You Are Staying Over
1292 Words
The elevator ride felt longer than it actually was.
Elara stood alone inside the narrow mirrored space, the soft hum of the machinery filling the silence she hadn’t realized she was holding onto so tightly.
Her reflection stared back at her from every angle — jacket pulled snugly around her shoulders, hair slightly undone from the brisk walk, eyes still sharp with irritation that hadn’t quite settled since downstairs.
She exhaled slowly through her nose.
This night had already gone sideways, and it hadn’t even properly begun.
When the elevator chimed and the doors slid open, she stepped out onto the second floor, her boots making soft, controlled sounds against the carpeted hallway.
The corridor was long, quiet, and tastefully lit — the kind of place that smelled faintly of expensive air freshener and money that didn’t ask permission before entering a room.
She checked the keycard again.
Suite 214.
The numbers on the doors were sleek and minimal, silver against dark wood. She walked past 208… 210… 212… until she finally stopped in front of 214.
This was it.
For a brief second, she hesitated.
Her hand lifted instinctively to swipe the card — then stopped mid-air.
She frowned.
Just walking in felt wrong ,too abrupt and too intimate and whatever Damien thought of boundaries, she still had some, and barging into a man’s suite at night wasn’t on her list of dignified life choices.
She pressed the doorbell.
Once.
Nothing.
She waited, listening — nothing but silence.
She pressed it again.
Still nothing.
A third time.
Then a fourth, her patience thinning.
“Of course,” she muttered under her breath. “Why would tonight be simple?”
With a small sigh, she finally swiped the keycard. The lock clicked softly, and she pushed the door open just enough to slip inside.
The suite was dim, lit only by the glow of lamps and the muted city light filtering through the windows. The smell of cologne and something woody and expensive — hung in the air.
“Daniel?” she called, her voice cautious but clear.
No response.
She stepped farther in, closing the door behind her.
Her gaze moved slowly across the space: a modern living area, leather sofa, glass table, clothes tossed carelessly over one chair like someone had abandoned the idea of order halfway through trying.
From somewhere deeper in the suite, music drifted faintly — low, rhythmic, steady.
She followed the sound.
As she rounded the corner into the bedroom area, she stopped.
As Daniel stood near the window, his back half-turned to her, wrapped loosely in a dark robe — tulle-soft fabric brushing his frame like he hadn’t bothered fully dressing yet.
One airpod was tucked into his ear and his voice was calm, controlled, and unmistakably occupied.
“Yes,” he said, tone sharp with business. “That needs to be handled tonight. I don’t want delays.”
Elara stayed where she was.
She didn’t announce herself. She didn’t move. She simply waited.
And when he finally finished and turned turned to where she was standing he froze.
And for half a second, genuine surprise crossed his face.
Then amusement followed.
“Well,” he said smoothly, recovering far too quickly, “you made it.”
Elara folded her arms. “You left out the part where I’d nearly be escorted out like a criminal.”
His expression shifted — not guilt exactly, but acknowledgment.
“That was on me,” he admitted. “I should’ve made it clearer downstairs. I’m sorry.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s new.”
He smirked slightly. “Don’t get used to it.”
There was a beat of silence before she asked, flatly, “So. What exactly did you drag me out here for?”
And immediately she asked that Damien tilted his head, lips curving,
“Well,” he said, gesturing casually toward the bed, “I need someone to make it.”
She blinked.
Once.
Then again.
“I’m sorry,” she said slowly. “You need someone to do what?”
“My bed,” he repeated calmly. “Look at it.”
She looked.
The bed was a disaster — clothes everywhere. Shirts, trousers, jackets, fabric layered like he’d emptied half a closet in a bad mood.
She stared at him.
“You called me,” she said carefully, “from my house… for this?”
“Of course,” he replied easily. “You’re my slave so I can ask you to do whatever I want.”
Her jaw tightened.
“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped. “You could’ve ordered room service.”
“I don’t like strangers touching my things,” he said coolly. “Now stop complaining and get started. I helped you with your father and now It’s your turn to carry out what we agreed on.”
For a moment, she looked like she might actually throw something.
Instead, she rolled her shoulders back, took a breath, and waved a dismissive hand.
“Fine,” she said. “Let’s just get this over with so I can leave.”
Damien smiled — satisfied — and turned, walking deeper into the suite, and shutting the inner door behind him with a decisive click.
Elara stared at the closed door, then at the bed.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered.
But she got to work.
She sorted through the clothes methodically — separating suits from casual wear, folding carefully despite the irritation buzzing under her skin.
When she finally finished, she sat down on the edge of the bed, breathing out slowly.
“Oh God,” she whispered. “When I signed up for this, I didn’t think this was part of the job.”
But even as she complained, another thought followed — quieter.
" But at least her father was free" she thought to herself with a smile before Damien’s voice cut through the room.
“You’re done? Good.”
She stood. “Yes. I’m done and I think I need to be on my way now she said as she began walking out of the room before his next words stopped her.”
“Make me a cup of coffee before you go he said in a casual tone.”
And immediately she turned sharply and eyed him up, down before asking
“Are you trying to keep me here all night? I need sleep.”
“That’s not my problem,” he said. “Coffee. Or I reconsider our agreement.”
Her hands clenched.
But she inhaled then exhaled while saying a quiet prayer.
“Where’s your kitchen?” she asked with a roll of her eyes.
“Down the hall.” he replied with a smug smile
And she walked away, his gaze following her, a smile playing on his lips.
The kitchen was sleek, polished — everything expensive and untouched.
As she worked the coffee machine, the doorbell rang.
She turned — and froze.
As a woman was standing right behind her.
“Well,” the woman said brightly, eyes flicking to Elara. “Hello.”
Elara blinked. “Hi. And… you are?”
The woman frowned before screaming damien's name repeatedly”
And he appeared moments later, now in casual clothes.
“Oh,” he said. “You’re here. Kate — this is Elara. Elara, Kate. My friend’s sister.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “Your girlfriend?”
Damien laughed lightly. “No. She’s my help.”
Elara scoffed loudly. “Unbelievable.”
She finished the coffee, handed it to Damien, then said coolly, “I’m done. Goodnight.”
“No,” Damien replied smoothly. “You’re not leaving.”
And she turned around immediately. “You said what?” she asked aloud.
- Writer
