What I Want
1442 Words
The door clicked softly behind her as Elara stepped inside.
The faint sound was swallowed immediately by the stillness that waited beyond it.
The air felt heavy, unmoving and thick with the scent of expensive cologne and something else beneath it, faintly metallic, faintly intoxicating.
The smell crawled up her senses, threading through her nerves and stirring a tight, uneasy pressure in her chest.
She hesitated just inside the threshold.
Her fingers still rested on the doorknob as her eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light.
The room was neat unnervingly neat and as though every object had been placed with intention and then left untouched, undisturbed, frozen in time.
The golden lamplight on the nightstand spilled in a warm arc across the bed, catching on the sharp lines of Damien’s figure where he sat.
He was half-reclined against the headboard, his posture effortless, one ankle resting over the other. His jacket lay draped over the back of a nearby chair in a way that looked careless only at first glance; the longer she looked, the more it resembled a deliberate kind of disarray. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, veins visible beneath his skin, and the slight opening of his collar exposed the smooth line of his throat. Shadows pressed along his cheekbones and jaw, leaving one side of his face swallowed in soft darkness.
He didn’t even look surprised that she really followed after him.
His head just lifted slightly when she entered, his eyes — deep, calm, and quietly dangerous — finding hers with ease, pinning her to the quiet of the room.
Elara stopped in the middle of the space, her steps faltering.
Her pulse thundered beneath her ribs, a dull, relentless drum.
She opened her mouth, drawing in a shaky breath as she tried to speak, but the words gathered thickly in her throat, stuck somewhere between fear and wounded pride.
For a long, aching moment, neither of them moved.
She could hear the faint hum of the air conditioner, the muted ticking of a clock perched somewhere out of sight, the whisper of her own uneven breathing. Her palms dampened, and she clasped them in front of her, trying to hold herself together.
Then almost like she was being controlled by a mystical force her knees gave way.
And the sound of her body hitting the carpet was small almost fragile but it sliced through the silence like glass.
She knelt there, trembling, her fingers curling helplessly against the fabric of her clothe as if trying to anchor herself to something solid.
“Damien,” she whispered, the name escaping her lips in a broken breath. Her throat tightened painfully as she forced out the next words. “Please… I’m begging you.”
Her voice shook visibly as she lifted her hands a fraction, as though reaching for something she couldn’t see.
“Just give me a little time. I’ll pay it back — every single thing my father owes. I’ll make it right, I swear it. Just—”
Her breath caught, quivering, as tears glossed her vision. “Just give me time.”
And her plea trailed into a fragile whisper, dissolving into the stillness around them.
But Damien did not speak.
He only watched her — elbows resting on his knees now, fingers laced loosely together as he leaned slightly forward.
His head tilted to one side as his gaze moved slowly across her features, absorbing the way her composure fractured and her pride bent beneath the weight of desperation.
His expression did not soften, but it did not harden either.
There was no pity in his eyes, no anger.
Only a deep, unreadable calm that made her heart twist painfully.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low smooth, steady, and dangerously controlled.
“What exactly do you want me to do, Elara?” he asked quietly.
The gentleness of the tone was deceiving, sharp beneath the surface. It made her flinch, her shoulders curling inward.
“You do realize this isn’t just my business. It’s my family’s.” He said as he leaned back slightly, his gaze never wavering. “Would you have me be unfair to them because you happen to know me?”
He said his voice dipped, soft but cutting. “And even if we do know each other… weren’t you the one who said you’d never beg me for help?”
The words weren’t loud — they didn’t need to because the words carried more weight than any shout. They struck with a heaviness that made shame burn through her chest.
Elara’s breath trembled as she could still see that day in her mind — the argument, the pride, the heat of her own stubborn anger. Back then she thought she’d never need him again. Back then, pride still felt like something she could afford.
Her fingers curled into the carpet, gripping it tightly. When she spoke, her voice was small, thin at the edges. “I… I was angry that day,” she whispered, shaking her head, strands of hair slipping loose around her face. “I didn’t mean it, Damien. I was foolish. Please…”
She lifted her gaze, her lashes damp, eyes shimmering with desperation. “Please, just forget I ever said that. Let bygones be bygones. Help me. Just this one time.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, splintering the last of the restraint she’d been holding on to.
But Damien still remained silent.
And the quiet atmosphere stretched between them long, suffocating, with an invisible pressure resting against her shoulders.
Her breath grew uneven and she could feel her heartbeat in her throat.
Then, slowly — very slowly — Damien straightened.
His movements were deliberate, measured, the type that drew attention without demanding it.
His gaze stayed on her.
And a faint smirk ghosted across his lips — small, restrained, but enough to make her stomach twist into a hard knot.
“Okay let's say If I help you,” he murmured at last, “what’s in it for me?”he asked.
As the question hung in the air like smoke — faint, smooth, but weighted with something darker beneath it.
Elara froze, her breath stalling.
Her chest rose and fell in uneven jerks as her mind struggled to process his words. “W-what do you mean?” she whispered, her voice catching.
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he leaned forward again, his elbows settling on his knees, his eyes gleaming with a quiet, almost amused sharpness.
“I’m asking,” he said softly, “what do I get in return for helping you?”
And immediately she heard that her heart slammed painfully against her ribs.
As she swallowed hard, her voice cracking around the edges.
“Damien… I’ll do anything I can.
I promise. As long as it’s within my power, I’ll do it.”
The words were desperate — painfully so — but they carried a sincerity that cost her something to admit.
Damien’s expression barely shifted. But his eyes… they darkened, the depth of them thickening like shadows pooling behind glass.
“And what,” he asked, his voice dipping even lower, the sound brushing across her skin like a touch, “if it’s not within your power, Elara?” he questioned
Making her breath still.
But he let the question linger — a quiet threat, a quiet promise — watching every flicker of confusion and fear cross her face.
“I…” She shook her head slightly, her brows drawing together. “I don’t understand you, Damien. What are you saying?”
Her frustration slipped through, trembling and sharp. “Just tell me what you want so I’ll know if I can do it or not.”
He tilted his head again, that faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You know very well what I want,” he said quietly.
Her pulse faltered. Her lips parted, air slipping out in a shaky exhale.
“No,” she whispered, shaking slightly. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”
But Damien just smiled slightly his gaze never leaving her.
As his silence pressed into her — heavy, suffocating, and intimate in a way that made her entire body tense.
Her breath stuttered and her heart beat so loudly she could almost hear it echo in the walls around them.
But even through the tears threatening to fall, even with fear coiling tight and merciless in her chest — something still flickered behind her eyes.
Something small.
Something stubborn.
A flicker of pride which was faint but burning.
- Writer
