Dangerous Addiction

Dangerous Addiction Chapter One: The Girl Who Should Have Walked Away The rain had been falling since dawn, turning the streets into mirrors of blurred headlights and restless shadows. By evening, the city looked like it was hiding a thousand secrets behind the veil of water. Elena Hart pulled her faded hoodie tighter around herself as she hurried across the parking lot. The cold wind bit at her cheeks, but she barely noticed. Her mind was occupied with the overdue rent notice folded inside her backpack and the message from her landlord reminding her that she had exactly three days to pay. Three days. She sighed. Life hadn't been kind to Elena. At twenty-two, she balanced university lectures during the day and worked the evening shift at Velvet Lounge, an upscale restaurant where the city's wealthiest people came to eat, celebrate, and make deals no one dared ask about. She hated the place. Not because of the work, but because of the people. Money made people cruel. Power made them dangerous. Still, bills didn't care about pride. As she pushed through the restaurant doors, warmth rushed over her. "You're late," the manager snapped without looking up from his clipboard. "It's only two minutes." "Two minutes can cost customers." Elena bit back the reply she wanted to give. "I'm sorry." He nodded toward the dining hall. "Table twelve requested another server. They said you looked too serious yesterday." She blinked. "Too serious?" "They're paying customers." She forced a smile. "I'll smile more." "Good." She walked away before her frustration showed. The restaurant sparkled beneath crystal chandeliers. Gentle piano music drifted through the room while expensive perfume mixed with the scent of grilled steak and fresh flowers. Everything looked perfect. It wasn't. She had worked there long enough to recognize politicians meeting businessmen, celebrities hiding from cameras, and strangers exchanging envelopes that certainly didn't contain thank-you notes. Some nights she wished she didn't notice. "Elena!" Her best friend Maya waved from behind the counter. "You survived another lecture?" "Barely." "You look exhausted." "I am." Maya handed her a tray. "Well, don't collapse yet. Apparently, we've got VIP guests tonight." Elena groaned. "Great." "The manager said everyone should stay professional." "When has he ever said anything else?" Before Maya could answer, every conversation in the restaurant suddenly softened. Not stopped. Softened. The entrance doors opened. Four men walked inside dressed in perfectly tailored black suits. Then he appeared. Tall. Confident. His dark coat dripped with rain as though even the storm refused to touch him for long. His face was sharp, almost unfairly handsome, with dark eyes that swept across the room in one calm glance. Nobody greeted him. Nobody needed to. The staff straightened instinctively. Even the manager hurried toward him with the biggest smile Elena had ever seen. "Mr. Moreau. It's an honor." The stranger gave a small nod. No smile. No greeting. Just silence. Elena frowned. "Who's that?" she whispered. Maya's face lost its color. "You don't know?" "No." "That's Damien Moreau." "The billionaire?" "The one everyone talks about." "I've never seen him before." "Most people haven't." "Why?" Maya lowered her voice. "Because people who deal with him usually don't talk afterward." Elena rolled her eyes. "You're dramatic." "I'm serious." Rumors surrounded Damien Moreau like smoke. Some claimed he built his fortune through international investments. Others whispered about underground empires, missing rivals, and business deals signed with fear instead of ink. No one knew the truth. Or maybe everyone did. No one was brave enough to say it aloud. The manager hurried over. "Elena." "Yes?" "You're serving the private room." "What?" "The regular server called in sick." "Can't Maya—" "No." "But—" "It's already decided." Her stomach tightened. She balanced the tray carefully and walked toward the private dining room. The guards standing outside opened the door. Inside, the room was quieter than the rest of the restaurant. Damien Moreau sat at the center of the table while three men discussed figures printed across several documents. No one looked up when she entered. She placed glasses of water carefully before each guest. Professional. Quick. Invisible. Exactly how she preferred it. Until— A folder slipped from the table. Papers scattered across the floor. Without thinking, Elena bent down to collect them. She froze. Numbers. Shipping routes. Foreign bank accounts. Names. None of it looked legal. A polished black shoe stepped onto one page before she could pick it up. Slowly, she looked up. Damien's eyes met hers. Cold. Unreadable. "You've seen enough." His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. "I'm sorry," Elena whispered, quickly handing him the papers. Their fingers brushed for the briefest second. For reasons she couldn't explain, a chill ran through her. "You didn't read anything," one of the men said sharply. "I wasn't trying to." Damien continued watching her. "What is your name?" She hesitated. "...Elena." "Elena." The way he said her name sounded less like a question and more like he was committing it to memory. "You may leave." She didn't wait to be told twice. The moment the door closed behind her, she finally exhaled. Why had her heart been racing? Maya rushed over. "What happened?" "Nothing." "You look like you've seen a ghost." "Maybe I have." The rest of her shift dragged by. Every time she glanced toward the private room, she felt as though someone was watching her. Near midnight, the guests finally left. Relieved, Elena clocked out and stepped into the cool night air. The rain had stopped. The streets were almost empty. She wrapped her jacket tighter around herself and started the twenty-minute walk home. Halfway there, she heard the low rumble of an engine behind her. A sleek black car rolled slowly alongside the sidewalk. She ignored it. It kept pace with her. Her heartbeat quickened. The rear window lowered. A familiar voice broke the silence. "Miss Hart." She stopped walking. Damien Moreau sat in the back seat, his expression as calm as it had been in the restaurant. Streetlights reflected in his dark eyes. "I believe," he said evenly, "we need to have a conversation." Every instinct Elena possessed screamed at her to keep walking. Instead, she stood frozen. Some choices changed your life forever. She didn't know it yet, but this was one of them.