Drunk in Infatuation.

Drunk in Infatuation.

Deejaht

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In a city shadowed by danger and haunted by past betrayals, Elara and Damon fight not just for survival, but for a chance at redemption and hope. Scarred by loss and bound by secrets, their paths collide in a fragile dance of trust and desire. As they navigate a world where darkness still lurks, they must decide whether to let their past define them-or to forge a new future together. Drunk in Infatuation is a gripping tale of love, resilience, and the courage it takes to begin again when everything seems lost.

Chapter 1 The Stranger's Game

Elara woke to the metallic tang of blood on her lip, her head pounding with the kind of pain that pulsed deep behind her eyes-sharp and unforgiving, like a warning she had failed to heed. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey, musk, and something colder, more dangerous. Her hands gripped silk sheets she didn't recognize, and a chill slithered down her spine.

This wasn't her bed.

She sat up too fast. The room tilted violently, her stomach lurching in protest. Dim light filtered through gauzy curtains, casting long shadows across sleek furniture and unfamiliar walls. Her black dress clung to her like a second skin, wrinkled and askew, and her heels lay discarded on the floor like broken promises.

On the nightstand, a half-full glass of water sat beside a neatly folded note and a small black card. No name. No symbol. Just a number embossed in silver ink.

Her fingers trembled as she opened the note.

*You were interesting. Call me when you stop running.*

- X

She read it again.

And again.

A name wasn't necessary. Whoever he was, he clearly believed she'd remember him. Her breath caught-jagged and sharp.

Running? From what?

She didn't get the chance to dwell. The door creaked open, and she stilled, every muscle tensing.

A man stepped inside.

He moved like he owned the room. Tall, built with quiet strength, dressed in a crisp black shirt that clung to his frame just enough to be dangerous. His pale eyes locked onto her-steady, cold, unreadable.

He looked like someone who wasn't used to hearing no.

"You're awake earlier than I expected," he said, voice smooth, edged with something darker. "Most people sleep off a blackout longer than that."

Elara's fingers curled into the sheet as if it could shield her. "Who the hell are you?" Her voice came out hoarse. "Where am I?"

He didn't flinch. "Somewhere you won't be found. Not unless I want you to be."

Her blood ran cold. He wasn't just calm-he was in control. As if none of this was out of the ordinary.

"You drugged me."

He tilted his head, almost mockingly. "If I'd wanted to drug you, you wouldn't be conscious now. You came to me, Elara. Willingly."

*Liar.

Fragments of the night before came in flashes-neon lights, pulsing music, the warmth of whiskey down her throat. Her friend had left early. Elara had stayed behind. There was a man. A stranger with a stare that had unsettled her, thrilled her. But his face-blurred, like smoke in a mirror.

"You were at the bar," she said slowly, accusation sharp in her tone. "You watched me."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe."

She stood, wobbling, gripping the edge of the nightstand for balance. "Tell me what you want from me."

He paused at the doorway, turning just enough for her to see the glint of something unspoken in his gaze. "I wanted to see how far you'd go to forget."

Before she could speak again, he was gone-swallowed by the silence he left behind.

The door clicked shut.

Elara stared at the card still clenched in her hand. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She didn't remember choosing him.

But somehow, he had chosen her.

And something told her...

This wasn't over.

Not even close

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