Damien perched on the edge of the balcony at the gala, hidden from most of the bustling crowd, eyes fixed on her
Helen Carter moved through the room with quiet determination, carrying trays, her green eyes scanning each table, polite smiles in place. Every step, every slight gesture, every nervous breath was cataloged in his mind
He had watched her for hours. Not because he intended to scare her, not because he wanted to control her, but because he couldn't look away
She was… extraordinary in her simplicity. Fragile and resilient, exhausted yet graceful. Each moment she existed in his line of sight, he felt a pull he had never allowed himself to feel before: protectiveness, fascination, desire.
Finally, he stood and moved with a silent precision, weaving through the crowd until he was near her
He did not rush; he never rushed. Power had taught him patience. Observation. Control
"Miss Carter," he said smoothly
Her fingers tightened around the tray. "H-how do you know my name?" she said
He smiled slightly. "I make it a habit to know interesting people."
Her cheeks flushed instantly. "I'm not—"
"Interesting?" he interrupted softly
His eyes dragged slowly over her face, deliberate but not crude.
"You walked into a room full of powerful men and somehow managed to outshine them… without even trying."
Her breath caught.
"I'm just working," she whispered.
"That's what makes it impressive," he replied. "You don't perform. You don't pretend. You're real. That's rare."
Her heart was racing now. No one had ever spoken to her like this. Not like she mattered.
He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. "Tell me, Helen… do you ever allow yourself to enjoy evenings like this? Or do you only survive them?"
She swallowed. "I don't really have time to enjoy things."
A flicker of something dark and amused crossed his face. "That sounds like a problem."
She blinked. "A problem?"
"Yes." His gaze held hers. "Because I was thinking… maybe you should let someone take you somewhere you don't have to carry trays."
Her pulse skipped. "Are you—"
"Asking you out?" he finished smoothly
Silence stretched between them, thick and electric.
"I don't usually ask twice," he added, teasing lightly. "But for you… I might."
Her blush deepened, spreading down her neck. "I don't even know you."
"Then let's fix that." His tone softened just slightly. "Dinner. Somewhere quiet. No crowds. No expectations. Just a conversation."
She hesitated. Every logical part of her brain screamed that this was dangerous.
Powerful men didn't ask girls like her on dates.
But the way he was looking at her… not like she was small. Not like she was disposable.
Like she was a choice.
"And if I say no?" she asked quietly.
His lips curved slowly. "Then I'll accept it." A pause. His voice lowered just a little. "But I don't think you want to."
Her heart betrayed her with the way it fluttered.
He stepped back slightly, giving her space, but not breaking the tension.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Helen," he said. "You can give me your answer then."
And then he walked away.
Leaving her flushed, breathless, and very aware that surviving him might be harder than survivin byg the rest of the world.
Helen stood frozen long after he disappeared into the crowd. The tray in her hands suddenly felt weightless. The room felt louder, brighter, overwhelming.
He didn't chase her.
He didn't pressure her.
He didn't beg.
He assumed.
And somehow… that made her knees weak.
For the first time in her life, someone hadn't looked at her like she was background noise. He had looked at her like she was a decision.
Like she was inevitable.
And somewhere across the ballroom, Damien didn't look back — because he didn't need to.
He already knew one thing with terrifying certainty.
She would say yes.😊