Damian arrived home as the sky darkened, the last trace of daylight slipping through the tall windows. He closed the door behind him and paused, listening. The house was unusually quiet—too quiet.
He loosened his tie slowly, a faint crease forming between his brows.
"Selena?" he called.
No answer.
A subtle irritation stirred, not sharp, but present. He set his keys down, poured himself a drink, and moved through the living room, his footsteps echoing lightly against the polished floor. The silence lingered, heavy and expectant.
Minutes later, the front door opened.
Selena stepped inside.
She moved with an unhurried calm, slipping off her shoes, her posture composed, almost serene. Yet something about her felt different—an energy beneath the surface, restrained but alive. Her eyes carried a quiet intensity, as if she were still somewhere else.
Damian looked up, studying her.
"You're late," he said.
Her lips curved faintly, not apologetic.
"Am I?" she replied.
She crossed the room, setting her bag down carefully, smoothing her sleeve as though grounding herself back into the house. Damian watched her closely now.
"I came home and you weren't here," he said.
A pause.
"Where were you?"
Selena met his gaze easily.
"At the golf yard."
The words were simple, but they landed with weight.
Damian's expression shifted—subtle, but alert.
"The private one?" he asked.
"Yes."
He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving her.
"How was your day?"
Selena hesitated just long enough to be noticeable.
"Interesting," she said.
The word lingered between them.
Damian waited. He expected more—detail, explanation, something. But she offered nothing. That absence unsettled him more than any confession could have.
"Did you go alone?" he asked.
Selena turned slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of the table as she spoke.
"I ran into Lucien."
That name sharpened the air.
"Lucien Moreau?" Damian asked.
She nodded once.
"Yes."
He set his glass down slowly, his voice controlled.
"And?"
Selena looked back at him, her expression smooth, unreadable.
"We talked." she said.
That was all.
No elaboration.
No emotion.
No story.
Damian searched her face—looking for excitement, guilt, tension—but found only composure. Too composed.
"You didn't tell me you planned to see him," he said.
"I didn't," Selena replied calmly.
"It wasn't planned."
She moved past him, her shoulder brushing the air beside him as she headed toward the hallway. Damian turned, watching her leave, a quiet unease settling in his chest.
Something had shifted.
She wasn't distant.
She wasn't cold.
She was focused.
And that unsettled him most of all.
Later, alone in the bedroom, Selena paused by the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her—calm on the surface, eyes glowing with something private, something she would never share.
She had told the truth.
But not all of it.
Some moments were meant to be kept.
Some desires… were meant to be imagined
Damian stood in the living room, the tension in his shoulders still sharp, his jaw tight. Selena could feel it—the quiet anger, the questions he wanted to ask but couldn't. She paused for a moment, letting him watch her, letting him feel the pull she always carried.
She crossed the room slowly, each step deliberate. Her hair fell over one shoulder, soft and shiny in the low light, and her eyes met his with a teasing glint.
Selena: "You look tense," she said softly, tilting her head. "Why hold on to that when I'm here?"
Her hand brushed lightly against the edge of the table as she passed, casual, yet purposeful. She let her fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary, and he shifted, the corner of his mouth tightening almost involuntarily.
Damian: "You know… I don't like seeing you like this," he said, voice low, controlled, but edged with desire and frustration.
Selena smiled faintly, stepping closer. Her warmth brushed his arm again. She could feel the tension in him, the way he was fighting instinctively against the pull she had over him.
Selena: "Like this?" she whispered, leaning just slightly, letting the soft curve of her body catch his attention. "Maybe you should stop holding on… let yourself enjoy the moment."
Her gaze lingered, playful and daring, and Damian's eyes followed hers, involuntarily drawn. She moved just enough closer, her shoulder brushing his, her fingers tracing lightly along the back of a chair as she circled past him.
Selena: "Anger doesn't suit you," she said softly, her voice low, intimate, teasing. "It hides your better side… the part I like."
Damian exhaled, the tension in his chest slowly loosening, his jaw unclenching as she continued her subtle, precise dance around him. Her presence was magnetic—quiet, confident, dangerous—and it made it impossible for him to stay upset for long.
Selena: "See?" she murmured, leaning slightly toward him again, her lips near enough to catch his attention without speaking further. "It's much nicer to forget… at least for a little while."
His hand tightened on the arm of the chair, a small, conflicted movement that betrayed how completely she had him. Damian wanted to resist, to remind himself of her morning, of the secrets she held—but every instinct pulled him toward her, softened by the subtle seduction she wielded effortlessly.
Selena stepped back just enough to let him breathe, giving him a slow, knowing smile. She had won the moment—he might still sense the mystery of her morning, but for now, she had erased the sharp edge of his anger.
She tilted her head, letting her eyes sparkle with a mix of mischief and control.
Selena (quietly, almost to herself): "One step closer… always one step closer."
Damian sank back into the chair, caught, distracted, and helpless against her quiet, undeniable dominance. The room seemed warmer now, charged with tension and unspoken desire
Selena changed into a soft, flowing nightgown that hugged her curves just enough to catch the light, her hair falling in gentle waves across her shoulders. The faint scent of her perfume lingered in the air. She moved with quiet confidence, every step measured, playful, and deliberate.
She heard the shower running and smiled to herself.
Selena: "What about a glass of wine?"
Damian (from the bathroom): "Yes."
Her lips curved in a teasing smile.
Selena: "I'll bring it to you… in our bedroom. Don't put your pajamas on yet."
There was a pause on the other end before she heard him chuckle softly, his curiosity piqued.
Selena returned a few moments later carrying a tray. A glass of red wine gleamed in the soft light. Beside it, she had arranged strawberries with chocolate dip—playful, indulgent. She placed them carefully on the tray, letting her fingers linger over the glass as she looked at him.
Selena (soft, teasing): "Here… everything you need, right here."
She stepped closer, letting the tray rest on the nightstand, her gaze locked on him. Her movements were slow, deliberate, sensual in the way they drew attention. She reached toward him, offering a strawberry, her fingers brushing his hand.
The room seemed smaller, warmer, charged with the electricity between them. Every glance, every subtle touch, every word carried tension, teasing, and the thrill of unspoken desire.
Selena (whispering, playful): "Careful… don't get distracted."
Damian's lips twitched into a small, caught smile. He leaned back slightly on the bed, the wine forgotten for a moment as he watched her—enraptured, caught in the pull of her presence.
Selena let her hand linger near his, moving deliberately, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear, her voice soft and intoxicating.
Selena (quietly, intimately): "I could stay here all night… just like this. Wouldn't that be nice?"
The room was thick with tension and anticipation. The strawberries and chocolate, the wine, the soft fabric of her nightgown—all tools of seduction. Every glance and motion was deliberate, a playful dance of intimacy, making Damian forget the world outside the bedroom, lost entirely in her presence.
Selena leaned closer, whispering softly, her lips almost brushing his ear:
Selena: "Let's just enjoy each other… without any distractions."
The night stretched on, heavy with desire, intimacy, and the unspoken thrill of temptation—full of sensuality and seduction, yet leaving the rest to the imagination