Page 8 of His Dark Pull

His jaw tightens, and a steely glint enters his eyes. “No,”he says. “You can’t handle this. Trust me, Ava. You’re better off not knowing.”

I stand there, staring at him, the distance between us widening with each passing second. I want to believe him, to trust that he is protecting me. But his secrecy, his refusal to share his burdens, only fuels my doubts and insecurities.

Hetakes a steptowards me, his hand reaching out to caress my cheek, his touch sending pulses through my body.

“Ava,”he says, his voice softening. “I want you, not just the nights– I want days with you. Many days—”

I lean into his touch. Despite everything,despite thepain and the betrayal, I still care for him.

“I need answers, Alexander,”I say,my voicetrembling. “I need to know the truth.”

He closes his eyes momentarily as if battling an internal war. “I wish I could tell you,”he says. “But it’s better this way.”

My stomach twists.Do I dare ask?The truth might shatter everything. But the unanswered questions burn like a fever in my mind. Before I can decide, Alexander’s hand cups my cheek, his thumb tracing a line along my jaw. His touch is magical, soft, sensual. Suddenly, all I can think about isthe wayhis lips feel against mine.He pulls me close, hiskiss both desperate and tender, a silent plea that overwhelms all my doubts.

I’m lost in the whirlwind of his embrace, the strength of his arms around me, the familiar scent of his cologne, the taste of his alcohol-branded lips— it’s like coming home after a long journey.

I know I’m in trouble.I’m drawn tohimwith magnetic force. As I look into his eyes, I see the pain and the longing, the darkness and the light that battle within him. And I know that whatever the future holds, I am inextricably linked to this man, this enigma that isAlexander Bourne.

I lean in for another kiss, then pull away, tears blurring my vision.

“I can’t do this,”I say, pushing him away, my voice cracking. “I need time to figure things out.”

With that, I turn and fleeback upto Sarah’s apartment, leaving Alexander standing alone in the rain, his silhouette against the backdrop of the city lights. His fists clench at his side, and his eyes burn a hole in my back.

Chapter 3

The Office

The familiar hum of computers blends with the rhythmic click-clack of keyboards, a symphony of productivity that eases the tightness in my chest. The air smells faintly of ozone and coffee,a scent thatspeaks of long hours and creative energy.

I wave to Dorthea Domino, who’s making her way toward the shooting studio down the hall, her silver bangles jingling musically with each step. She returns the gesture with a high wave, her blue glasses perched precariously in her tousled blonde hair atop her head. Sporting a matching blue lipstick, she’s followed by a swarm of new interns, their faces alight with nervous excitement. I smile, imagining myself at her age, effortlessly confident, leading the next generation of creatives.

Sunlight streams through the large windows, casting long shadows across the rows of desks where my colleagues are already immersed in their work. As I walk in, the scent of coffee, mingled with the faint smell of printer ink and takeout containers forgotten from last Friday, hangs in the air.

I scrunch my nosein a brief momentbefore making my way towards my office. Photographers and designers huddle over their laptops, editing images. Journalists, their fingers flying across keyboards, craft stories that give voice to the voiceless.

I don’t know half the people in here anymore.

Designers, like myself, bring ideas to life through a kaleidoscope of colours and shapes, transforming blank canvases into logos, websites, and marketing materials that capture the essence of a brand.

Like I did for the EverBlue Group.

Spectrum Design Studio is a melting pot of creativity, a hub of energy where ideas collide, and innovation thrives. But today, the usual buzz of activity feels more like a swarm of bees buzzing around my head. A flash of my encounter with Tyler a few nights ago fills my mind, buzzing like the room. He’d insisted on walking me home after dinner, his arm possessively wrapped around my waist, his gaze following every passerby a little too intently. It was almost as if he expected a threat to emerge from every shadow.Why?

“Good morning, Ava,” a soft voice startles me from my thoughts.

Ilook up tosee Dexter, Tyler’s photographer friend, who works at Spectrum, standing beside my desk. They recently reconnected, and Tyler seems to like him. His tall, lanky frameseemsto fold in on itself as he fidgets, his oversized glasses threatening to slide off his nose.

“Morning, Dex,” I say, smiling. “Everything okay?” He fidgets a little, his cheeks getting red.“Yeah, justuh—wondering if you needed a hand with that new project.”

“I’m g-good,”he stammers, his cheeks flushing. “J-just wanted to s-see if you needed any help with the new project.”

“That’s very kind of you,”I say. “But I think I’ve got it under control for now. Thanks, though.”

“You know, Ava, sometimes the best designs come from—unexpected sources.”He pauses, pushing his glasses up his nose, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “You just have to know where to look.”

“Sure, yeah. That’s very true,”I say, turning my head to the screen.

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