The café was warm, filled with the hum of idle conversation, the clinking of spoons against porcelain cups, and the steady drip of espresso machines. Lena Moreau sat at the back corner, her sketchbook open, the pencil in her hand moving steadily across the page. She was lost in her art, the world around her fading into the background.
It wasn't until she felt a chill against her skin that she looked up.
Her eyes met his.
Damien Voss.
He stood just outside the small café, watching her intently through the glass. His dark eyes, almost black, locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. He wasn't smiling—there was something cold, almost predatory, in his gaze.
For a moment, time seemed to stop. The world outside the café continued as if nothing had happened, but Lena's heart was racing. She tried to look away, to ignore him, but his presence was inescapable.
And then, without warning, he was inside.
His tall figure moved effortlessly through the crowded room, his expensive suit the only thing standing out in the sea of casual attire. The bell above the door jingled softly as he approached her table.
Lena instinctively stood up, but before she could speak, he spoke first. His voice was smooth, deep—like velvet—and yet there was something razor-sharp about it.
"You belong to me now, Lena," he said, his gaze never wavering from hers. "You just don't know it yet."
She froze. His words hit her like a punch, but she didn't know why.
Damien smiled then, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. He was right. She had no idea who he was, but already, something in his presence was taking hold of her, pulling her in.
To Be Continued...