Damian Cross wasn't a man who accepted no.
When he wanted something, he got it.
And right now, he wanted her.
Eve thought she had walked away. Thought she had shut the door between them, locked it, and thrown away the key. But what she didn't realize was that Damian wasn't just knocking—he was ready to break the damn door down.
He found her again two nights later, sitting at the bar in a dimly lit lounge, sipping whiskey like she was drowning something deep inside. She didn't notice him at first, too lost in thought.
But when he slid onto the barstool next to her, she stiffened.
Her eyes flickered with something unreadable as she turned to him. "You don't give up, do you?"
Damian smirked, swirling the drink the bartender had just placed in front of him. "Not in my nature."
Eve exhaled, shaking her head. "You're wasting your time, billionaire."
"I disagree." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "If it was a waste, you wouldn't be looking at me like that."
Her breath hitched. It was subtle—so quick that most men wouldn't have caught it. But Damian did. He saw the way her fingers tightened around her glass. The way her chest rose just a little faster.
She felt something, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.
Eve sighed, taking another slow sip of whiskey before setting the glass down. "What do you want from me, Damian?"
Everything.
But he didn't say that.
Instead, he studied her, letting the silence stretch between them before finally answering. "Dinner."
She blinked. "Dinner?"
"A meal. No games. No expectations." He held her gaze, his expression unreadable. "Just you and me. Talking."
Eve let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "I don't do dates."
"It's not a date. It's dinner."
She studied him, searching his face like she was trying to figure out what his game was.
After a long moment, she exhaled. "Fine."
Damian smirked, lifting his drink. "Smart choice."
Eve rolled her eyes. "Don't make me regret it, billionaire."
A Battle of Control
The restaurant was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of seared steak and expensive wine. Damian had chosen the place carefully—private, exclusive, impossible for the outside world to intrude.
Eve sat across from him, elegant yet guarded, her fingers lightly tapping against the table as if she was already planning an escape.
She was stunning, even without trying. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, her dress simple yet devastating. But it wasn't just her beauty that held Damian captive.
It was the way she looked at him—like he was both a temptation and a mistake waiting to happen.
"I still don't know why I'm here," she muttered, sipping her wine.
Damian leaned back, smirking. "Because you wanted to be."
She scoffed. "You're awfully confident, billionaire."
"I don't deal in doubt." He tilted his head slightly. "And if you really didn't want to be here, you wouldn't be."
Eve exhaled, looking away as if she didn't want to admit that he was right.
Damian took a slow sip of his whiskey, watching her carefully. She was testing him, waiting for him to push, to demand, to control. But he wouldn't.
No, he'd let her come to him.
"So," he said, voice smooth. "Tell me something real."
Eve raised an eyebrow. "I don't do small talk."
"Neither do I." He set his glass down, his gaze locked on hers. "But I want to know you."
She studied him, her expression unreadable. Then, with a soft chuckle, she leaned forward. "You want to know me, billionaire? Fine."
She picked up her glass, swirling the wine. "I grew up in a city that eats girls like me alive. I learned early that fairytales are for the weak. That love is just another weapon people use to get what they want." She took a slow sip, her eyes dark and unreadable. "And I don't play by those rules."
Damian's chest tightened, but he didn't look away. "Sounds lonely."
Eve smirked. "Loneliness is just another kind of freedom."
He shook his head. "No. It's just an excuse to keep from getting hurt."
Her smirk faltered for just a second—long enough for Damian to see the crack in her armor.
Then, just as quickly, she recovered.
"You think you have me figured out?" she murmured, tilting her head.
Damian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "I think you want to run. But you also want to see if I'll chase you."
Eve's breath hitched. It was subtle, but he caught it.
She set her glass down, standing up smoothly. "Dinner's over."
Damian stayed seated, watching her. "Running again?"
She hesitated—just for a second—before turning to leave.
Damian smirked to himself, finishing his drink.
This wasn't over.
Not even close.