The Proposition

SELENE.

I stepped back a few seconds after his words settled between us, trying to find air in a room that suddenly felt too small. My laugh came out shaky, thin, and absolutely unconvincing.

“More than one night? Wow. Someone’s confident.”

I tried to make it sound like a teasing joke, but the nerves bleeding into my voice betrayed me. Damien didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. He just continued watching me with that unnerving, predatory stillness that made my pulse jump and my palms slick with sweat.

What the heck was his problem? Maybe if he tried loosening up, I wouldn't be so tense.

“Arrogant,” I added, because silence stressed me out and he was giving me more than enough of it.

His eyes remained dark and steady on mine, heavy with an unspoken promise I wasn’t sure I wanted decoded. Every second that passed stretched, taut and humming, like the air between us was a wire he was slowly pulling tighter. And for the first time since I started this line of work, I felt like I wasn’t the one evaluating the client.

I was the one being hunted. I was now the prey.

I swallowed hard, trying not to show how unsettled that made me. “Look, Damien, I don’t know what kind of line that was supposed to be, but—”

“It wasn’t a line,” he cut in quietly.

I didn’t know why that made my stomach flip, but it did, and not in a good way.

He moved toward the bar again, calm and unhurried, like he owned the room, the night, and maybe even the oxygen in my lungs. He uncorked a bottle of deep red wine, poured a single glass, and set it on the marble counter in front of an empty stool. He didn’t gesture for me to sit. He didn’t need to.

My feet moved before my brain approved. Again, I was probably under a spell.

I sat, pretending it was my idea. He slid the glass toward me with two fingers, the same fingers that had brushed my jaw only moments ago. The place where he’d touched still tingled.

“Drink,” he said.

I hesitated. “Trying to get me drunk?”

“No,” Damien replied. “Trying to get you to stop trembling.”

My jaw clenched. “I’m not—”

“You are.”

My fingers curled around the stem of the glass before I could argue again. The wine tasted like berries, smoke, and poor decisions. Warm. Expensive. Dangerous. Exactly like him.

“So,” I exhaled, trying to recover some sense of control, “if you’re not trying to seduce me with cryptic lines and wine, why am I here?”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “Because I have a proposition for you.”

The way he said it made the hair on my arms rise. “Proposition,” I repeated slowly, “as in the job already has a job?”

“Not exactly.” His gaze dipped to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “What I want isn’t something you can give me in one night.”

I stared. “Damien, I—I’m not signing up for anything long-term. That’s not what I do.”

“It’s what you’ll do for me.”

I blinked, unsure if I heard him correctly. A laugh bubbled out, strained and nervous. “Wow, okay, buddy. That’s… bold.”

“You’re in debt,” he said sharply, not bothering with softness. “You can barely afford rent. You’ve been chased by collectors three times in the last month, and you’re one missed payment away from losing everything.”

My stomach dropped. “You had someone look into me.”

“I told you,” he said, unapologetic, “I don’t take chances.”

“That’s not ‘not taking chances.’ That’s stalking.”

“It’s due diligence.”

“Oh my God,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “It looks like you have a comeback for everything I say. Why don't you just take the air I breathe if it will make you feel better, huh?" 

“Selene,” he said evenly, “I know what you owe. And I know you can’t pay it off doing what you do.”

My breath stuttered. Because he was right. Every word. And I hated that he knew it.

He pushed off the counter and stepped closer. “I’m offering you something different. Something bigger.”

The atmosphere shifted, thickened, swallowed the space between us. “What… exactly?”

Damien picked up his whiskey glass, took a slow sip, and said it like he was stating the weather.

“Three months. Exclusively mine.”

My heart thudded painfully. “What?”

“You stay with me,” he said. “Travel with me. Sleep in my bed. Be at my side. No other clients. No other men.”

My pulse roared in my ears. “That’s—That’s not something I do. I’m not a—”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not a what?”

A storm built in my chest, hot and chaotic. “A mistress. A possession. Someone who belongs to someone.”

“I never said you’d belong to me.” He lowered his voice. “But you’d be with me.”

“And in return,” I said uncertainly, “what? You get to own my time? My body?”

“In return,” he said, “I erase your debts.”

I froze.

“What?” I whispered.

“All of it.” His eyes didn’t shift. “Every last cent. Wiped clean.”

My grip on the wineglass tightened until my knuckles turned white. My throat felt dry. “You’re lying.”

“Do I look like a man who lies about money?”

No. No, he didn’t. And that was the problem. Everything about him radiated terrifying honesty wrapped in power. It was dangerous. Suffocatingly dangerous.

“That’s—Damien, that’s a lot of money.” I chuckled tightly, trying to sound unfazed.

“Not for me.”

The bluntness landed like a slap. I stared at him, stunned, my heartbeat fluttering painfully beneath my ribs. Three months. Freedom. A clean slate. No more collectors. No more fear strangling me in my sleep.

But tied to a man like him?

A man who watched me like I was something he’d already decided to consume?

“What’s the catch?” I breathed.

His jaw flexed, just slightly. “You give me your time. Your presence. Your honesty.” His gaze darkened. “And your obedience.”

My breath hitched. “Obedience?”

“To me,” he said simply.

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog. “This feels like a trap.”

“It’s an offer,” he corrected. “A lucrative one.”

“And if I say no?”

He didn’t answer right away. He didn’t have to. The silence itself felt like a warning. I pushed back from the counter, pacing toward the windows, staring out at the sprawling city lights below.

Three months.

Three months of being tied to a man whose presence made my knees weak and my instincts scream. Three months of losing myself to someone I barely knew.

But also three months for a future I could actually build.

A free life.

A chance to start over. 

A chance to finally be like one of those freaking dreamers.

I exhaled shakily and turned back to him. “Damien… this is insane.”

“Most worthwhile things are.”

“Why me?” I demanded. “You could have anyone. Literally anyone.”

“I don’t want anyone,” he said. “I want you.”

My stomach flipped again, traitorous and hot. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

“Not enough to offer me—”

“Selene.” My name left his lips like a command. “Come here.”

I didn’t move.

He approached instead, slow, deliberate, the air shifting with each step he took. When he reached me, he braced one hand against the glass beside my head, caging me in without touching me.

“Say yes,” he murmured.

My heart thundered wildly. “I… can’t just decide something like this on the spot. I need time.”

“Time changes nothing.”

“It changes everything,” I argued.

His lips curved—not into a smile, but something far more dangerous. He leaned in, his breath warm against the side of my face, his voice a low, velvet threat.

“Careful, Selene,” he whispered. “If you say no…” His lips brushed the shell of my ear, sending a violent shiver through me. “…I’ll make you regret walking out of this room.”

My knees nearly gave out.

And I didn’t know if the terror twisting inside me was warning me to run or begging me to stay.