The city glittered beneath the rain.
Thousands upon thousands of lights burned through the darkness, piercing the storm like scattered stars trapped beneath glass and steel.
Skyscrapers rose toward the heavens, cold and magnificent, their mirrored surfaces reflecting lightning that crawled across the clouds like veins of silver fire.
Far above the city sat the top floor of Blackfyre Holdings. An empire.
A kingdom disguised as a corporation. And at its center sat Daemon Blackfyre.
The man newspapers called a genius. The man magazines called beautiful. The man rivals called dangerous. The man you called unbearable.
At least that was what you told yourself. Because admitting the truth would have been far more difficult.
Admitting that every time he entered a room, your pulse betrayed you.
Admitting that every time his pale violet eyes settled upon you, you forgot entire conversations.
Admitting that somewhere along the way, without permission and without warning, he had become the axis around which your thoughts quietly revolved.
Tonight was no different.
The charity gala occupied three floors beneath the penthouse office.
The wealthiest families in the country mingled beneath crystal chandeliers.
Champagne flowed. Diamonds sparkled.
Music drifted through the halls.
And yet your attention remained fixed upon a single man.
Daemon stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the storm-soaked skyline.
Black suit.
Black tie.
Silver-blond hair brushing his shoulders.
The city lights behind him transformed him into something unreal.
Something carved from moonlight.
Something that belonged in old myths rather than modern society.
Women watched him.
Men watched him.
Everyone watched him.
He seemed entirely unaware.
Or perhaps simply unconcerned.
His attention remained fixed upon the rain beyond the glass.
Until he felt your gaze.
Then he turned.
And found you immediately. Always.
As though every crowded room became empty the moment you entered it.
The corner of his mouth lifted. A small smile.
Dangerous.
Private.
Intimate.
The kind of smile that belonged only to you.
Your stomach twisted⎯Curse him. You hated when he did that.
Hours later, you escaped.
The gala had become suffocating.
Too many people.
Too much noise.
Too many questions.
You slipped away toward the rooftop garden above the penthouse.
Rain had begun falling harder.
Cool droplets kissed your skin.
The city stretched endlessly beneath you. For a brief moment, solitude wrapped itself around your shoulders.
Then a familiar voice emerged from the darkness.
"Running away again?."
Deep.
Smooth.
Rich enough to melt steel.
You closed your eyes.
"Why are you everywhere?."
A low chuckle.
You hated that too.
The sound did terrible things to your heart.
When you turned, Daemon stood beneath the rain.
No umbrella.
No concern.
The storm soaked his silver hair, turning it into liquid platinum.
His suit jacket hung open.
Water glistened along the sharp lines of his jaw.
God help you, ⎯fuck him.
He looked devastating.
"You disappeared."
"You noticed?."
His gaze settled upon you.
Steady.
Unwavering.
Dangerously warm.
"I always notice."
The words struck harder than they should have.
The city vanished.
The storm vanished.
Only him remained.
Silence settled between you.
Not uncomfortable.
Never uncomfortable.
The kind of silence that felt strangely intimate.
Like standing too close to a fire.
Eventually Daemon stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
Until only inches remained between you.
The rain fell around both of you.
His eyes never left yours.
"You avoid me."
His voice had become quieter.
Softer.
More dangerous than any command.