Chapter Two: Hunger

Dominic

I had been preparing for this moment for months.

Every detail meticulously planned. Every variable accounted for. The art gallery was the perfect setting—public enough to seem coincidental, intimate enough to initiate contact.

She arrived precisely on time, as I knew she would. The red dress she wore clung to her like a second skin, a bold choice that made her stand out amidst the monochrome crowd. She was breathtaking.

I watched from a distance, concealed behind a sculpture, observing her movements. She gravitated toward a painting titled Hunger, a chaotic blend of blacks and reds. Fitting.

I approached her slowly, ensuring my footsteps were audible just enough to not startle her. Standing beside her, I let the silence linger before speaking.

"You like it?" I asked, my voice calm, measured.

She turned to me, her eyes meeting mine. There was a flicker of recognition—or was it curiosity?

"It's... intense," she replied, her voice steady.

"So are you," I said, allowing a hint of a smile to play on my lips.

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Do you always flirt like a man who knows too much?"

"Only when it's warranted," I responded.

We stood there, the painting before us, the air thick with unspoken tension. After a moment, I took a step back.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening," I said, turning away.

As I walked off, I could feel her gaze lingering on me. The seed had been planted.