A Night of Choices

A year later.

The air was crisp, infused with the earthy scent of rain-soaked asphalt as neon lights flickered to life along the streets, casting vibrant shades of red and blue upon the damp pavement.

Jessica Wazei sat on the edge of a cracked sidewalk, her slender fingers wrapped around a nearly empty bottle of cheap beer. Her wavy, chestnut hair spilled over her shoulders, partially concealing the exhaustion that haunted her weary eyes.

She wasn't drunk, not yet. The bitter liquid served as her quiet rebellion against a world that had always seemed determined to break her spirit.

With a slow exhale, she tilted her head back to the sky, watching dark clouds drift lazily overhead, promising another downpour.

"Young lady, sitting alone in the dark isn't safe for you."

The voice was deep and smooth, yet firm like aged whiskey. Jessica's gaze snapped to the stranger standing a few feet away, his silhouette looming ominously against the dim glow of a street lamp.

His tall, muscular frame exuded a quiet authority, and as he stepped closer, she caught a glimpse of his striking features: icy blue eyes, a chiseled jawline, and lips that suggested a man who rarely smiled. Yet, something about him felt... off.

Jessica narrowed her eyes. "What difference does it make? It's not like it's any safer inside."

His eyes darkened, assessing her with an intensity that made her stomach tighten. "You're in a dangerous part of town, sweetheart. Someone like you shouldn't be here."

She let out a humorless chuckle. "And why do you care? What's in it for you?"

A slow smirk ghosted across his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You don't need to know someone to help them."

Jessica scoffed, taking another swig from the bottle. Men always had ulterior motives. "Right. And you'll tell me you're some kind of good Samaritan?"

He didn't respond immediately, instead lowering himself onto the pavement beside her, unbothered by the dirt or the curious glances from passersby.

"I don't believe in charity," he murmured, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "People seldom do good things without expecting something in return. But you… you seem different."

She tensed at his words.

Why did that feel like an accusation?

Turning to him, she finally recognized the dangerous glint in his eyes, an unsettling mixture of intrigue and something darker.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

He leaned back slightly, his smirk deepening. "Damien."

Just Damien. No last name, no further explanation.

With her instincts on high alert, Jessica narrowed her eyes. Men like him didn't just wander into this part of the city without a motive. And yet, here he was, in an expensive dark suit that clearly didn't belong in this rundown neighborhood.

She knew she should leave. Should be wary. But something about Damien had an inexplicable pull, an allure that kept her there.

And then, without warning, she blacked out.

The first sensation that enveloped Jessica was warmth.

Soft, luxurious silk sheets tangled around her bare legs, the lingering scent of expensive cologne filling her senses. The dawning horror that she wasn't in her own bed ignited panic within her.

Her eyes flew open.

This isn't my apartment.

Panic surged as she shot up from the bed, clutching the sheets to her chest. Her dress was gone, replaced by a large, oversized shirt that absolutely wasn't hers.

"Oh my God," she whispered, heart racing.

Where am I?

Just then, the door creaked open.

Jessica held her breath as Damien stepped inside, a tray of food in his hands. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, exposing the sculpted ridges of his chest, while his sweatpants hung low on his hips, sending her pulse racing.

She had never encountered a man so effortlessly masculine and dangerously seductive.

"You're awake," he noted, setting the tray down beside her.

Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "Where am I?"

"My apartment," he replied, his tone smooth. "You passed out. I brought you here."

Jessica's throat tightened as she gripped the sheets tighter. "Did we...?"

Damien raised an eyebrow, a low, rich chuckle escaping his lips, equally deep and annoyingly sexy.

"No. You were barely conscious. I'm not that kind of man." Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, he added, "I changed your dress because it was soaked. Relax, sweetheart. You're safe."

Relief washed over her, quickly tempered by suspicion.

"Why would you help me?" she questioned, studying his inscrutable expression.

A flicker of amusement danced in Damien's eyes, but beneath it lurked something unreadable, a mystery waiting to be unraveled.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

His words sent an electrifying shiver down her spine.

Who the hell was Damien? And why did it feel as if she had stumbled into something far bigger and more dangerous than herself?