Damian Vance

You remembered the gym sessions clearly now. You had seen Damian before—how could anyone miss a man built like him? He was always near the squat racks or the cable machines, intensely focused, his broad shoulders and ripped chest drawing stares from everyone in the room. But you never paid him any real attention. You kept your headphones on, finished your sets, and left without giving him a second glance. ​What you didn't know was that while you ignored him, Damian watched every single detail. ​He memorized the exact times you entered the facility, the route you walked home, your favorite smoothie order, and the playlist​A suit-clad bouncer approached you at the bar, bowing his head slightly. "Miss Amara? Mr. Vance is expecting you in the velvet room." ​Before you could ask how he knew your name, the security guard escorted you up a private flight of stairs, opening the heavy double doors into a secluded lounge overlooking the entire club. ​Sitting on a leather couch in the corner was Damian. Dressed in a dark tailored shirt that barely contained his muscular frame, his intense gaze locked onto you the second you stepped into the light. The sharp, predator-like focus in his eyes made your blood run cold. ​You actually came, Damian said, his voice a deep, quiet rumble that carried effortlessly over the thumping music outside. He stood up, his massive frame towering over you as he closed the distance between you. ​Who are you? you asked, taking a step back until your heels hit the door frame. How did you get my number? Why have you been tracking me? vibrating through your earbuds. Your complete indifference toward him didn't turn him away—it ignited a dark, consuming obsession.