mess. Hunger. He kissed me like he wanted to consume me. My hair came undone under his fingers and I didn’t care. I wanted him to ruin me.

“Bedroom,” I gasped.

And then there was no going back.

What happened next shattered me in ways I didn’t know I could break. He didn’t just take, he gave. He undressed me slowly, reverently, like I was something worth worshipping. His hands learned every inch of me, his mouth found places Adrian had never touched, and when he asked me what I wanted, I told him. And he gave it to me. All of it.

By the time it was over, I was wrecked, trembling, alive in a way I hadn’t felt in years. And he didn’t roll away. He held me, kissed my hair, whispered things that made my chest ache.

For the first time in forever, I felt… cherished.

Now, staring at myself in the mirror, lipstick finally on, my body still remembers.

He said one night would never be enough. And looking at myself now, I know he was right.

My phone buzzes. Maya: I can see your building from here. Don’t even think about bailing.

I grab my purse, stomach tight. Because in an hour I’ll have to admit it, Damian showed me exactly how empty my marriage is.

The elevator doors close. My reflection stares back at me in the steel.

She doesn’t look like Adrian’s wife.

She looks dangerous.

And for once, I like it.