LEILA ..I visited temples, their ancient stones cool beneath my bare feet, the air inside smelling of incense and peace.The intricate carvings on the walls told stories I didn’t understand, but the feeling was universal, a quiet reverence, a sense of something larger than myself.I ate street food, bold, explosive flavors that danced on my tongue, sat on tiny plastic stools at makeshift stalls, surrounded by locals, feeling like an observer in a world that was both utterly alien and strangely welcoming.The sun here didn’t just shine, it blazed, a molten gold disc in the sky that turned everything it touched into something incandescent.The rain didn’t just fall, it poured, a sudden, torrential downpour that sent everyone scattering, the streets turning into temporary rivers in minutes.The nights weren’t just dark, they were alive, filled with the glow of lanterns, the murmur of voices, the distant beat of music, that’s the pattern of how it went so forgive this.It’s making me
LEILA ..The date ended politely, he walked me to the corner and we stood there for a moment, the city noise a distant hum.“I had a really nice time, Leila,” he said, his smile genuine.“Me too, Liam,” I replied, meaning the ‘nice’ part, at least.He hesitated for a second, then extended his hand, a polite handshake, his grip was firm, his hand warm.It was fine. Exactly fine. And that was the problem.“Goodnight, Leila.”“Goodnight, Liam.”I watched him walk away, a perfectly nice guy in a perfectly nice suit, disappearing into the crowd and I felt nothing.No flutter in my stomach, no lingering warmth from the handshake, no anticipation of seeing him again.Just emptiness.The same kind of emptiness I’d felt when I walked out of that penthouse door years ago, but different now, less raw, more resigned.The comparison had killed it before it even had a chance to breathe.I walked home, the city lights blurring around me, unlocked my door, stepped into the quiet of my apartment,
LEILA ..“Okay, L, focus This one” Sophia held up a dress, a swirl of emerald green silk, her eyes wide with evangelical fervor.We were in a dressing room at Bergdorf Goodman, surrounded by discarded garments and Sophia’s boundless enthusiasm.After my reluctant promise not to entirely self-immolate with work, she’d taken my agreement to a ‘possible date’ as a green light to initiate a full-scale wardrobe intervention.“Soph, it’s a lot of green,” I said, looking at the shimmering fabric.It was beautiful, everything in here was, but it felt extra. Like I was trying too hard.“Exactly” she crowed.“It’s not your usual ‘blend into the wallpaper’ black. This says ‘I am here, I am fabulous, and I might just set something on fire’.” She grinned, tossing the dress towards me.“Try it on.”We’d been at it for over an hour.We went to a few stores and looked at dresses and even tried some on, everything looked so nice, the fabrics like whispers against my skin, the colors like jewels, an
LEILA .. I met her on a side street downtown, late one night, as I was walking home from another dead-end job interview. I saw them first. Three guys circled her and they looked drunk, leering . Their words, rough and ugly, carrying on the damp night air, trying to corner her. Trying to want to have sex with her, the intent raw and disgusting in their eyes, in their stance. Something snapped inside me and all the fear, all the helplessness, all the times I had been caught, trapped it surged into a cold, hard resolve. I won’t watch of any it, Not again. Not to her. Not to anyone I could stop.I didn’t think just so moved. Ran at them, yelling, a sharp, raw sound pulled from my gut, threw myself into the middle of it. I wasn’t strong, not like them. My body still ached from Gerald’s capture, faint bruises blooming under my skin, a ghost of his grip on my arm, but I fought, scrappy, desperate, kicking, scratching, hitting, yelling, making as much noise as possible. Surprisi
LEILA .. My gut clenched.A familiar, sharp pain.Seeing him. Seeing him like that, happy with her, after everything.A sigh escaped me, long and shaky, filled with a cocktail of exhaustion, pain, and something that felt suspiciously like jealousy.Goddamn it.I hit my phone on the desk, not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to make the wood protest.Rolled my eyes, a physical show of my frustration.Why did they have to be everywhere? Why did he have to look so okay? So happy?“Breathe, Leila,” I muttered to myself, the words a mantra, a desperate attempt to regain control over my runaway emotions. Just breathe. I closed my eyes, focusing on the simple act of inhaling, exhaling and pushing back the image and the feeling it evoked.A soft knock on my office door startled me, my eyes snapped open. Right. Still at work. Still alive. Still here.“Come in,” I called out, my voice weary and the door opened as Sophia walked in, her smile wide, her eyes twinkling. My fri
DAMIEN .. We went to Italy. Stepped off the plane into air that smelled like sunshine and ancient stone, to a sun-drenched villa, and everything looked so beautiful, the vines heavy with grapes, the terracotta roof tiles warm in the light, and I just wanted it all for us, for Elena and me. We then did a 360.Not literally, but it felt like it, back onto a plane heading north, to the Swiss Alps, to a ski chalet nestled high in the snow, and the air bit at my skin, clean and sharp, everything white and silent, except for the crunch of snow underfoot.Months. They unfolded like a map, marked by the places we went, the different skies above us. We moved from city to country, from heat to cold, leaving a trail of discarded boarding passes and shared pillowcases. My life became a conscious effort to build a new narrative, a story written in sunshine and snow, in whispered conversations and shared laughter. Looking out for her laughter, that bright, genuine sound that cut through th
DAMIEN ..Her touch was light, sending shivers down my spine, reigniting the fire.My shirt fell open, then off, pooling at my feet.She reached for the buckle of my belt. Her fingers worked the leather, the metal, my pants slid down and I kicked them away.Standing there in just my briefs, then stripping those off too, my cock hard and throbbing, aching for her, to feel her body against mine, to hear her voice.She looked at my body, her eyes trailing down my chest, my abdomen and then reached out, her fingers tracing the lines of my muscles, the faint scars I carried.Then her hands moved lower, finding me, the feel of her touch soft, exploring, igniting every nerve ending.She cupped me, her fingers wrapping around me, a slow, deliberate touch that made me groan, a raw sound pulled from my gut.She smiled then, a slow, deep smile of pure desire, her eyes still locked on mine.“You’re perfect, Damien.”My hands found her, tracing the curve of her waist, the delicate lace of her g
DAMIEN ..The suite was silent when I entered.Dark.Just a few lamps on, casting pools of soft light, I knew she was here and my heart leaped, a flicker of desperate hope. She hadn't left London.She was here.I found her in the main living area.The lights were off except for the soft glow from the city outside the windows, she was sitting on the sofa, curled up, her perfect emerald green dress gone, replaced by a silk robe and a glass of red wine in her hand.Her hair was packed up, tied back in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, exposing the elegant line of her throat.She looked fragile. Beautifully broken.Her body language radiating sadness and withdrawal.She looked up as I entered the room, her eyes, dark in the dim light, fixing on mine. No smile.Just a deep, silent stare that pierced right through me, it showed that she had some much questions and it had a profound sadness and judgment in them.I walked into the room, slowly, needing to explain, “Elena,” I said, m
DAMIEN ..The air hit me, cool and damp, as I stepped out a side door, into a narrow alleyway behind the gallery.The two men followed, their thin smiles gone, replaced by a cold look while Clever and my men fell into position, silent, ready.This wasn’t a brawl.This was business.My business.Dirty, brutal, efficient.I moved first, a calculated strike to the gut of the scar-faced one, doubling him over with a grunt. The other came at me, fast, a knife appearing in his hand, the glint of steel in the dim light.I blocked, sidestepped, the movements fluid, and practiced. It boiled down to knowing how to break a man with your bare hands, how to end a fight before it became a spectacle. My pride demanded it. No messy gun play on foreign soil unless absolutely necessary.Just control. Efficient, brutal control that left no trace on my suit, only on their bodies. A man in a crisp suit, probably someone leaving the exhibition for a smoke, rounded the corner of the alley just as I slam