Eloise
The pounding bass of the club's music felt like it was vibrating through my bones. I sat at our usual table. Ava was beside me. She had suggested I go to the club with her to unwind, and I bet you that was a bad idea for me but she insisted I go with her. As we waited for the bartender's attention, Ava kept up a steady stream of chatter, her voice a comforting background noise. Aswear her chats weren't helping the pain in my chest atall. "And then he had the nerve to say he didn't like my dress, stupid guy" she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Can you believe that?" I managed a genuine laugh at that. I was seriously not interested. "Seriously? Who doesn't like your dresses?" "Exactly!" she exclaimed, pulling her middle finger up in mock exasperation. "Men are idiots" I laughed a genuine laugh at that. The bartender finally noticed us, and Ava ordered our drinks. As we waited, I glanced around the club, my eyes drifting over the crowd. That's when i saw him. He was tall, strongly built, which made his expensive jacket look even more attractive. Every detail about him— his piercing grey eyes, tousled hair, the confident way he moved, i couldn’t look away. Ava, who usually remained unfazed by good-looking men, nudged me with a look of pure astonishment. “Ely, did you see that man?” she murmured. “Oh, I did,” I said, unable to mask the breathless tone in my voice. My eyes locked on his, his gaze intense. Then, as if drawn by an invisible string, he began making his way toward us. “Eloise,” Ava whispered, grabbing my arm. “He’s coming over here” But i couldn’t respond. Up close, he was even more striking, grey focused eyes, a hint of stubble, and a calm expression, his cologne waved through the air with each step he took, as if he was entirely comfortable with the effect he had on people. “Hello,” he said, his voice smooth, laced with confidence. “I’m Mike, nice to meet you” I swallowed, forcing myself to remember how to speak. “Elois-e…” “Eloise,” He repeated, letting my name roll off his tongue slowly. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” I felt warmth creep up my neck, and not just from the alcohol. The way he looked at me made it easy to forget my recent heartache. “Eloise,” Ava’s voice broke through the haze. “I need to go, just got an urgent call from my mom. Will you come with me, or are you good here?” I tore my eyes away from Mike, glancing at her. My instincts told me to go, but the allure of staying here with him was too strong. “I’ll be fine,” I reassured her, trying to sound composed. “I can get a chauffeur.” Ava’s brows lifted slightly, a knowing look in her eyes, but she nodded. “Alright. Just… be careful, okay? I will call you when I get home” I nodded. The second she left, when I turned there was heat in his stare, something that made me feel dizzy, drawn to him in a way i couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the connection. “Your friend seems concerned about you,” Mike observed, a faint smile playing on his lips. “My bestfriend, she's always like that,” I replied, the words feeling loose and unfamiliar on my tongue, courtesy of the cocktails. “Well, I’m glad she left,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. “It means I get you all to myself.” I felt a thrill ripple through me. I didn’t even know this man, but the confidence in his tone, the way he held my gaze, was enough to keep me rooted. He leaned closer, his hand coming up to lightly touch my arm, a small, intimate gesture that sent a shiver down my spine. “Dance with me?” I nodded, not trusting my voice, and let him lead me to the dance floor. He kept his hand at the small of my back, fingers splayed possessively. We fell into a rhythm that felt natural, as if we've done this a hundred times. It wasn’t long before i found myself leaning into him, my fingers grazing the lapels of his jacket. The smell of his cologne, the feel of his hand trailing along my back. His eyes never leaving mine, as though he was savouring every reaction, every small gasp that escaped my lips. "It was a pleasure to dance with you Eloise,” he said, his voice a warm whisper against my ear. “It’s like i don’t want this moment to end.” “Me either,” I whispered back, hardly recognizing the boldness in my own voice. He pulled me closer, our bodies now fully pressed together, his hand drifting up to cup my jaw. I could feel the heat of his breath as he looked down at me, his lips inches from mine. Slowly, he leaned in, brushing his lips against mine. It was a gentle kiss, but as i melted against him, he deepened it, his other hand sliding around my waist, holding me. I pulled back slightly, breathless, my heart pounding. “You… you’re crazy” I managed to say, a small smile breaking through my flushed face. He smiled back, his thumb grazing my cheek. “Only if you want me to be.” I felt a laugh bubble up, light and free, and before i could say anything else, he kissed me again, and for the first time in so long, i felt alive. His touch was gentle but insistent, igniting something deep within me that had been dormant, forgotten. As we pulled apart, he looked at me with a smile that was both comforting and devastating. “Let me take you home,” he said softly, his voice a tender command. I nodded, unable to trust myself to speak. We left the club together, his arm securely around me as if protecting me from the world.Lucian I sank into the plush leather armchair by my office window, swirling the remaining amber liquid in my glass. The scotch glowed under the early dusk light, casting honeyed reflections across the Italian marble floor. Outside, the city skyline rose in jagged steel silhouettes, bathed in blood-orange sunset. But none of its beauty reached me today. My phone buzzed atop the glass table, rattling slightly against the crystal decanter. I ignored it at first, staring blankly at the shifting horizon. When it buzzed again, insistent, I snatched it up with an irritated sigh. “Speak,” I snapped. “It’s Julian from Ristov PR,” came the crisp voice. “Apologies for the late update, sir, but I thought you’d want to know immediately. There’s talk spreading through the upper design circles today.” I felt a familiar tightening in my chest, an ancient predatory tension. “What talk.” “It appears Damon Grey has been showing… unusual interest in Eloise Sinclair’s upcoming collection,” Julian co
Damon I stepped out of my black Jaguar, the engine purring into silence as I pulled the key fob from the ignition. The crisp air hit my face, sharp and biting, carrying the faint scent of croissant from the vendor down the street. Eloise’s atelier sat nestled between a pottery studio and a minimalist flower shop, its matte milk facade different against the row of sandstone townhouses. I adjusted the cuffs of my burgundy coat, brushing a stray lint off my lapel, and headed towards her door. Through the glass panel, I caught a glimpse of her silhouette, hunched over her drafting table, pencil moving in quick, desperate strokes. Even from here, she looked frayed around the edges—like threads pulled tight. I knocked softly before entering. A faint chime rang overhead as I stepped inside. The warmth of the atelier enveloped me, scented with sandalwood candles and the faint mineral tang of copper filings. Eloise didn’t look up at first. Her pencil paused mid-line as she sensed me, then
Mike I sat in my office with the blinds half-closed, the morning sun slicing across the dark desk. My hands itched to type out emails, to approve invoices, to call Eloise just to hear her voice steady me. But instead, they drummed an anxious, frustrated rhythm against the leather armrest. She hadn’t replied to my last text. She hadn’t replied to any of them since last night’s dinner. Dinner with Damon Grey. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to breathe evenly. Damon had always had that effect on people, men or women, it didn’t matter. His presence alone could shift the temperature in a room. Make powerful CEOs sweat under their ties. Make billionaires lean forward to listen. Make someone like Eloise…look at him like he was offering salvation itself. I replayed every second of that dinner. The way she’d visibly softened at his words. The way her eyes had brightened with something I hadn’t seen in weeks, hope, curiosity, maybe even attraction. And the way Damon had watched her, h
Eloise I dabbed a drop of foundation beneath my eyes, smudging it in with trembling fingers. My reflection in the bathroom mirror looked composed enough, hair swept into a loose bun, a silk sage blouse tucked into black wide-leg trousers. But under the surface, my veins pulsed with raw dread. Mike’s text had come that morning. Small PR dinner. Just you, me, and a potential consultant ally. Think of it as therapy with wine. I didn’t want wine. I didn’t want therapy. I wanted peace and silence. A night without strategising my survival or rehearsing polite lies to hide my fractures. But here I was, stepping out of my Uber into the warm haze of Upturn’s private rooftop dining lounge. The hostess greeted me by name, leading me past sculpted palms and glass lanterns flickering against the Manhattan dusk. Fairy lights looped along the terrace railing, casting golden webs across ivory tablecloths. Mike spotted me first, standing from his seat and lifting a hand in silent greeting. Beside
Damon The morning sun filtered through the tinted glass of my Maserati as I pulled into the underground lot beneath Donovan’s Capital’s headquarters. The familiar rumble of the engine settled into a purr before I cut it off, silence folding around me. I checked my watch. 9:17am. Early enough to catch Mike before his day spiralled into back-to-back crises, late enough that the interns wouldn’t be clogging up the espresso machine in the executive lounge. The elevator ride to his floor was quiet. Polished brass mirrors reflected my clean-cut navy suit, crisp white shirt open at the throat, and the faint scar across my jawline, a reminder from years back, another life I rarely revisited. The doors slid open to reveal Donovan Capital’s minimalist reception, all slate floors, white marble counters, and hushed conversation. Mike’s assistant, a petite woman with braids coiled tightly against her scalp, gave me a polite nod. “Mr. Damon Grey to see Mr. Mike,” she said into the phone, her
Lucian The soft buzz of my phone broke the rhythmic scratching of my Montblanc pen against legal documents. I glanced at the notification: an encrypted message from Eliza, my PR relations manager. All ready. Photographer briefed. Pickup scheduled for 1pm. I smiled faintly, my thumb tapping the phone case as I leaned back in my office chair. Sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting clean golden beams across my polished mahogany desk. The city lay beneath me like a chessboard, each block and skyscraper a piece under my control. “Micah,” I called, my voice echoing through the partially open office door. Micah appeared almost instantly, his suit immaculate, posture rigid. “Yes, sir.” “Move my 1pm investor check-in to tomorrow. Have the car ready in thirty minutes.” Micah didn’t blink, merely inclined his head. “Yes, sir.” I watched him leave, then turned my gaze back to the city, imagining Max’s small, trusting eyes lighting up when he saw me waiting outside