Desire was a dangerous thing.
Damiano Moretti had spent years mastering it, burying every temptation beneath discipline, ambition, and relentless perfection. His entire life had been built upon control. Control over his emotions. Control over his body. Control over every decision that shaped the empire he had painstakingly created.
Yet all of that control was beginning to crumble because of one girl.
Alankrita.
The mere thought of her name unsettled him.
It wasn't simply her beauty. He had met women far more glamorous, models, actresses, socialites whose names filled magazines across Europe. None of them had ever lingered in his thoughts beyond polite conversation.
She was different.
Painfully different.
There was something almost sacred about her innocence.
Not childish.
Not naïve.
Pure.
Every time she smiled, it was genuine. Every question she asked carried curiosity instead of pretense. She never tried to impress him. She never chased his approval. She simply existed... and somehow that effortless sincerity pulled him closer every single day.
The memory of her hand resting in his palm refused to leave him.
He could still remember how impossibly soft her skin had been.
How delicately she had trembled.
How close she had stood.
How her jasmine fragrance had wrapped around him until even breathing became difficult.
He closed his eyes.
The memory only became worse.
Her face.
Her lips.
Those innocent pink lips that smiled so freely at everyone except him.
He wanted to know how they felt.
One kiss.
Just one.
The thought had become an obsession.
It haunted him during meetings.
During interviews.
While cooking.
Even in his sleep.
He had never desired anyone this way before.
It frightened him.
Because this wasn't attraction anymore.
It was possession.
Some irrational part of him wanted to erase every distance between them. He wanted to hold her against him, steal every breath she carried, and claim every piece of the innocence she unknowingly possessed.
He hated himself for thinking it.
Yet he couldn't stop.
The filming that day was unbearable.
Every shared glance between them tightened the invisible knot around his heart.
Alankrita stood opposite him with her notebook tucked neatly beneath her arm, her long braid resting over one shoulder. She greeted him with the same warm smile she offered every morning.
"Good morning, Mr. Moretti."
His reply was barely a nod.
She frowned ever so slightly before quickly composing herself.
Perhaps he was tired.
Perhaps work had exhausted him.
She never imagined she was the reason behind the storm raging inside him.
The cameras rolled.
Today's recipe demanded precision, sweetness balanced against fierce heat. Damiano moved through each step flawlessly, explaining ingredients with his usual calm authority.
But inside...
Nothing was calm.
Every time Alankrita leaned a little closer to hear him...
Every time her fingers accidentally brushed against the edge of the counter near his hand...
Every time her soft voice interrupted with another thoughtful question...
His restraint fractured a little more.
He answered politely.
Briefly.
Almost mechanically.
The entire crew noticed something was wrong.
Usually, Damiano enjoyed explaining the stories behind his dishes. Today, his answers were clipped. His smile never reached his eyes.
Even Lara observed the unusual silence but chose not to interfere.
The atmosphere on set felt strangely heavy.
Alankrita sensed it too.
Had she done something wrong?
She replayed every conversation from the past week inside her mind.
Nothing.
She couldn't think of a single reason for his sudden distance.
Still...
She continued her work with quiet professionalism, refusing to let her confusion show on camera.
Hours later,
"Cut!"
The director's voice echoed across the studio.
Filming was over.
The crew immediately relaxed, laughing among themselves as assistants began clearing the equipment.
Alankrita closed her notebook, thanked the production staff one by one, and slung her small canvas bag over her shoulder.
"See you tomorrow," she said softly.
Without waiting for anyone, she walked toward the corridor leading out of the studio.
Damiano watched her leave.
His fingers tightened around the edge of the marble counter.
Every instinct told him to let her go.
To drive home.
To forget whatever madness had taken root inside him.
Instead...
He removed his microphone.
Placed it silently on the table.
Picked up his jacket.
And followed her.
Not too close.
Just enough to keep her within sight.
She walked through the long corridors of Lumière Studios with familiar ease, occasionally smiling at passing employees who greeted her warmly.
She wasn't heading toward the main exit.
His brows knitted together.
She turned left.
Past the photography department.
Past the editing suites.
Then toward the editorial wing.
Damiano slowed his pace.
Editorial?
Why was she going there?
Was Lara waiting for her?
Were they discussing tomorrow's schedule?
Curiosity slowly transformed into something darker.
Something restless.
He remained several steps behind, careful not to be seen.
Alankrita finally stopped outside Lara Thorne's office.
She didn't knock.
She smiled.
Then quietly pushed the door open and disappeared inside.
Damiano reached the nearby corner moments later.
The office door hadn't closed completely.
A narrow gap remained.
He stood hidden beside the water dispenser, his breathing oddly uneven.
He hadn't intended to spy.
At least...
That was what he told himself.
But now...
Something urged him to look.
Just once.
Only for a second.
Slowly...
He lifted his eyes toward the half-open door.
And what he saw...
Made the entire world stop.