Chapter 2 The photoshoot

CHAPTER TWO – (Flashback)

Damien

Two weeks earlier...

I walked into the Carrington suite fifteen minutes late

The room reeked of tension thick, heavy, wrapped in satin and smoke.

At first glance, it was luxury defined: crystal chandeliers, champagne on ice, a bridal gown clinging to a mannequin like a secret waiting to be worn.

But beneath the gloss, it was a slow-burn inferno.

Carter Steele sat like a king in a throne, his legs wide, one elbow propped casually against the armrest, a thick Cuban cigar clamped between his lips. Power oozed from him in smug silence. He didn't look at me not properly. Just a puff of smoke and a muttered, "You're late."

I ignored him.

My eyes had already locked on something far more magnetic.

Her.

Lina Carrington.

Seated across the room, framed by the gold-edged mirror, was a woman who looked like she'd been sculpted for desire and dressed for destruction. Her champagne-colored gown fit her body like temptation. Her bare shoulders were flawless. Lips, tinted rose. Eyes

Storms.

But it wasn't just her beauty. It was her silence. It was the stillness that crackled around her like a warning. She didn't look at me not at first. But I saw the way her breath caught when I entered. Like her body recognized me before her mind did.

I stepped further into the room, rolling my sleeves a little higher as I moved. My shirt was crisp white linen, half untucked from the jeans that sat low on my hips. No tie. No blazer. I wasn't here to impress. I was here to create art. And when I saw her when I saw Lina - I knew I'd be creating sin.

"Apologies for the delay," I said, keeping my voice calm, a warm rumble. "Traffic was hell."

I lied. Traffic hadn't been hell. But from the second I saw her photo in my inbox, I'd needed time to get my head straight. I didn't. I failed.

She looked up.

And time stuttered.

Her eyes found mine and something passed between us. Not recognition. Not familiarity. It was primal. It was lust at first sight.

No hearts fluttered. No strings played. It wasn't love.

It was hunger.

A hunger I hadn't felt in years.

I offered my hand. "I'm Damien."

She didn't speak at first. Just stared. Like she was trying to figure out if I was real or just another cruel joke the universe threw at her.

Then, softly like she couldn't stop herself she said, "Wait... why do you look so much like Carter?"

I smirked.

Because I was Carter once. Not by name. Not by wealth. But by the kind of heat I brought into rooms the kind that licked and burned and made women forget where they stood.

"I get that a lot," I replied.

She didn't smile. But she didn't look away, either.

I lifted the camera. Slowly. Reverently. Like I was raising a holy object. And when I took the first photo of her sitting there, hands on her lap, body tense like a violin string... I didn't just capture a moment.

I worshipped her.

Through the lens, I didn't see a bride. I saw a secret. A locked room. A slow, seductive unraveling waiting to happen.

And as I clicked the shutter again and again I saw the way her lips parted slightly. The way her chest rose and fell faster. The way heat flushed the tips of her ears, even if her face stayed perfectly calm.

She felt it too.

From across the room, from behind the lens, even with Carter a few feet away she felt it.

She knew what this was.

Not love. Not romance. Not fate.

It was sin.

It was the beginning of something that was going to burn every rule to the ground.

Two weeks later

The Carrington estate stood like a monument to control polished to perfection, stately and sterile, not a hair out of place.I adjusted the thick leather-bound folder under my arm, my reflection ghosting along the glass doors as the maid let me in. The faint scent of wood polish and wealth assaulted my senses. It should've impressed me.

Instead, it reminded me why I was here.

To blow it all to hell.

I stepped into the foyer, the heels of my designer boots clicking against marble like a metronome for trouble. Each footstep reminded me: You're not just a photographer today. You're a man on a mission.

The maid greeted me nervously. "Mr. Steele is not home at the moment, sir. He's in a meeting," she offered.

"I'm not here for Carter," I replied, my tone cool and deliberate, like aged bourbon. "I'm here to deliver the pre-wedding frames." My gaze swept the staircase as casually as it could while my pulse thudded like a war drum in my chest. "Miss Carrington?"

"I'll call her down."

I could've sent one of his staff to deliver these frames. That was the logical move.

But logic had left the room the moment Lina Carrington had entered it two weeks ago in that hotel suite wearing nothing but that cursed champagne dress and those eyes that looked like they held storms.

I didn't trust himself with her.

But I trusted no one else more.

Besides, I'd left one frame behind on purpose. A reason to return. A way back in. Because I wasn't done. Not with her. Not with Steele. Not with any of it.

This wasn't just about lust.

It was about taking something that wasn't meant to be mine and making it mine anyway.

I heard Footsteps.

My head tilted up just in time to see her.

Lina.

Descending like sin in silk, robe tied tightly around that hourglass waist, feet bare against the ivory steps. Her hair was undone. Her lips parted in something unreadable. But her eyes - those goddamn eyes widened slightly the moment they met his.

There it was again. That tension.

No words. No names. No history needed. Just heat.

She didn't smile. Neither did I.

But deep inside I felt it - that dangerous spark that made my cock twitch and my self-control scream. I wanted to back her into that bannister, strip her of that robe, and make her call my name like it was the only one she knew.

Instead, I reached into the folder and pulled out the envelope. Clean. Professional. Pretend.

She stepped off the last stair and approached, taking it from him slowly. Her fingers grazed his, delicate and cold. She didn't speak.

And I didn't move.

I just stared.

God, she was beautiful. A little broken. A little trapped. And entirely tempting.

From this close, I could smell the vanilla on her skin, feel the way the air around her shifted - tighter, warmer. She wasn't breathing properly. Neither was I.

It wasn't love at first sight. That was too soft, too romantic, too gentle.

This?

This was lust at first burn.

And for Me - lust was just another weapon.

I tilted my head slightly as her fingers lingered too long on the envelope. My voice dropped low, velvet and deadly.

"One frame's missing."

She blinked, startled. "Missing?"

But before I could answer Carter walk in unannounced with Lina's hands still touching mine.

He didn't even look suspicious...maybe because I didn't seem like a threat to him

Then he looked at me and said...photographer boy ...I have a job for you