Chapter 3 The Billoniare's Web

Chapter Three: The Billoniare's Web

The morning sun crept through the cracks in Anya's curtains, warming the modest bedroom she had retreated to for years. Sleep had come in fragments, disturbed by the previous evening. She lay awake now, staring at the ceiling, replaying Damien's words and the intensity of his gaze.

"You intrigue me," he had said, his voice a mix of admiration and command.

Anya couldn't deny the strange pull he had on her, but it left her unsettled. Men like Damien Blackwood didn't simply take interest in people like her. There was always more to the story.

Shaking off the thought, she got up, dressed in her usual sweater and jeans, and tried to busy herself with her art. Her easel stood near the wide windows overlooking the cliffs, but inspiration felt distant today. The blank canvas mocked her, a silent reminder of her struggle to move forward.

Her solitude was broken by a knock on the door. Anya frowned. She rarely had visitors, and after Damien's orchestrations, she wasn't sure she wanted any.

When she opened the door, Sarah's familiar, bright smile greeted her.

"Morning!" Sarah chirped, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. She held a bag of pastries in one hand and a coffee in the other. "I figured you could use some company."

Anya sighed, grateful but wary. Sarah's presence always came with a whirlwind of questions.

"I'm fine," Anya said, though the words felt hollow.

"Sure you are." Sarah set the bag on the counter and crossed her arms, looking her friend over. "You look like you didn't sleep. Spill."

Anya hesitated, debating how much to share. "I went to dinner last night."

Sarah's eyes widened. "What? With who? Don't tell me you've been hiding a secret boyfriend."

"It wasn't like that," Anya muttered, brushing past her toward the kitchen. She poured herself another cup of tea, keeping her back to Sarah. "Damien Blackwood invited me."

The silence that followed was deafening. When Anya finally turned around, Sarah's mouth was agape.

"The Damien Blackwood? The billionaire? The recluse? That Damien Blackwood?"

"Yes," Anya replied, sitting down at the table.

Sarah leaned forward, her expression a mix of excitement and concern. "Okay, you can't just drop that bomb and not explain. Start from the beginning."

Reluctantly, Anya recounted the events of the past two days-the encounter in the market, the delivery of the invitation, and the private dinner at his estate. She kept the details vague, leaving out the intensity of Damien's words and the strange tension that lingered between them.

When she finished, Sarah let out a low whistle. "Wow. I mean, I knew living in a small town had its perks, but this is next level."

"It's not a perk," Anya said sharply. "It's... complicated."

Sarah frowned, her tone softening. "Are you okay? He didn't do anything weird, did he?"

"No," Anya said quickly. "He was... polite. Charming, even. But there's something about him, Sarah. He's... intense."

"Intense how?"

"Like he sees more than he should. Like he's already decided something about me, and I don't even know what it is."

Sarah's brow furrowed. "That sounds... unsettling."

"It is," Anya admitted. "I don't know why he's interested in me, but I don't think it's for a good reason."

Sarah reached across the table, squeezing Anya's hand. "If he makes you uncomfortable, you don't owe him anything. Just stay away. Problem solved."

Anya nodded, but deep down, she knew it wouldn't be that simple.

---

Later that afternoon, Anya walked along the rocky shoreline, hoping the salty breeze would clear her mind. The cliffs loomed above her, jagged and unforgiving, a reminder of the harsh beauty of the world she had chosen to retreat to.

As she moved closer to the water, she heard the crunch of footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw Damien standing a few yards away, dressed in a long black coat that billowed slightly in the wind.

Her stomach tightened. "What are you doing here?"

"Walking," he said simply, though the faint smirk on his lips suggested otherwise.

"This isn't your property."

"No," he agreed, stepping closer. "But I thought I might find you here."

Anya crossed her arms, trying to mask her unease. "Why?"

"Because you don't strike me as the type to stay inside and brood."

The comment caught her off guard, and she hated the way it made her chest tighten.

"I told you last night," she said, her voice steady, "I don't think this is a good idea."

Damien's gaze softened, though the intensity remained. "And I told you I'm not asking for anything more than your company. For now."

The unspoken promise in his words sent a shiver down her spine.

"Why me?" she demanded. "You could have anyone. Why fixate on someone like me?"

"Because you're different," Damien said, his voice low. "And because I know what it's like to live in the shadows of your own mind."

His words struck a nerve, but Anya refused to let it show.

"You don't know anything about me."

"Not yet," he replied. "But I intend to."

Anya turned away, facing the ocean. "I don't need saving, Damien."

"I'm not trying to save you," he said, his tone soft but firm. "I just want to know you."

She didn't respond, letting the sound of the waves fill the silence between them. After a moment, she heard his footsteps retreating, leaving her alone once more.

But even as he disappeared from view, Anya couldn't shake the feeling that Damien Blackwood was a storm she couldn't outrun.

---

That night, as Anya sat by the fire in her small living room, she tried to focus on the book in her lap. The words blurred together, her mind drifting back to Damien's cryptic remarks.

Her past was her own, a carefully guarded secret she had worked tirelessly to keep buried. But Damien's presence, his piercing gaze and enigmatic words, made her feel exposed in a way she hadn't felt in years.

A knock at the door startled her, and her heart raced as she rose to answer it. When she opened it, she found a package sitting on the porch, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a black ribbon.

There was no note, but Anya didn't need one to know who had sent it.

Carrying it inside, she hesitated before unwrapping it. Inside was a sketchbook, its leather cover embossed with her initials. The pages were thick, high-quality paper-perfect for her work.

Despite herself, Anya felt a pang of gratitude. She ran her fingers over the cover, wondering how Damien had known about her art.

The gesture was thoughtful, almost kind. But it also felt like a reminder that he was watching her, learning about her in ways she couldn't control.

Anya set the sketchbook aside, her mind racing. She had spent years building walls to protect herself, but Damien Blackwood seemed determined to tear them down brick by brick.

And for the first time, Anya wasn't sure she had the strength to stop him.