Damien's POV:-
The café was a haven of ordinary life—soft chatter, the clink of cups, and the hum of a coffee machine filled the air. It was the kind of place he would never step into under normal circumstances. Yet, here he was, drawn by something—or rather, someone—he couldn't explain.
She was seated at a small table in the far corner, bathed in the soft light streaming through the windows. She wasn't just beautiful; she was otherworldly, an embodiment of elegance and simplicity that seemed out of place in such a mundane setting.
Her hair framed her face like a cascade of silk, and her skin glowed with a natural radiance that needed no embellishment. She was the epitome of beauty, and for the first time in a long while, Damien found himself... captivated.
She was engrossed in a book, one that didn't seem to belong to her. Her fingers grazed its pages lightly, as if hesitant to disturb its owner's presence lingering on it. He observed her from a distance, every movement she made captivating him further.
Unable to resist, he approached her silently, his steps deliberate and calculated. She didn't notice him until he stood just behind her, his towering presence casting a shadow over her small table.
She turned, startled by the sudden awareness of someone standing so close. Her doe-like eyes locked with his, wide with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
"Oh," she breathed, her voice soft yet melodic. "How can I help you, sir?"
Damien's lips curved into a slow, almost predatory smirk. Up close, she was even more breathtaking. He could see the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers trembled ever so slightly as they rested on the book.
He leaned closer, his deep voice laced with the natural authority he carried. Speaking in Russian, he said,"Я хочу тебя."(I want you.)
She blinked, her brows furrowing in confusion. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't understand. Could you... speak in English?"
Damien chuckled softly, the sound low and almost dangerous. He tilted his head slightly, as if amused by her innocence.
"Of course," he said, his accent thick but his English smooth. "I was admiring your... dedication. Not many people would care enough to return a forgotten book to its place."
Her gaze shifted to the book in her hands, then back to him. "It's just... the right thing to do," she replied, her tone tinged with uncertainty.
"Is it?" he asked, his smirk deepening. "I wonder if you always do the right thing."
His words sent a shiver through her, though she couldn't tell if it was his voice, his proximity, or the intensity in his piercing gaze.
"I—um, I think I should—" she stammered, taking a small step back.
Before she could finish, he straightened and stepped aside slightly, gesturing toward the counter. "A coffee. Black. No sugar," he ordered, as if dismissing their encounter altogether.
As she moved away, clearly eager to escape his presence, Damien's eyes remained fixed on her.
′She doesn't know it yet,′he thought, his smirk returning, 'but she won't be escaping me.'
As she walked toward the counter, her movements graceful, he couldn't help but watch her every step. His gaze followed her as if he were pulling invisible strings, tethering her to him. Her simple yet enchanting presence stirred something in him—an unfamiliar longing, something beyond just the physical allure.
When she reached the counter to prepare his coffee, Damien wasted no time. He moved swiftly, his steps silent and deliberate as he approached, his eyes never leaving her.
Just as she placed the coffee cup down, her back turned to him, he leaned in slightly, his voice low and smooth. "May I know your name, little squirrel?"
The words slipped out effortlessly, his tone laced with curiosity, amusement, and something more—something darker.
She froze for a moment, her fingers hovering over the coffee machine, her pulse quickening. Slowly, she turned to face him, the surprise in her eyes clearly evident.
"Excuse me?" she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, the warmth of her voice trying to mask the hint of apprehension.
Damien chuckled softly, the sound rich with amusement. "I asked for your name, little squirrel. Is it not customary to introduce yourself when someone asks?"
Her gaze dropped to the ground for a second before returning to his, her lips parted, unsure of what to say.
"I'm sorry, sir," she stammered, "but I don't—"
"Don't know me?" he interrupted, his eyes flashing with a possessive intensity. "I may not know you yet, but I will. And soon, you won't be able to keep any secrets from me."
His words hung in the air, thick with intent.
She swallowed, her pulse racing, but she stood her ground. "My name is Aaru," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I prefer to be called by it."
"Aaru," Damien repeated, rolling the name off his tongue like it was something new, something valuable. "A name as beautiful as its owner."
She blushed slightly, but he noticed the way her hands tightened around the coffee cup, as if it were the only thing anchoring her in that moment.
" Aaru," he said, stepping closer, "next time, don't be in such a hurry to run away. You never know what you might be missing."
His words carried weight—like a promise, a threat, and an invitation all in one. Aaru's breath hitched, but she managed to hold her ground, even if only just.
Damien smirked, satisfied with the effect his presence had on her. She was more than just a pretty face; she was a mystery, and he was intent on solving it.
"Shall we continue with your work?" he asked, his voice steady, as he kept his gaze on her. He knew she'd have no reason to refuse.
As she finished preparing the coffee, she placed it in front of him and said, "Here is your coffee, sir."
Damien reached for his black card and slid it across the counter. As she prepared to process the payment, she asked, "May I have your name for the billing?"
"Damien," he replied shortly, his gaze never leaving her face.
After a brief pause, he added, "By the way, can you recommend a book? Something... intriguing."
She nodded, a small smile forming on her lips, and walked toward the bookshelf. After scanning the titles for a moment, she pulled a book from the shelf and made her way toward his table.
Damien sat, sipping his black coffee, his eyes following her every move. She placed the book in front of him with a soft thud, her fingers brushing the cover.
"This one," she said simply, her tone both professional and a touch personal. "I think you'll find it intriguing."
As Aaru handed him the book with a polite smile, Damien reached for it, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a small jolt through him, though he quickly masked it with an unreadable expression.
"Thank you," he said, setting the book down next to his coffee. He glanced at the cover, then back at her. "I'll start reading it soon. I trust your taste."
Aaru simply nodded, her expression warm but neutral. She turned to leave, her movements graceful and fluid. Damien couldn't help but watch her as she walked away, his thoughts a swirl of curiosity and something deeper, something more unsettling.
Just then, as Aaru reached the counter, the bell above the café door jingled again. Another customer stepped in—this time, someone familiar. His right-hand man moved like a shadow—calm, collected, and always composed. But today, there was something in his demeanor that caught Damien's attention.
he moved in close, his presence looming just behind Damien. He leaned in, his breath warm against Damien's ear.
"Sir," he whispered, his voice low, almost urgent. "We caught them."
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