WHEN RAGE MEETS DESIRE
1290 Words
Dominic
"I lost control the second she laughed in his arms."
Violence was the only thing that ever felt like peace to me. Every punch, every reckless race, every risk I took—it was the only way I knew how to quiet the storm in my head. But lately… even that wasn’t enough.
I drove my fists into the air, into the bag, into nothing—trying to beat back the memories that wouldn’t stay buried. Memories of being that kid left behind. A mother who walked away without a second glance. A father who was always too distant, too consumed by his own demons to see mine.
I told myself I was over it. That I’d buried that broken boy deep enough where he couldn’t hurt me anymore. But the past doesn’t stay buried. It claws its way back, and now it’s staring me right in the face.
My mother is back. And all I feel is rage. Pure, blinding rage.
It was night, and just like my father always said, “the face of Beaumont Automotives doesn’t get a night off.” God, how I hated those words. I would’ve given anything to be anywhere but here—anywhere but standing on a red carpet with a hundred cameras flashing in my face, surrounded by people pretending to be something they weren’t.
“Loosen up, son,” Cassandra whispered, her hand brushing lightly against my arm as we posed.
My jaw tightened. Son. That word tasted like poison. I leaned just enough for her to hear me, my smile fixed for the photographers. “Don’t call me that. You’re not my mother—you’re just my father’s wife.”
Her smile didn’t falter, not with the cameras on us, but her voice was steady when she murmured back, “Like it or not, Damian… we are family now.”
I scoffed under my breath and stepped away, leaving Cassandra frozen under the flashing lights.
Family? She won't be here if Mum didn't leave.
The gala hall felt suffocating, every smile fake, every handshake heavy with expectation. The weight pressing on my shoulders made it hard to breathe.
I shouldn’t have been here. I should’ve been out there, on the track, feeling the wind tear past me, winning races and kissing girls. That was my world. Not this circus.
But then I turned—and everything stopped.
My gaze locked on her. Aria.
The last person I expected to see tonight and the one person I didn’t know I needed until this exact moment.
She wore a shimmering red dress that clung to her like it was made just for her, every curve outlined in dangerous perfection. The plunging neckline revealed the delicate lines of her collarbone, a tease of skin that pulled my gaze lower before I could stop myself. Silver earrings caught the light with every movement, making her look like she carried the stars on her.
And she didn’t just walk—she owned the room. Each step was confidence wrapped in elegance, but there was something darker there too, a whisper of danger.
She was temptation and innocence braided into one woman. A contradiction I couldn’t look away from. A woman I wanted to destroy me tonight.
“Hey,” she said softly, her voice brushing against me like a feather. “Did I miss the main event?”
“You won’t be in the family spread for the magazine,” I muttered, forcing a smile for anyone watching.
“Aww, what a shame,” she teased, tilting her head just enough to make it sting. “I searched for the perfect dress to make sure I caught everyone's attention.”
I leaned closer, my words sharp enough to cut. “Congratulations. It’s working. That dress is showing too much, and one of these bastards is going to try and take you home tonight.”
Her eyes snapped to mine, burning, unflinching. “You sound jealous, Damien. If you want a kiss, just admit it.” Her lips curved in a mocking smile. “Maybe I’d give you one… but remember—we’re supposed to be family.”
The words hit like a slap, but before I could react, she twisted the knife even deeper. “And yes—I am looking to get laid tonight. Because I need to forget you.”
She turned to leave, flipping her hair with deliberate ease—almost blinding me with the shimmer. Every move of hers was designed to get under my skin, but I forced myself to hold steady.
I expected anger, maybe even hate. Instead, all I felt was a pull I couldn’t explain.
Every flick of her hair, every sly smile—Aria was unravelling me. She wasn’t just distracting me; she was consuming me.
And that terrified me more than any rival ever had.
My rage dulled, replaced by her pull. The way she moved, the curve of her smile, the spark in her eyes—I wanted to strip her down, layer by layer, until I understood everything.
But the moment I turned away, reaching for a glass of champagne, I lost her. When I glanced back, she was already in the arms of the one man I despised most—Jackson.
You couldn't think of a better prick.
Her laughter rang out like silver, spilling into the room, and it hit me like a knife. Jackson had always been my rival—in business, on the track, in everything. And now, tonight, he had her. My stomach twisted with a familiar ache, the sting of being left behind.
They took to the dance floor, her hand slipping so easily into his. I clenched my jaw as I watched his hand slide down to her waist, guiding her in the waltz. That was it. The last straw. I dropped the champagne glass, the crash echoing behind me as I cut across the room.
“Time to go,” I said, my voice final, leaving no room for argument.
Her brows arched. “What? The party just started. I’m having fun.” She rolled her eyes, defiant as ever.
“We’re leaving, Aria,” I growled, pulling her toward me.
“She doesn’t want to go,” Jackson cut in, gripping my arm.
Perfect. Just what I needed—an excuse to unleash everything I’d been holding in. I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t touch me, Jackson.”
“Come on, baby,” he taunted, looking at Aria. “Don't waste your time on him. Let’s have some real fun.”
The smirk on his face pushed me over the edge. My fist slammed into his jaw with a sickening crack, his head snapping sideways as blood sprayed across the floor.
Gasps erupted around us, but they were nothing more than static in my ears. All I saw was Jackson’s smug face and all I felt was the rage pouring through my fists.
“Damien, stop!” Aria’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. She shoved herself between us, her hands trembling as they pressed against my chest.
Her eyes weren’t angry—they were afraid. Afraid of Jackson… and afraid of me.
That look gutted me deeper than any punch could.
Her hand was still on my chest, steadying me. Too close. Too much. For a second, I almost leaned in. Almost. Instead, I tore myself away—before I did something I could never take back.
Jackson wiped the blood from his mouth, smirked, and whispered just loud enough for me to hear—‘I’ll take her from you, Beaumont. Watch me.’”
I wasn’t sure if I was protecting Aria from Jackson—or from myself.
- Writer
