The Spill

Aria Morgan wiped her clammy palms on the apron she had hastily tied over her faded jeans. The restaurant was bustling tonight — a Friday night in New York City always was — and every table was filled with people who didn’t care whether she was stressed, tired, or running on three hours of sleep.

“Table seven needs refills!” a manager shouted from the kitchen window.

Aria nodded, clutching a tray of red wine and sparkling water. She had learned the hard way that rushing only caused spills. But tonight, no amount of caution could have prepared her for him.

She approached the corner table like any other. That’s when she saw the man.

Ethan Blackwood.

She had heard the whispers in the restaurant staff room: the infamous CEO, feared in the business world, untouchable, wealthy beyond imagination, and rumored to be ruthless in every sense. And now, he was seated mere feet away from her, looking like a sculpture carved from marble and shadow.

He didn’t just sit in his chair. He commandedthe room. Broad shoulders, tailored suit, hair perfectly slicked back, and eyes so piercing that Aria felt as if he could see straight through her. Her stomach dropped.

She swallowed hard and stepped closer.

“Red wine, sir?” she asked, forcing a smile.

Ethan’s eyes lifted slowly, a faint arch of a brow. The slightest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for a second, Aria’s confidence wavered. Something in his gaze made her pulse race. Something dangerous.

“Yes. That one.” His voice was low, controlled, and uncomfortably smooth.

Aria nodded and steadied the tray. That’s when her heel caught on the edge of a chair. She stumbled. The tray wobbled. Her heart skipped.

“No—”

And then, the inevitable happened.

Red wine arced through the air like a liquid comet and splattered across Ethan Blackwood’s crisp, white shirt.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” Aria cried, grabbing napkins and trying to blot the stain.

Ethan didn’t flinch. He didn’t shout. He simply looked down at the dark crimson spreading across his suit, then back at her with eyes that were unnervingly calm.

“You spilled wine on me.”

“Yes! I know! I’m—”

“Do you have any idea who I am?” His voice was low, like velvet dipped in steel.

“Yes! I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—”

Ethan stood, tall, impossibly imposing, and the entire corner of the restaurant seemed to shrink around him. Aria instinctively stepped back, bumping into the chair behind her.

“Do you?” he repeated, his gaze slicing through her.

“I—I’ve heard your name…” she stammered.

“Good,” he said, finally allowing a flash of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Now, tell me. How do you intend to fix this?”

Aria opened her mouth to apologize again, but words caught in her throat. She had no idea how to fix this. Not with him. Not with Ethan Blackwood.

“I… I can pay for the dry cleaning?” she offered weakly.

He shook his head slowly, as if amused. “Money isn’t the problem, Ms. Morgan.”

Her stomach flipped. “Ms. Morgan?”

“Yes. Aria Morgan. You’re the one who thinks spilling wine on me is an accident?” He took a deliberate step closer, and she felt her chest tighten.

“I—I… it was an accident! I swear!” Her voice trembled.

He circled her slowly, inspecting her as though she were both dangerous and fragile at once. “Accident… or carelessness?”

Before she could answer, he stopped, leaning just slightly closer so that she could feel the heat radiating off him. He smelled of expensive cologne and something darker — like danger mixed with desire.

“You’re reckless,” he said softly, yet his tone carried a weight that made Aria’s knees weak.

“I—I—”

Ethan cut her off with a raised hand. “Don’t. Don’t apologize. Not yet. You need to understand something first.”

Aria’s eyes widened. “Understand what?”

His gaze bore into hers, unyielding. “I don’t believe in accidents. Not in business. Not in life. And certainly not with people like you.”

People like her? She had no idea what he meant, but the heat between them — the electricity that surged through the air — made her cheeks burn.

“I—” she started again.

“Enough.” He straightened, adjusting his perfectly tailored suit. “I want a proposition, Ms. Morgan. A deal.”

Her brain short-circuited. A deal?

“What… what kind of deal?” she asked cautiously.

Ethan’s lips curved into a smirk, cold and infuriating. “One year. As my… mistress.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Mistress?

“What? No! Absolutely not! I—I can’t—”

“You can. And you will.” His voice dropped even lower, the kind of voice that demanded obedience without raising a finger. “One year. No love. No strings. Just… pleasure. You get paid, I get what I want, and everyone stays in their place.”

Aria’s head spun. “I—You can’t—That’s—”

“I can,” he interrupted sharply. “You have a choice. Sign, and you solve your problems. Refuse, and… well, let’s just say it won’t be good for you, or your mother.”

Her chest tightened. He knew about her mother’s medical bills. Panic rose like fire in her veins. How could he possibly know?

“Who… how…?” she whispered.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “What matters is that you make a decision. Tonight.”

Aria felt like the floor had dropped from beneath her. Everything she had struggled for, every dollar she had saved, every sleepless night — it all came down to this moment.

A year. As his mistress.

The room felt like it was closing in. She could feel the heat of his presence, the danger, and the raw, unspoken desire that hung between them like a tangible force. Her mind screamed NO, but her body… her body reacted in ways she didn’t want to admit.

“I—I need time,” she said finally, voice trembling.

“No time,” he said coldly. “Decide now. Or walk away. And don’t come crying to me later.”

Aria’s heart pounded. She had never felt so small, so exposed, yet so inexplicably drawn to a man she barely knew.

“You… you’re insane,” she whispered.

“And you,” he countered, leaning closer, “are far more interesting than you realize.”

Her knees nearly buckled. Every instinct screamed to run, to refuse, to never look back. And yet… there was something magnetic about him, something dangerous and intoxicating.

The restaurant seemed to fade around them. No clinking glasses, no bustling waiters, no soft background music — just the pull between her and Ethan Blackwood.

One year. That was all. One year. Could she survive it? Could she resist him? Could she protect herself… or would she fall completely, irrevocably, into the orbit of the most dangerous man she had ever met?

Her hands trembled. She swallowed hard.

“Yes,” she said, almost against her own will. “I… I’ll do it.”

Ethan’s smirk widened. “Good. You’ll find the rules are simple. Obey, entertain, and enjoy… or suffer consequences. Shall we start?”

Aria’s breath caught. And in that moment, as she stared into his eyes, she realized that nothing — not her independence, not her pride, not her carefully guarded heart — would ever be the same again.

This was just the beginning.