HER TWO MATES

The moon hung low over New York City, casting a silver shimmer across the skyline. The penthouse ballroom of the Damien Corporation tower glowed like a star among the city lights, its glass walls revealing a glittering world above the chaos. Aurora Liam stood at the edge of it all, feeling both out of place and dangerously curious. Her heels clicked softly against the marble as she stepped inside. A string quartet played something elegant and haunting, while men in tuxedos and women in designer gowns floated through the space like ghosts. Masks concealed faces, but nothing could hide the wealth that oozed from every gold-dusted detail. She adjusted the intricate silver mask over her eyes and exhaled. This was it. She didn’t belong here—she knew that—but her pitch deck did. Her startup, SynapseVault, had already stirred interest in the underground tech world. A powerful cybersecurity software built to self-heal, evolve, and defend against even quantum-level attacks. Her code was genius. Her problem? No one would fund a broke twenty-five-year-old woman with no last name worth mentioning. Except maybe Alexander Damien. He was a ghost in most circles, yet controlled the most dominant tech empire in the Western hemisphere. Billionaire. Ruthless. Rumors of Russian royalty swirled around him, but nothing was confirmed. Aurora had only seen one photo of him—cold steel-gray eyes, dark hair, expression like ice carved from stone. He was hosting this gala. And word was—he was in search of something… someone. Well, he’ll get a pitch instead of a plaything, she thought, moving into the crowd. People turned to look at her as she passed. Her figure was hugged by a blood-red silk gown with a dangerously low back. The dress, rented. The heels, borrowed. The confidence? Pure bluff. She headed toward the bar. Just one drink. One shot of courage. Then she'd find him. But the moment she reached for the champagne flute, a presence surrounded her like gravity. She turned—and froze. He was already there. Alexander Damien stood barely a foot away. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a crisp black tuxedo with no mask—because he didn’t need one. His face was sharper than any photo had captured. Handsome, yes. But not soft. There was danger etched into every angle, as if he were carved from war and wealth itself. His eyes locked on hers, as if he'd been waiting for her his whole life. "Aurora Liam," he said, voice smooth and low, with an accent that hinted at old Europe and sin. She blinked. “How do you know my name?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer, until her back touched the bar. "You entered my tower using a guest pass you hacked yourself," he murmured, amusement curling his lips. "Ballsy. Dangerous. I like that." Aurora’s heart hammered. “I came to pitch SynapseVault. I—” "I know why you’re here," he interrupted, fingers grazing her jaw. "But you're not ready to sell me software." His touch was cold, yet it sparked fire beneath her skin. "What am I ready to sell you, then?" she shot back, defiant. Alexander leaned in, lips nearly brushing her ear. “Your soul.” A shiver danced down her spine, and her knees weakened. The music, the laughter, the city beyond—all faded. It was just his voice, his scent—rich with cedarwood and storm—and the heat blooming low in her belly. “You’re insane,” she whispered, but her voice betrayed her arousal. “Insanity is only perception, kotenok.” He stepped back, eyes gleaming. “Dance with me.” Before she could refuse, his hand closed around hers. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t. He led her to the center of the floor. The music shifted, something slow and sensual. He pulled her against him, hand firm on her waist. Every movement of his body commanded hers. He wasn’t just leading—he was claiming. “I don’t dance with strangers,” she said breathlessly. “I’m not a stranger,” he replied darkly. “I’m your future.” Aurora swallowed. “You don’t even know me.” “Oh, but I do,” he said, voice low and intimate. “I’ve smelled your scent. I’ve dreamed your name.” She stiffened. “What the hell are you talking about?” “Tell me you don’t feel it,” he challenged. She tried to speak, to pull away—but her body refused. Her blood roared. Her core throbbed. She’d never felt anything like this—like he was pulling her from the inside out. Alexander Damien lowered his head. “You’re not human,” he whispered. “Not fully.” Her breath caught. He brushed his lips against hers—and then kissed her. Fire. That’s what it felt like. Not passion. Not heat. But flames. Burning her lips, her veins, her sanity. She moaned into his mouth, nails digging into his suit. He deepened the kiss, tongue demanding, devouring. The room spun. Her knees buckled. When he finally pulled away, she gasped for air. “W-What was that?” she whispered. “A bond,” he said. “Fated.” She stared at him, heart crashing against her ribs. “You’re insane,” she repeated—but her voice trembled now. “Perhaps.” His eyes sparkled. “But you’re mine, Aurora Liam. You just don’t remember yet.” He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd like smoke. Aurora staggered back to the bar, chest heaving. What the hell had just happened? 30 Minutes Later… Aurora found herself outside on the rooftop terrace, gripping the railing, heart still racing. The city spread out beneath her like a kingdom. Cold air kissed her flushed cheeks. She needed to leave. She needed answers. She needed— “You didn’t run,” a voice said behind her. She turned sharply. Alexander Damien stood there again, but this time he looked different. Looser. Shadows clung to him like a second skin. His jacket was undone, his collar open. “I should,” she said. “I should run and never come near you again.” “But you won’t.” Silence stretched between them. He took a slow step toward her. Then another. Until his body pressed against hers, caging her between steel and stone. His hands cupped her face, tilting it up. "I've waited years for you," he murmured. "You don’t know what you are. But I do." Aurora couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t speak. Then he kissed her again. Not like before. This was darker. Deeper. Possessive. One hand slid down her back, the other tangling in her hair. She whimpered as his mouth claimed her, his thigh pushing between hers. She moaned and rocked against him, arousal flooding her body with fire. Then, suddenly—he bit her. Not hard. But deep enough to make her cry out. She shoved him back, touching her neck. “You bit me!” He licked her blood from his lips like a predator. “Because you’re mine.” She slapped him. He didn’t even flinch. She turned and ran—heels clicking across marble, breath ragged, blood burning. She didn’t stop until she reached the elevator. Inside, she collapsed against the mirrored wall, chest heaving. What the hell was he? Or worse— What the hell was she?