The air in Room 206 was suffocating, thick with the weight of anticipation and something darker—something that sent a thrill of unease slithering down my spine. My fingers gripped the edge of the bed, the smooth fabric crumpling beneath my touch as I willed myself to stay composed. But every tick of the clock on the wall was a reminder of my foolishness, each passing second hammering in the reality that he wasn't coming.
9:00 PM had come and gone.
At 9:05, I had convinced myself he was the kind of man who made others wait—because he could, because he owned the very concept of time.
At 9:15, doubt crept in, slinking through my chest like cold fingers tracing my ribs.
At 9:20, humiliation settled in.
By 9:25, my throat was tight, my pride wounded. He wasn't coming. I had made a mistake—a reckless, humiliating mistake. What had I expected? That Lucian D'Amaro, a man whose name alone was whispered in reverence and fear, would entertain the whims of a desperate girl?
I shot to my feet, my dress settling around my legs as I reached for my purse. I needed to leave. Now. Before I completely unraveled.
And then, at 9:27, three slow, deliberate knocks reverberated through the room.
I stopped breathing.
The sound wasn't hurried or uncertain. It was a declaration—a promise of something inevitable. My pulse pounded against my ribs, erratic and frenzied. He was here.
For a moment, I couldn't move. My fingers hovered over my purse strap, my mind screaming at me to think, to act, to do something. But my body was frozen in the stark realization that I had set something into motion I might not be ready for.
Another knock, deep and unyielding.
I turned toward the door, my feet feeling disconnected from the rest of me as I moved. My hand found the doorknob, but I hesitated. There was still time to walk away. To pretend none of this had happened.
But I had spent too long being passive, too long letting others dictate the course of my life. I had sent that note. I had challenged him. And Lucian D'Amaro had answered.
I unlocked the door and pulled it open.
He stood before me, a dark figure against the dim hallway lights, his presence more suffocating than the silence had been.
Lucian D'Amaro was… devastating.
His suit was perfection, tailored to his broad shoulders, the black fabric absorbing the light like a void. His dark hair was neatly styled, every strand in place, yet there was something inherently untamed about him, something that made the air feel charged and dangerous. His face was sculpted, each line and angle so precise it felt almost inhuman. But it was his eyes—piercing, unrelenting—that locked onto mine and stole the breath from my lungs.
I had thought I was prepared for him. I was wrong.
His gaze traveled over me, slow and assessing, his expression betraying nothing of what he was thinking. I fought the urge to shift under his scrutiny, to look away. But I held my ground. I had to.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, smooth, with an edge that curled around each word like a blade. "You're either very brave or very foolish ."
A shiver ran through me. I lifted my chin, forcing myself to match his cold detachment. " Both. But you came."
A flicker of amusement—so brief I might have imagined it—flashed in his eyes. Then, without another word, he stepped forward, crossing the threshold as if he already owned the space. As if he owned me.
The door clicked shut behind him, sealing us inside.
The room shrank.
Lucian moved with an economy of motion, precise and deliberate. He didn't waste gestures, didn't fidget or hesitate. He was pure control. Every inch of him radiated dominance, from the way he stood to the way he exhaled, as if even the air around him bent to his will.
I swallowed, forcing myself to remain composed. "You actually came."
He turned slightly, his dark gaze pinning me in place. " I was curious as to what a teenage high school girl would want from me."
"20. I'm not a teenager.".
He raised an eyebrow, although if he was surprised, he didn't show it. " You dared me to come here? Do you regret it?" his voice was taunting, cold and devoid of any emotion
My pulse stuttered. Did I? I wasn't sure anymore. I had wanted this, wanted to prove something. But now, standing before him, his presence swallowing the air, I wasn't certain who held the upper hand.
He stepped closer, slow, unhurried. My body tensed involuntarily, every nerve hyperaware. He didn't touch me, didn't need to. The sheer force of him was enough to command every ounce of my attention.
"You should be afraid," he murmured, his voice a quiet challenge.
I forced myself to hold his gaze, though my knees felt weak. "I'm not."
He tilted his head, studying me like a puzzle he had already solved. "Lying doesn't suit you."
I clenched my hands at my sides, my eyes glued on his. "I want you."
Something shifted. The air crackled like a storm about to break.
His expression darkened in a way that sent a thrill down my spine, but before I could process it, he moved. Fast.
I barely had time to gasp before he grabbed me, his hands rough and merciless as he shoved me into the wall. My cheek pressed against the cold surface, my pulse hammering as his body caged me in from behind. His grip was iron, his breath warm against my skin as he leaned in, voice like gravel.
"You don't know what wanting me entails."
My heart pounded, a chaotic rhythm that matched the fire coursing through my veins. "Then show me."
His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my hips with enough force to leave bruises. A sharp breath escaped me as I felt him, all hard, unrelenting power against my back.
His mouth was right by my ear, his words dark, vicious. "You don't command me, Lia. You don't dictate how this plays out. You wanted my attention—now you have it. But make no mistake, I am not gentle. I don't do soft. And I don't give second chances."
A shudder raked through me, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. He was pure control, pure dominance, and I had never felt more alive.
Then, as abruptly as he had caged me, he stepped back. The loss of his heat was jarring, my body instinctively swaying forward before I caught myself.
I turned, breathless, pulse wild, only to find his gaze still locked on me, unreadable, unwavering.
Then, just as suddenly, he smirked, a cold, dangerous thing. "Be careful what you ask for, Lia. Next time, I won't stop."
And with that, he was gone, leaving me against the wall, trembling, aching, and completely unraveled.
I