Chapter 2 – Claimed
758 Words
The gavel’s echo still rang in my ears when the hostess touched my arm.
“Congratulations,” she whispered, her painted smile sharp as glass. “Mr. Blackwood is waiting for you.”
Her voice dripped with envy, but her hand was firm, steering me down the steps of the stage. My legs wobbled like they belonged to someone else. The air in the ballroom felt thicker now, charged with whispers that clung to my skin like static.
Mr. Blackwood. Mr. Blackwood. Mr. Blackwood.
The name swirled around me in hushed tones, every pair of eyes following as if I were some unfortunate creature caught in a trap.
And then I saw him move.
Damian Blackwood rose from his seat like a storm cloud blotting out the glittering chandeliers. He didn’t hurry. He didn’t need to. Power hung on him like a second skin, woven into every deliberate step he took.
The crowd parted without a word. They always did.
When he stopped in front of me, I realized how much larger he was up close. Broad shoulders, the sharp lines of his tux fitting him like armor, the dark gleam in his eyes daring me to breathe.
My mouth went dry.
“You’re trembling,” he said softly. His voice was velvet laced with steel, the kind that made you want to lean closer even as instinct told you to run. “Not used to being the center of attention?”
I forced myself to lift my chin. You’re Amara Cole. You don’t flinch.
“This is a mistake,” I whispered, my voice thinner than I intended. “I wasn’t supposed to be—”
His lips curved, but it wasn’t kindness. It was a predator amused by its prey. “On that stage? Perhaps not. But fate seems to enjoy irony.”
Before I could summon another excuse, his hand brushed mine. Just a touch, a fleeting connection, but it burned. Electricity raced through my skin, hot and traitorous.
The hostess reappeared, clapping her hands as though she’d just orchestrated the perfect love story. “Mr. Blackwood, the arrangements have been made. The two of you may proceed to the lounge.”
The lounge.
Private. Secluded. Dangerous.
Every cell in my body screamed to resist. I had come here to expose this man, not to be led into his world like a willing lamb.
But under the weight of his stare, my body betrayed me.
Damian leaned closer, so near that the faint scent of whiskey and smoke curled around me. His voice dropped to a murmur, meant for me alone.
“Smile for them, sweetheart. The vultures are watching.”
My lips obeyed before my brain caught up. I plastered on a smile as gasps, giggles, and envious sighs rippled through the ballroom.
His hand pressed firmly at the small of my back, guiding me toward the golden double doors at the far end of the hall. His touch was possessive, steady, leaving me with no choice but to move with him.
The moment we stepped through, the roar of the auction dimmed, replaced by the hush of a corridor lined with oil paintings and velvet drapes. My heels clicked too loudly on the marble floor, each sound echoing like a countdown to my doom.
I yanked my arm from his grip the second the doors closed behind us. “Listen, Mr. Blackwood. I don’t know what you think this is, but—”
“Game?” His laugh was low, dangerous, curling through the air like smoke. “Do you think I bid on you for entertainment?”
I swallowed, my throat dry. “Then why? Why me?”
He turned, his eyes glinting with something I couldn’t name. Calculating. Dangerous. A man who missed nothing.
Slowly, he stepped closer. I could feel the heat rolling off him, the weight of his attention pressing against my skin. He looked at me the way a man studies a puzzle he fully intends to solve.
“Because you looked like you didn’t belong.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
My breath caught.
Damian’s gaze was relentless, dragging over every inch of me as though peeling back layers no one else could see. My pulse stuttered. Did he already suspect? Could he sense the truth beneath the silk and borrowed diamonds?
He took another step closer, and another, until the wall pressed cold against my back.
“And now,” he murmured, voice low and lethal, “I intend to find out why.”
- Writer
