6. Drawn to Damian
Drawn to Damian
Nichole
The garden had always been my refuge—a quiet sanctuary where the lanterns cast their golden glow, and the scent of blooming jasmine drifted on the night breeze.
It was the only place I could let my thoughts unravel, dissolving into the hum of nature.
But tonight, stillness wouldn’t come. Something changed.
The air was heavier, charged with an unspoken energy, like the world had exhaled and was waiting for something to happen. No matter how much I tried to focus on the swaying leaves or the rhythmic flicker of the lanterns, my thoughts kept drifting back to him.
Damian.
Even his name sent a ripple through me—a sensation I wasn’t ready to name. He was an enigma, a question I wasn’t sure I wanted answered. Controlled. Commanding. Calculated. And yet, beneath all of that, something lingered. Something I wasn’t meant to see. Something I wanted to.
I exhaled slowly, wrapping my arms around my knees as I stared into the garden’s depths. It was foolish to let him occupy my mind like this. I didn’t even know him, yet the pull was undeniable. Was it curiosity? Fascination? Or was it something deeper?
The thought unsettled me. Then, like my mind had conjured him, Damian stepped into the lantern-lit path, his movements effortless, his presence overwhelming.
The dark fabric of his suit blended into the night, but the soft glow caught the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the cool intensity in his gaze.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. He simply watched me. I couldn’t move. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
His expression was unreadable, but the weight of his gaze sent warmth creeping up my spine. There was something about the way he looked at me—like he already knew what I was thinking.
Finally, I broke the silence. “You always move this quietly?”
A smirk ghosted across his lips. “You always get lost in thought?”
I huffed a soft laugh. “Maybe I like thinking.”
He took a slow step closer, his hands slipping into his pockets. “Or maybe you’re thinking about something specific.” Or someone.
The words didn’t need to be spoken. We both knew the answer.
My heart pounded, but I refused to look away. The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken. Damian didn’t move closer, but I felt him there—like a storm waiting on the horizon.
The smart thing would be to put distance between us. But I didn’t. I stayed. And so did he.
His gaze flickered over me, searching for something just out of reach. “Why do you keep coming back here?”
I inhaled slowly. “I could ask you the same thing.”
His smirk deepened. “Maybe I like the view.”
Heat flushed through me—a slow burn that settled deep.
It wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them. The way his voice dropped just enough to make my breath hitch. The way his eyes never wavered.
I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay steady. “You don’t strike me as someone who enjoys gardens.”
His gaze flicked briefly to the scenery, as if only now acknowledging it. “I don’t.”
I arched a brow. “Then why are you here?”
A hesitation. A flicker of something in his eyes.
And then, so quietly it almost got lost in the breeze, he said, “I was looking to get back to the warehouse. But instead I was led here and I can only think of one reason why. Because I knew you would be.”
The shift happened then: Undeniable. Unstoppable. This wasn’t just curiosity. It wasn’t just attraction.
It was something deeper. Something I wasn’t sure I could stop, even if I wanted to. And the terrifying part? I didn’t want to.
The breeze stirred around us, rustling the leaves, but I barely noticed.
The space between us had shrunk.
Damian’s gaze flickered downward—to my lips, to my throat—before snapping back up, his expression unreadable.
"I should go," he murmured.
But he didn’t move.
A slow exhale left me. “Should you?”
His jaw clenched. A war within himself.
The tension thickened, pressing against my skin like a second heartbeat. I should have let him go. Should have looked away, shifted, done something to break the pull between us.
But I didn’t. I held my ground. And so did he.
Then—he sighed sharply and stepped back.
The absence was immediate.
Cold air rushed between us, a stark contrast to the warmth that had settled in my chest moments before. I watched as he turned, his movements as effortless as they were deliberate. He didn’t say anything as he disappeared down the stone path, his dark silhouette swallowed by the night.
I told myself to let him go. But I knew he would be back.
Because whatever this was, it wasn’t over.
I didn’t know how long I sat there, staring at the empty space he had left behind.
It was foolish to dwell on it, to let his presence linger long after he was gone.
But I couldn’t shake it—the way he looked at me, the way his voice dipped when he spoke, the hesitation in his movements, like he was caught between two choices.
Like I was a choice.
A shiver ran through me, though I wasn’t cold.
I should have left too.
Should have put space between myself and whatever this was.
But I didn’t.
I stayed.
The garden had always been a place of stillness, but that stillness had shifted. It had become something else entirely.
Anticipation.
A hum beneath my skin.
And then—
I felt him before I saw him.
Damian’s return was marked by the near-silent sound of his footsteps on the stone pathway.
My pulse kicked as I turned, just as he stepped back into the glow of the lanterns.
He hadn’t gone far.
Had he even left?
The realization sent a slow pulse through me, a strange thrill curling at the edges of my thoughts.
I tilted my head slightly, watching him. “Changed your mind?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he studied me, his gaze steady but unreadable. Then, in that same smooth, deliberate voice, he said, “No. I just realized I wasn’t finished.”
A slow warmth spread through my chest.
He wasn’t finished.
Neither was I.
Damian took a step closer.
Not enough to touch.
But close enough that I could feel the heat of his body through the cool night air.
My pulse thrummed beneath my skin, every nerve in my body attuned to the fragile distance between us.
Too close.
Yet, not close enough.
“You have a habit of walking into places you weren’t invited,” I murmured, my voice steadier than I expected.
His lips twitched—not quite a smirk, but something close. “Only when I want to be there.”
The implication settled between us, thick and weighted.
I should have said something—should have pushed back, reminded myself that this man was nothing but questions wrapped in darkness. But I didn’t.
Because the truth was… I wanted him here, too.
Damian tilted his head slightly, his eyes searching mine. “Tell me something,” he said, voice quieter now, a low hum beneath the night air. “Do you always let strangers into your garden?”
I smirked. “Do you always pretend to be a stranger?”
He exhaled through his nose—quiet amusement, but there was something else beneath it.
Something sharper.
“Touché.”
Silence stretched between us again, but it wasn’t empty. It was charged.
Damian’s gaze flickered downward—just briefly—before meeting mine again.
“You look different tonight,” he murmured.
I raised a brow. “Different?”
He tilted his head slightly, considering. “Less guarded.”
A huff of laughter escaped me. “You make it sound like I walk around carrying a shield.”
He gave me a knowing look.
And that was enough.
I shook my head, glancing away. “Maybe I just ask too many questions.”
His voice dipped lower. “Or maybe people just want to tell you things.”
I stilled.
Something about the way he said it sent a strange warmth curling through my stomach.
I forced a small laugh. “Is that your way of saying I pry too much?”
His lips twitched. “No. It’s my way of saying I don’t usually answer.”
My smile faltered slightly. He was admitting something—something that mattered.
I studied him carefully, noting the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed at his sides.
And then it hit me—he was waiting. Waiting to see if I would push, if I’d ask more than he was ready to give. I could have. But I didn’t.
Instead, I leaned back against the bench, stretching my legs out in front of me with an easy calm I didn’t quite feel. “Then why are you answering me?” The question lingered in the quiet between us.
Damian tilted his head, watching me like he was trying to figure out the answer himself. Then—“Because I want to.”
My breath hitched. It was such a simple response. But it felt like everything.
We didn’t speak after that. The lanterns flickered in the soft night breeze, casting shifting shadows across the stone path. Somewhere nearby, the soft hum of crickets stirred the warm air.
Damian was the one to break the silence. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
I turned toward him slowly, my heart stumbling in my chest. There it was—the acknowledgment. The confirmation that I wasn’t imagining it. That he felt it too.
“Yeah,” I admitted softly. “I do.”
His jaw flexed like he had already known the answer but needed to hear it anyway. Still, neither of us moved. We didn’t close the space between us, but we didn’t widen it either. And that was the dangerous part—because for the first time, I wasn’t sure where the line was anymore.
The silence stretched—not awkward, not uncertain—just full.
I wasn’t sure how long we sat there, not speaking, not looking away. The garden felt different now. Not just a place anymore, but something alive.
Damian leaned back slightly, his arm stretching along the back of the bench, his fingers resting close—too close.
My pulse throbbed beneath my skin. Every breath, every movement felt amplified.
He wasn’t touching me. But he could have been.
All it would take was the smallest shift, the slightest decision—and I wasn’t sure if I’d pull away. Or if I’d let it happen.
His voice broke through the quiet. “What do you want?”
The question hit harder than it should have. I swallowed, suddenly unsure. What did I want?
I could’ve said I wanted to understand this pull between us.
Why he made me feel like I was standing at the edge of something I wasn’t ready to fall into.
I could’ve said I wanted to know why he kept finding me—why, no matter how many walls I built, he kept showing up. Or I could’ve said nothing at all.
But instead, I met his gaze and gave him the only truth I had. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “But I think I want to find out.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Something sharp. Something dangerous. His fingers flexed slightly against the bench, like he was weighing a choice.
And then—just as the tension reached its breaking point—he stood.
I exhaled, only then realizing I’d been holding my breath. He didn’t speak as he stepped away, his figure cutting through the dim glow of the lanterns. But before he disappeared down the path, he paused and looked back at me over his shoulder.
A promise.
A warning.
And then, just like before—he was gone.
But this time, I knew he’d be back.