Chapter 2 Drunk in love with a strange man

Aria's POV

The pulsing beat of the music hit Aria in the chest the moment she stepped into the club. It was exactly as Fiona had described, maybe even more intense. Dim, sultry lighting washed everything in shades of crimson and violet. Bodies moved rhythmically on the dancefloor, some pressed too close, almost indecent. Laughter echoed, glasses clinked, and the smell of perfume, alcohol, and sweat created a heady mix that clung to the air.

"Okay, wow," Aria muttered, eyes scanning the club.

"I told you," Fiona grinned. "This place is for forgetting."

They slid into a corner booth near the bar. A waitress with fishnet stockings and a leather skirt came over, and Fiona ordered them both cocktails. Aria didn't wait, she took the glass as soon as it hit the table and downed it in one go.

"Aria!" Fiona hissed. "Slow down."

"Don't start," Aria said, waving for another drink. "I need to erase Marco from my system."

"Getting blackout drunk won't fix betrayal."

"Maybe not. But it sure as hell numbs it."

Fiona sighed, watching as Aria tossed back another drink. She had never seen her like this. Aria was usually calm, soft-spoken, the one who thought things through. But tonight? Heartbroken. Reckless. Dangerous.

Aria tilted her head back, gulping down another shot. And that's when she saw him.

Her breath caught.

He was upstairs, in the VIP section, leaning back on a leather couch. The strobe lights barely touched him, but even in the shadows, he stood out like midnight in a room full of candles. Tall. Broad shoulders. A black shirt hugged his chest, sleeves rolled just enough to show powerful forearms. His dark trousers clung perfectly to lean, strong legs. One hand held a glass of whiskey, the other rested on his knee, fingers adorned with a simple, silver ring.

He didn't smile. Didn't speak.

He simply watched.

His eyes, sharp and unreadable, scanned the dance floor below, until they met hers.

Time paused.

His stare was like a dagger sliding beneath skin. Cold. Penetrating. Calculated. Aria's chest tightened, her lips parting slightly. But before she could process the jolt running through her, he looked away, as if her existence meant nothing.

That burned more than Marco's betrayal.

"I want to meet him," Aria said suddenly.

Fiona blinked. "Who?"

She pointed, heart still racing. "Upstairs. Black shirt. Whiskey. God-like presence."

Fiona followed her gaze, and her face paled. "No. Aria, no. You don't even know who he is."

"I don't care. I want him."

"You're drunk."

"Exactly." Aria stood, grabbing her clutch. "Perfect time to be bold."

"Aria-"

"Five minutes," she said, already walking.

He had seen her the moment she walked in, she was hard to miss.

Petite but fierce. Wavy brown hair. Those wide eyes, glassy with alcohol, but still holding something stubborn... raw. And then she looked up, caught his stare, and didn't look away.

Interesting.

Most people flinched when Damian De Luca looked at them.

He hadn't planned on staying long tonight. These places bored him. Loud music. Desperate bodies. Empty conversations. But something about that girl's defiant eyes made him stay in his seat.

And now, she was coming up.

"Private section," his guards told her, arms crossed like statues.

"I want to see him," she said without flinching.

Bold little thing.

"Let her in," Damian said, voice cold and low.

The guards stepped aside. She walked in with a sway that screamed she was drunk, but her eyes? They burned with determination.

She stopped a few feet from him, taking him in.

"You must really be bold to come up here," he said, tilting his glass toward her.

"When I see what I want, I go for it."

Damian smirked, though it was more mockery than amusement.

"And what exactly is it that you want?"

"You."

The answer came without hesitation.

He stood, walking slowly toward her, placing his glass on the table beside him. His height towered over her. He didn't touch her, didn't need to. His presence alone was enough to make her tense.

He leaned down, voice almost a whisper. "I'm not sure you know what you're talking about."

"I do," she replied.

"You look fragile. I could break you in a second."

"I'm not made of glass."

His smirk faded."

"You don't know who I am, young lady. I'm not someone you chase in a drunken haze."

"Then who are you?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

Instead, he turned away, brushing past her.

"You're running," she said quietly.

He paused mid-step.

"From what?" he asked, not turning back.

"From me. From whatever you felt when our eyes met."

Damian turned slowly, eyes narrowed. "You're drunk."

"Not enough to forget what I saw tonight."

He remained silent.

"I walked in on my fiancé kissing another woman on my engagement day. Her voice cracked but she steadied it. "So yeah. I might be reckless right now. But I'd rather chase danger than sit in that booth crying over him."

"You think I'm danger?" he asked, voice low, dark.

"I know you are."

He stared at her for a long moment.

Then he walked past her again. This time, he didn't stop.

She turned to watch him disappear down the stairs. Women reached for him. No response. They tried to flirt with him. He didn't blink. Untouchable.

Aria looked toward the empty space he had left

"No. I've seen what I want now."

And I'll get him."

I didn't even think twice, I followed. The music from the club grew fainter with each step. The hallway was dim, shadows flickering across the walls from the soft golden lights. Damian's broad back moved with confidence, his shoulders like sculpted stone beneath the fabric of his black shirt.

He turned left and disappeared through a door. I paused for a second, my heart hammering in my chest. Then I saw it, Restroom. He was about to close the door when he noticed me standing right there.

"You again? Following me now, huh?" Damian said, his voice a deep rumble that made my stomach twist.

Before I could answer, footsteps echoed behind me. Damian grabbed my hand and yanked me inside, his movements sharp but careful. The door clicked shut behind us. His hand was still on my waist, firm. He didn't move. Neither did I.

I was caged in by him, his strong arms, the warmth radiating off his tall, muscular frame, the scent of expensive cologne and something darker, more primal. His black shirt hugged every part of his chest and abs perfectly, the buttons straining slightly. His jaw was sharp, his eyes cold but hypnotic. Every inch of him screamed danger.

He pulled back. Too soon.

"What do you think you're doing, young lady? Are you seriously following me?"

My throat was dry. I could barely find the words. My eyes were glued to his chest, to the way his muscles moved with every breath.

"Hey? I'm talking to you. Why are you following me?"

I finally met his gaze. "I want you."