Page 5 of Mutual Desire (The Awakening #1)

The Silent Room

That face — striking, masculine, and impossibly perfect — seemed more like a fantasy than flesh.His features were chiseled with a precision that felt inhuman—like a sculpture come to life. Could anyone be this impossibly beautiful? The man’s broad shoulders and long, lean body were dressed in a tailored navy-blue suit with no tie, and his hair was a dirty blond, tousled just enough to appear effortlessly refined. Red lips contrasted his pale skin, and the faintest hint of expensive cologne wafted toward Damien, intoxicating his senses.

But the true masterpiece of this striking figure? His eyes—two rare, mesmerizing gray orbs that seized Damien’s breath. They were unlike anything he had ever seen, piercing and almost alien in their intensity. When their gazes locked, Damien felt as though the man could see through every defense, down to the marrow of his soul. For a moment, Damien forgot how to breathe, trapped under the weight of those eyes.

Then, the spell shattered.

“ Der'mo ,” the man muttered under his breath, the Russian curse cutting through the moment like a sharp blade.

Reality snapped back into focus. Damien’s heart plummeted as he realized what had happened—the coffee cup in his hand had spilled, not only onto his jacket but onto the man’s pristine white shirt. A brown, spreading stain marred the crisp fabric.

“Sh-shit! I’m so sorry!” Damien stammered, mortification creeping up his neck like a heatwave.

The man’s cold gaze fell to the stain on his shirt, brushing at it with elegant, long fingers. He didn’t bother acknowledging Damien’s apology, his expression teetering between irritation and disinterest.

“I’m sorry,” Damien repeated, voice quieter now, as if trying to minimize the disaster.

At last, the man lifted his head, pinning Damien with a stare so cold it could freeze a flame. His expression softened by only a fraction, but his eyes remained sharp and assessing, like a blade just waiting to strike.

“Do you often walk without looking where you’re going, or am I simply unlucky to have crossed your path today?” His voice was deep and smooth, carrying an unmistakable edge—like silk wrapped around steel. Each word was laced with effortless cruelty, cutting through the air with precision.

Damien blinked, struggling to process the sudden hostility. “I—I’m sorry?”

The man tilted his head slightly, the hint of a smirk flickering at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, so not only are you careless, but you’re hard of hearing, too. I asked if this lack of attention is a habit, or if I’ve just had the misfortune of running into you.”

Damien stood frozen, completely caught off-guard by the man’s sharp words and the absurd escalation over an accidental spill.

“When you drive,” the man continued, his voice smooth but unforgiving, “is your face glued to your phone like that, too?”

Damien shifted the strap of his bag, feeling the stranger’s judgment press down on him like a weight. What had started as an awkward apology now felt like some sortof public indictment. Was this guy for real right now?

“That’s a yes or no question,” the man added, tone unwavering. “Or should I take your silence as a yes?”

The absurdity of the situation made Damien’s head spin. Was this guy seriously equating a spilled coffee with vehicular manslaughter? His jaw tightened in frustration, anger bubbling beneath his embarrassment.

“Are you serious right now?” Damien muttered, trying to contain his temper. He gave the man a once-over, realizing that someone so stunning could be this much of a jerk.

And then Damien snapped.

In one reckless move, he lifted what remained of his coffee and tipped it deliberately onto the man’s ruined shirt. Damien let the cup slipped from his grasp, hitting the ground with a dull thud, the last drops splattering onto the polished floor.

“My bad,” Damien said flatly, sarcasm dripping from his words.

The stranger’s eyes darkened, but Damien didn’t stick around to see his reaction. Adrenaline surged through him as he spun on his heel, marching toward the elevator. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat more chaotic than the last. It wasn’t like him to lash out like that, but something about this man—his arrogance, his audacity—had pushed Damien over the edge.

The elevator doors slid shut, but the encounter played on a loop in Damien’s mind, taunting him. Those gray eyes, that impossible beauty, the electric tension between them—who the hell was that guy? And why couldn’t Damien stop thinking about him?

Maybe he was just stressed about the presentation, Damien reasoned. Or maybe, just maybe, there was something deeper at play—a pull toward this enigmatic, infuriating stranger that he couldn't yet understand. But one thing was certain: the man had made an impression. And as much as Damien wanted to hate him, he found it impossible to ignore the magnetic pull that lingered long after they had parted ways.

When Damien reached the designated floor, he found Nick pacing by the seating area, his eyes scanning the hallway like a man on the brink of a meltdown.

“Hey, you okay?” Damien asked, approaching.

Nick turned, his expression flickering with relief before the tension crept back in. “I don’t know, D. I’ve got this awful feeling I’m going to fuck this up.”

Damien clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve got this. Anto-X is solid, and you know your shit. Just breathe, man. I’ll be right here the whole time.”

Nick gave a weak nod, though his body remained stiff with nerves.

“Should’ve had a drink before we did this thing,” Damien joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Nick huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, a whole bottle, maybe.”

Together, they made their way into the conference room. Damien’s breath hitched as the space opened up before him—a sleek, opulent setting that screamed luxury and power. A long glass table stretched across the center, surrounded by black leather armchairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, offering a stunning view of the city skyline.

Around the table sat sevenmen, each exuding an air of authority. They were the kind of men who owned the world—older, sharp-eyed, and dressed in tailored suits that probably cost more than Damien made in a month.

One man, bald and imposing, tapped his fingers against the glass table in a steady rhythm. Another, wearing thin-rimmed glasses, scrolled through something on his tablet with practiced ease. A third man, who looked to be the eldest, sipped his coffee in silence, his expression unreadable.

The fourth man—grinning like a wolf who’d just found prey—leaned back in his chair, watching the room with unsettling amusement. And then the remaining three men sat quietly at the far end of the table, radiating calm authority.

Something about their presence made Damien’s skin crawl. These men were not to be trifled with. Next to the glass table, rows of chairs were filled with people Damien guessed were Nick’s colleagues, also there to present.

Damien and Nick took seats near the window, positioned slightly apart from the others. As Damien settled in, he couldn’t resist glancing out at the city below. The view was breathtaking, offering a brief reprieve from the tension brewing inside the room.

Nick fidgeted beside him, bouncing his leg with nervous energy. Damien could feel it radiating off him in waves. Nick leaned in slightly, voice low but strained.

“They’re not just executives, D. These guys run the whole division. If this goes wrong, I’m fucked.”

“It won’t,” Damien said firmly, though a knot formed in his own stomach.

As the minutes ticked by, Nick’s colleagues engaged in quiet conversations. Some rose from their seats to shake hands with some of the executives at the table, laughing as if they were old friends. Damien tried to stay focused, but the unease gnawed at him. This room felt more like a battleground than a meeting. With a sigh, he pulled out his phone and checked the time—3:27. The meeting was supposed to start at 3:00 sharp. Nearly thirty minutes of sitting around, waiting, while tension coiled tighter in his chest.

He leaned toward Nick and muttered, “I thought this thing was starting at three.”

Nick, who had been nervously tapping his fingers against his thigh, shot him a nervous look. “Welcome to corporate life, D. The only thing more powerful than money in these places is making people wait.”

Damien huffed, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “Great. Love that for us.”

And then the door swung open.

Damien’s breath caught in his throat.

No . No fucking way .

The gray-eyed man from earlier strolled into the room, exuding the same effortless confidence that had thrown Damien off balance moments ago. His presence was magnetic, drawing the attention of everyone without a word.

Damien’s pulse raced as their eyes met. For a fleeting moment, the stranger’s lips curved into the faintest smirk, as if he enjoyed Damien’s discomfort.

Without acknowledging anyone else, the man crossed the room and took his place at the head of the glass table. He opened his laptop with a deliberate, fluid motion, as if every second of his life was perfectly choreographed.

Damien gripped the strap of his bag tighter, struggling to steady his breath. Of all the people in the world, how did I end up here—again—with him ?

The lights dimmed, and a presentation flickered to life on the massive screen. But Damien couldn’t focus. His thoughts whirled in a chaotic mess, consumed by the man sitting just a foot away.

What the hell is going on? Damien thought, his heart hammering in his chest. And why, despite everything, did he feel like it was exactly where he was supposed to be?