The Test

SELENE.

I stood there for a moment, pressed against the cool wall where Damien had left me, trying to steady my breath.

My pulse still throbbed where his body had hovered a moment earlier, and my skin tingled with the ghost of his touch.

I told myself I needed to calm down, that I needed to get myself together. This man fed on weakness, on cracks in composure. If I didn’t pull myself together right now, I’d lose before we had even begun.

“Definitely not gonna let that happen." I thought to myself.

So I squared my shoulders.

I lifted my chin, even though it felt heavier than it should, and forced myself to look him directly in the eyes. He stood across the room now, one hand in his pocket, watching me as though I were some kind of experiment he couldn’t wait to unravel. His gaze was steady, sharp, unsettlingly curious.

“Are you done trembling?” he asked softly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Cause you're doing that an awful lot, and it's kinda amusing."

I was tempted to roll my eyes at him, but I didn't. “What is amusing?"

His lips left out a soft sound that sounded almost like a grunt. “It does make you look cute. Like a Chibi."

I clenched my jaw. “Mr. Cross, I’m not trembling.”

He raised a brow, amusement flickering. “You’re lying to yourself more than to me. Like I said earlier at the beginning of our time together, you should stick to honesty.”

God, he was infuriating. And hot at the same time. I was clearly looking at the devil wrapped in sun and offered to me on a platter of gold.

But the truth was, he wasn’t wrong. I had lost control—again. In my job, I was always the one who dictated the pace, the tension, the emotions. Men were predictable. Easy. I could read desire like a book, flipping the pages before they even realized I had turned them.

But Damien… Damien was a different story entirely.

Being in control around him felt like trying to catch smoke. Ridiculous.

Still, I refused to let him see how much he was getting to me. So I pushed off the wall and walked toward him, careful to keep my steps slow and steady, even though every part of me felt like it was vibrating with a dangerous kind of energy.

“You wanted me to prove myself,” I said. “So here I am.”

His eyes dragged over me—slow, deliberate, heated in a way that sent my stomach into a twist. “Are you?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

“Good.” His voice dipped, darker now, carrying a weight that prickled down my spine. “Then let’s see if you can handle the rules.”

Rules? Here we go again.

I swallowed, though my throat felt tight. “What rules?”

He stepped closer, closing the distance I had carefully maintained. Each inch he took stole a breath from my lungs, and I didn’t know why he affected me like this. Why it felt like the air thickened whenever he moved.

“Rule one,” he said, voice low, “you follow my lead.”

My breath caught. “Your lead? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Yes. My lead.” His gaze locked onto mine, unwavering. “You don’t control the pace with me. You don’t steer the moment. You don’t hide behind your usual armor of confidence or practiced seduction.”

His words hit harder than I expected. So he really had seen through everything. Every mask, every veneer, every little defense I had perfected over the years.

“You surrender to my pace,” he finished. “Just the way I like it."

I felt heat crawl up my neck. “And if I don’t?”

He tilted his head slightly, studying me like he already knew exactly what I’d choose. “Then you walk away.”

My stomach dropped.

“And lose everything I offered you,” he added, voice deceptively calm. “Your debts. Your freedom. Your chance at stability.”

He paused, letting the threat settle between us like thick smoke.

“And you lose me,” he said quietly. “And that's me saying a lot."

Something inside me flinched—annoyingly, unexpectedly. I didn’t want to care. But some treacherous part of me did.

I forced my voice to stay steady. “You sound awfully sure that I’d care about losing you.”

He smirked. “You already do.”

“No,” I snapped, a little too fast. “I don’t.”

His smirk deepened, as if my reaction proved his point.

“You’re trembling again, little Chibi,” he murmured.

God damn it! Who the hell was this man before me? I felt like tugging at the root of my hair.

I folded my arms over my chest. “Fine. What’s rule two?”

He stepped closer—too close—and the coffee-and-smoke scent of him wrapped around me, stealing another breath. “Rule two,” he murmured, “you don’t pretend with me.”

“I don’t pretend,” I whispered.

“You pretend constantly,” he countered. “Your smile, your composure, your little one-liners—they’re all part of a pretty shell you built to keep the world from seeing you.”

His fingers lifted to my chin, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to meet his eyes. My breath hitched, traitorous.

“With me,” he said, “you don’t get to hide. Ever.”

Every nerve inside me felt exposed. This man could literally read me like a book.

“And rule three,” he added.

I swallowed. “What now?”

“You don’t run.”

My pulse thudded.

“You want to bolt every five minutes,” he said. “I can see it in your breathing, your hands, the way your eyes flick toward the door. You run from anything that feels too real.”

My chest tightened. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I will.”

The certainty in his voice rattled me. It was too calm, too sure, too dangerous. And yet, part of me leaned into it, like a flame drawn to oxygen.

“And what do you give me,” I managed, “if I follow these rules?”

He leaned in slightly, letting his breath brush my cheek.

“Freedom,” he whispered. “Security. Protection.” His eyes darkened. “And me.”

My heart hammered against my chest. “You’re not exactly a comforting option. You've made that abundantly clear.”

“No,” he murmured. “I’m not. But I’ll be honest with you every step of the way. I’ll push you. Challenge you. Break the walls you’ve built. And in return—”

His hand slid down my arm, slow, deliberate, claiming.

“—you’ll become someone stronger than you’ve ever allowed yourself to be.”

I inhaled sharply. He was too close. Too intense. Too much. He was intoxicating. How could someone be this intoxicating?

“And if I say no?” I whispered, though the answer already simmered inside me.

“Then you walk out of this suite,” he said quietly. “And I let you go.”

It almost sounded genuine.

Almost.

But then he added, “And I will make sure you regret it.”

A chill danced down my spine. Not because he threatened me—but because I believed him.

I stared at him, my pulse beating hard in my throat. I hated that he saw through me so easily. I hated that he could read me, bend me, pull reactions out of me I never intended to show. But most of all, I hated that deep down—far deeper than I wanted to admit—I didn’t want to walk away.

Maybe I was insane.

Maybe he was dangerous.

Maybe this entire arrangement was a terrible, reckless idea.

But so were the last few years of my life, and none of those had offered anything close to escape.

“Your rules,” I whispered. “I follow them.”

His eyes didn’t widen. He didn’t look surprised. If anything, he looked like he had predicted this all along.

“Say it again,” he said softly.

I swallowed hard. “I’ll follow your rules.”

The corner of his mouth lifted—not a smirk this time, but something darker. Warmer. More possessive.

“Good,” he murmured.

His hand slid down my arm again, slower this time, deliberate and intoxicating. The touch was light but firm, like a claim—like he was reminding me he now had the right to touch me like this.

A shiver tore through me.

Then his voice dropped, soft and devastating: “Good girl.”

My breath stuttered. Heat shot through me, unexpected and unwelcome, and my knees weakened just slightly. He noticed. Of course he did.

He stepped closer, and the last fragment of space between us evaporated. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Every part of me felt suspended—caught between fear, anticipation, and a slow-burning hunger I couldn’t deny.

His hand lifted to my jaw, fingers brushing my skin like he was tracing something precious. His thumb brushed my lips, soft and electric, and my breath hitched again.

“Damien,” I whispered, unsure if it was a warning or a plea.

But he didn’t give me time to decide.

He pulled me closer—firm, decisive—and before I could take another breath, his mouth crashed onto mine.

And every last defense I’d clung to shattered.

Holy fuck!