chapter 5

pov damien

The scent of expensive perfume clung to my sheets, mixing with the lingering traces of whiskey and something undeniably feminine. Sunlight sliced through the penthouse windows, casting golden streaks across the silk bedding.

Beside me, a warm body stirred.

"Mmm... don’t leave yet," a soft, sleepy voice murmured against my shoulder.

I smirked, tilting my head slightly to glance at the woman draped over me. Her red hair spilled over the pillow, a sharp contrast against my crisp white sheets. Legs as long as sin. Green eyes that had been hazy with pleasure the night before. I searched my memory for her name but came up empty. Not that it mattered. Names weren’t important in nights like these.

Carefully, I shifted out from under her arm and swung my legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the back of my neck. My head wasn’t pounding, but I could feel the weight of the previous night—cocktails, laughter, pleasure, detachment—all part of a well-rehearsed cycle.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice laced with drowsy seduction.

"Busy morning," I said, reaching for my watch on the nightstand—Rolex, platinum, engraved. 8:30 AM. Late. Again.

Her lips curved into a lazy smile. "Cancel."

I chuckled, fastening the watch around my wrist. "Tempting, sweetheart. But I’ve got a city to run."

Her fingers traced lazy circles on the sheet beside her. "We could have round two before breakfast."

I exhaled, standing. "I don’t do breakfast."

The truth was, I didn’t do mornings after. The script was always the same—pleasure, goodbyes, and then back to reality.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Chris.

I answered, already knowing his tone before he even spoke.

"You’re late, blackstone."

I smirked, rubbing a hand through my already-messy hair. "Tell me something new."

"You’re judging today, remember? The cooking contest? The one you agreed to weeks ago?" Chris sounded exasperated, which wasn’t unusual. "You can’t just show up looking like you rolled out of a bar."

"Not a bar. A bed. And I rolled out just fine."

"You—" He sighed. "Get your ass here."

"Relax, I’m on my way." I ended the call before he could continue his rant.

Behind me, the redhead stretched, the sheet slipping slightly. "Come back to bed, Damian."

I turned, offering a charming smile. "Rain check."

She pouted, but I was already moving, heading toward the shower. No attachments. No regrets. Just another night.

---

By the time I stepped into the elevator, dressed in a tailored navy suit and crisp white shirt, another familiar figure was waiting.

Brunette. Sultry eyes. From two nights ago.

She leaned against the elevator wall, wearing nothing but on a black dress with was incredibly short aand left nothing to the imagination. "Miss me?"

I smirked. "Didn’t realize you were still here."

She shrugged, playing with the hem of the  dress fabric. "Thought I’d stick around. Thought you’d notice."

I exhaled, amused. "I don’t do repeats."

She pouted, but I could see the knowing glint in her eyes. They all knew the deal.

As the elevator doors slid open, I stepped out into the lobby where my Bentley was already waiting.

"Where to, Mr. blackstone?" my driver asked, opening the door.

I glanced at my phone. Chris’s frantic texts about the contest.

"The venue. Let’s get this over with."

---

By the time I arrived, the event was in full swing. The grand hall buzzed with energy—chefs in their pristine uniforms, judges and critics mingling, the scent of butter, herbs, and sizzling meat filling the air.

I walked in, adjusting my cufflinks, and immediately, eyes turned. It wasn’t just the wealth. It was the reputation. Damian blackstone—billionaire, playboy, untouchable.

Women whispered. Men took second glances. The usual.

Chris spotted me from across the venue, marching toward me like an overworked babysitter. "For once in your life, could you show up on time?"

I grinned. "Where’s the fun in that?"

Chris ran a hand over his face, looking as if he was contemplating murder. "This isn’t one of your late-night rendezvous, Damian. This is a prestigious event, and you’re supposed to look like you belong here."

"I do belong here. Just at my own pace."

"Your pace is a disaster."

I clapped a hand on his shoulder, amusement clear in my tone. "And yet, you keep inviting me to these things. Makes me wonder if you secretly enjoy the chaos."

Chris groaned. "Sometimes I think you exist just to test my patience. Come on, let’s get you introduced to the contestants before—"

Before he could respond, a woman walked up to him, exchanging a few words. I barely noticed her at first. Then she turned slightly, and my gaze caught hers—

Something shifted.

She was different.

There was no fluttering of lashes, no attempt to linger in my space. No intrigue.

she didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink. Didn’t react.

Chris gestured toward me. "Evelyn, meet Damian blackstone—our esteemed judge, though he prefers to make an entrance rather than an appearance."

Evelyn.

She turned fully now, her posture relaxed, completely unimpressed.

It was a rare thing, that kind of indifference.

I tilted my head, intrigued. Who was she

I tilted my head, letting a slow, charming smile spread across my face. "Evelyn. A pleasure."

She nodded, her expression unreadable. "Mr. blackstone. I hope you take your duties seriously. Some of us have worked hard for this."

A challenge. I liked that.

"I always take pleasure seriously," I said smoothly, watching for a reaction.

She didn’t blink. "This isn’t about pleasure. It’s about skill. If you’re looking for something else, I suggest you find it elsewhere."

Chris coughed to hide a laugh. I just smiled, fascinated.

"Duly noted," I said, eyes lingering on her. "I look forward to seeing what you can do."

She didn’t linger, didn’t indulge me with a second glance. Instead, she turned, her focus sharp as she headed back toward the contestants.

I watched her go, intrigued.

Cold. Professional. Completely uninterested.

For the first time in a long time, I was intrigued for reasons that had nothing to do with conquest.

Who the hell was Evelyn, and why did I suddenly want to find out?

And more importantly—why did I suddenly care?