DARK OBSESSION

The club pulsed with music, a rhythmic beat that vibrated through the floor and sent waves of energy through the air. Alina Carter adjusted the strap of her dress, feeling slightly out of place in the sea of glittering bodies moving in sync under flashing neon lights. She wasn’t supposed to be here. It was her best friend, Jenny, who had convinced her to come. “One night out won’t kill you,” she had said. “And besides, you need to live a little.” Alina wasn’t the type to party at exclusive clubs in downtown Manhattan, let alone one as elite as "Vortex"—a place whispered about in hushed tones among the rich and powerful. It was the kind of place where secrets were kept, where the wealthy and dangerous rubbed shoulders under the guise of business and pleasure. A shiver of unease crept up her spine. She scanned the room, searching for Jenny, who had disappeared the moment they stepped inside. Typical. Alina sighed and turned toward the bar, weaving through the crowd. The bartender, a middle-aged man with sharp eyes, gave her a once-over before smirking. “What can I get you, sweetheart?” “Just water, please.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “First time here?” She hesitated. “Is it that obvious?” “Most people don’t come to "Vortex" for water.” Before she could respond, a sudden hush fell over a section of the club. It was subtle—just a shift in the energy—but noticeable. Conversations died down, and heads turned toward the entrance of a "VIP lounge" hidden behind dark glass walls. Alina followed their gazes, and that was when she saw him. "Damon Cross." He entered like a storm, his presence suffocating. The air changed, thick with unspoken authority. He wasn’t just another wealthy man—he was someone people feared. Someone who could silence a room with a single look. Tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding a dangerous kind of power, he was the embodiment of control. His sharp jawline was dusted with the faintest hint of stubble, his icy-blue eyes scanning the club with detached calculation. He wore a tailored black suit, crisp and expensive, with the top button of his shirt undone—just enough to hint at the danger lurking beneath his refined exterior. Alina had heard of him before. "Everyone had." Damon Cross was a name whispered in the world of high finance and underground dealings—a billionaire who built an empire on calculated ruthlessness. Some called him a genius. Others called him a devil. Alina? She had never cared to find out. Until now. She should have looked away. But she didn’t. And then it happened. "He caught her staring." Their eyes met, and for a split second, time slowed. His gaze was piercing, unreadable, like he was "studying her, stripping her bare without a single word." Alina’s breath hitched. She knew she should look away, break the connection before it turned into something dangerous. But she couldn’t. Damon’s lips curved into the faintest smirk—something dark and knowing—before he turned away, disappearing behind the tinted doors of the VIP section. Alina exhaled, pressing a hand against her chest. "What the hell just happened?" She barely had time to process before a hand grabbed her wrist. “There you are!” Jenny’s voice was slurred, her eyes glassy from alcohol. “Come on, you have to meet someone!” Before Alina could protest, she was being dragged across the club, her heels clicking against the polished floors. Jenny led her past the crowded dance floor, through a hidden corridor, and toward an entrance marked "VIP ONLY." Alina stiffened. “Jenny, we can’t go in there.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Relax. My date is there. He’s friends with the owner.” “The owner?” Jenny grinned. “Some billionaire. Not sure of his name, but he’s loaded.” A sinking feeling settled in Alina’s stomach. The bouncer at the entrance barely glanced at them before stepping aside. Inside, the atmosphere was entirely different—darker, quieter, more intense. The music was subdued, replaced with low conversations and the occasional clink of expensive glasses. Alina’s instincts screamed at her to leave. And then, she saw him again. Damon Cross sat in the center of the lounge, exuding quiet dominance. He leaned back in his chair, fingers resting against his whiskey glass, watching everything "without looking like he was watching at all." Jenny didn’t notice the tension in Alina’s posture as she waved to a man sitting beside Damon. “There he is! Come on!” Alina hesitated, but it was too late. Jenny was already walking over, leaving her with no choice but to follow. Damon’s eyes flickered to her, sharp and assessing. He said nothing, but the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine. Jenny’s date grinned. “This is your friend?” Jenny giggled. “Yeah! Alina, meet Marcus.” Alina forced a polite smile, ignoring the way Damon’s gaze "never left her." Marcus gestured toward the empty seat beside him. “Sit.” Alina hesitated. “I should probably—” “Sit.” The command didn’t come from Marcus. It came from "him." Damon’s voice was smooth, low, "dangerous." A slow pulse of fear and curiosity thrummed through her. She wasn’t sure why she obeyed, but she did. The second she sat down, Damon leaned forward, his voice calm yet laced with something she couldn’t define. “You don’t belong here.” Alina’s stomach twisted. “Excuse me?” His gaze darkened. “You heard me.” Her pulse quickened. She should have been offended, but there was something about the way he said it—like a warning, not an insult. “I was just leaving,” she murmured, standing. Before she could take a step, "a hand grabbed her wrist." Not Damon’s. Marcus. Alina stiffened as his grip tightened. “Stay a while,” Marcus murmured, his breath reeking of whiskey. She yanked her arm, but he held firm. “Let go.” Marcus smirked. “Don’t be like that.” The tension in the room "shifted." One moment, Damon was relaxed, distant. The next, "he was a storm waiting to break." His voice was lethal. “Let. Her. Go.” Marcus hesitated. For a second, it seemed like he would argue. But then Damon’s "cold, merciless gaze" locked onto him, and whatever courage Marcus had vanished. He released Alina immediately, muttering an apology. Damon didn’t acknowledge it. He was already looking at Alina again, his expression unreadable. “Leave,” he said softly. This time, she listened. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could still feel his eyes on her. And for reasons she couldn’t understand, "she knew this wasn’t the last time she would see him." She had just stepped into a world she wasn’t meant to enter. And Damon Cross? "He wasn’t going to let her walk away so easily."