Mira's POV
The elevator ride up to the penthouse felt longer than any flight or car ride in her life.
Her phone rested on the passenger seat beside her, ignored. The persistent buzz of messages from the unknown number taunted her with every ping, reminding her she was not as alone as she thought.
But nothing could compare to the feeling of anticipation curling in her stomach—a fire she didn't want to admit to herself.
She had agreed to meet with a potential investor tonight. Alone. Quietly. Her father insisted she learn how to hold her own without anyone hovering.
Which meant… she had to ignore everything else.
Everything, except the memory of him.
Damion Hale.
She hated thinking about him. She hated that his gaze had followed her like she was the only person in the room. And yet… she found herself replaying that brief moment over and over.
The memory of the subtle heat in his voice, the intensity in his black eyes, the sharp curve of his jawline, the way his presence seemed to bend the very air around him—all of it was pulling her in.
And she hated herself for it.
"Just breathe," she muttered under her breath. "It's just business."
She stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby. The penthouse's private entrance was elegant, quiet, and controlled. Perfect for a meeting.
Or so she thought.
Damion's POV
He'd been here first, of course.
Waiting. Watching.
Patience was a virtue he had perfected over centuries, yet every second spent in her orbit frayed it slightly.
He saw her before she saw him, caught the almost imperceptible quickening of her pulse when she stepped into the room.
The way her hair shifted over her shoulders, the soft flutter of her eyelashes, the slight curve of her lips as she frowned at the carpet, lost in thought.
He wanted to step forward, to close the distance, but restraint was crucial. For now.
For now, he would let her walk into the room and feel the pull of his presence, even if she didn't recognize it yet.
And oh, she would.
Mira's POV
She was barely inside the door when she felt it—a shift in the air that made her shoulders stiffen and her pulse spike.
He was there.
Not behind a corner. Not just in her periphery.
He was standing in the room, hands in his pockets, the faintest tilt of his head watching her like he knew every move she would make before she made it.
She froze.
Her mind raced.
Impossible. How did he get here before me? He said nothing about attending…
And yet, here he was.
Calm. Dangerous. Magnetic.
"Good evening," he said softly, voice carrying over the faint hum of the room.
It was polite. Smooth. Controlled. But there was an edge that made her stomach tighten.
"Evening," she replied, trying to keep her voice even.
His eyes scanned her from head to toe. Just a glance. That was all it took to feel it. The pull. The dangerous, intoxicating pull.
"I wasn't expecting you so… early," she said, trying to sound casual, though her chest heaved with unsteady breaths.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, considering her with those impossibly dark eyes.
"Expectations are tricky," he said finally. "They can make people… predictable. I prefer surprises."
Her pulse jumped.
"Predictable?" she asked, trying to mask her curiosity with a trace of sarcasm.
He stepped closer, just a fraction.
Not enough to touch her. Not yet.
But close enough to feel heat radiating off him. Enough to feel the weight of him pressing against her senses.
"You," he said softly. "You are anything but predictable, Mira Ross."
Her hands tightened around the folder she was holding.
She wanted to step back.
She wanted to deny the stirrings of desire in her body.
She wanted to run.
And yet… she didn't.
Damion's POV
The sound of her voice was like fire on ice.
Her sharp, clever tone—the way she tried to mask interest with professionalism—was a challenge he could not resist.
She thought she was in control, thinking she was holding her own. But she didn't realize how close she'd stepped to the edge of his patience—and need.
He wanted her to feel his presence. To know him. To want him without admitting it.
He stepped forward another fraction. Enough to reduce the space between them to a whisper, enough for the faintest brush of his jacket sleeve near her arm.
"I didn't follow you here," he murmured, voice a low velvet rumble, "but I had to know you were safe."
Her breath hitched.
"No one's… following me," she replied, though the phone buzzing in her pocket made her lie feel brittle.
"Not following," he corrected, eyes darkening. "Observing."
The word made her shiver.
Not fear. Not exactly.
Something deeper.
A recognition.
A pull she didn't understand.
She wanted to move away.
She wanted to tell him he was being inappropriate.
She wanted to run.
And yet, she couldn't.
Mira's POV — A Moment Alone
After what felt like an eternity, the investor arrived.
They murmured greetings, papers shuffled, and the conversation began.
But the room no longer mattered.
The city view no longer mattered.
Everything fell away except him.
Damion Hale.
Watching. Waiting. Controlled. Dangerous.
Her chest tightened every time his eyes flicked to her, even briefly.
Her thoughts betrayed her.
She wanted him close. She wanted him to lean in. She wanted to feel his breath near her ear.
And she hated herself for that.
Damion's POV — Close Observation
He didn't touch her. Not yet.
But he let the world shrink until only she existed in his attention.
He observed the subtle curve of her neck as she wrote notes.
The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, oblivious to the way it made him ache.
The faint blush creeping across her cheeks when she realized he was still watching.
His jaw tightened.
This wasn't just attraction.
This wasn't mere interest.
This was something primal.
Something centuries old.
Something he shouldn't have allowed.
And yet, he couldn't stop.
Closing Beat — Mira Alone After the Meeting
She stepped onto the balcony to breathe, trying to calm the sudden storm inside her.
The city stretched beneath her, indifferent to the chaos of her heart.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:
He notices you. Be careful.
Her pulse jumped.
She almost didn't care about the warning.
Because even as her body thrummed with fear and frustration, she wanted him.
Damion King.
The man who shouldn't exist in her world.
The man who terrified her.
The man she couldn't stop thinking about.
And far below, unseen, a shadow lingered. Watching. Waiting.
The slow burn had grown hotter.
And there was no turning back now.