Sinner or Saint: Taboo Stories

The moment Elena walked into the private penthouse bar, Damon Blackwood forgot about the ten million dollars lying on the poker table.

Elena Hart had no idea she had just walked into the lion’s den. She simply carried a silver tray of drinks against her chest, trying to ignore the way the richest men in the city watched her like she was something they could buy.

She kept her head down. She always did. A girl like her had learned early that attention from powerful men rarely ended well.

But Damon’s attention was not something she could escape.

He sat at the main poker table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, jaw sharp enough to cut glass. The other men leaned back like wealthy kings. Damon did not. He leaned forward, eyes fixed on the girl whose name he did not know yet, watching her like she had just interrupted the entire universe.

“Your drink, sir.” Elena placed a glass in front of him without meeting his eyes.

He let his fingers brush hers. Just lightly. Just enough to make her freeze.

“Thank you.” His voice was warm and deep. It wrapped around her like velvet. She pulled her hand back quickly and walked away, shaking off the strange feeling in her chest.

She did not see the way Damon’s eyes followed every step she took.

But the men at the table did.

And they smirked.

“Blackwood,” Julian Reed said quietly. “Since you are so distracted, let us make this interesting.”

Damon turned his attention back to the cards. “I do not get distracted.”

“Really.” Julian nodded toward Elena. “Then you will not refuse a bet involving her.”

Damon’s jaw tensed. “What bet.”

Julian grinned. The others leaned in like snakes waiting to strike.

“Simple. Seduce her. Make her fall for you. Do what you do best. The Damon Blackwood charm.”

Damon did not look back at the girl. He kept his face unreadable, but inside something dark and cold twisted. They wanted to turn her into a game. Into entertainment. Into currency.

“I do not need to prove anything to you,” Damon said.

Julian pushed a heavy stack of chips toward the center of the table. “Ten million dollars.”

A hush fell over the room.

Damon glanced at the chips. Then at the men. Then, without turning his head, his eyes found Elena again. She was laughing softly with the bartender as she returned the empty tray. It was a small sound. Soft. Unpracticed. Pure.

A sound that did not belong in a place like this.

She deserved better than these men and their arrogance. Better than being an item on a list or a pawn in their games.

But Damon’s pride was vicious.

And no one challenged him and walked away smug.

He placed his cards down. “You truly want to lose your money tonight. Fine. I accept your bet.”

The men laughed with satisfaction.

A deal sealed in poison.

Damon leaned back in his chair, eyes on Elena again. She felt the stare and turned. For a split second their eyes met. Hers were warm honey. His were winter-dark.

She looked away first.

But her breath hitched.

Damon noticed.

He always noticed.

Later that night, Elena stepped outside the bar to take a breath. The city lights glowed behind her. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to shake off the long shift. Her feet ached. Her back hurt. She wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed.

“Rough night.”

The voice came from behind her. Smooth. Calm. Familiar.

Her heart jumped. She turned and found Damon leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, watching her with that intense focus that made her skin heat.

She straightened. “Sir, you cannot be out here. This area is for staff.”

“I will not tell if you do not.”

She swallowed hard. “Is there a problem.”

“Yes.” He stepped closer. “You left without telling me your name.”

Her lips parted slightly. “Elena.”

“Elena.” He repeated it like he planned to taste it.

She took a small step back. “I should go inside.”

“Or,” Damon said, stopping her with a single lowered gaze, “you could let me drive you home.”

She blinked. “Why would you do that.”

“Because you look tired. And because I want to.”

She shook her head. “I do not get involved with customers.”

“Good,” he said softly. “Because I am not asking to get involved.”

Her brows knitted. “Then what are you asking.”

“For a chance.” He looked directly into her eyes. “One conversation. One ride home. Nothing more.”

Her heart beat too loud in her ears. Something about him felt dangerous. Not because he might hurt her. Because she already knew she might want him.

“I should not,” she whispered.

“But you want to,” he said gently.

Her breath caught.

He smiled a slow confident smile.

The kind that made women fall.

The kind that had won him every bet he ever took.

Including this one.

Elena finally nodded. “One ride.”

Damon felt something sharp shoot through his chest. Not triumph. Not victory.

Something he could not name.

He opened the door for her with quiet intention.

The bet had begun.

And Elena Hart had no idea she was walking straight into the most dangerous game of her life.

Elena had never been inside a car this expensive. She sat carefully on the leather seat of Damon Blackwood’s black sedan, afraid she might damage something by breathing too hard. The interior smelled like cedar and something male and cool. Every surface was polished. Every detail whispered wealth.

Damon closed the door gently before walking around to the driver’s side. She watched him through the windshield, feeling strangely nervous. It was one thing to serve drinks to billionaire men from a distance. It was another thing entirely to sit in their car, alone with one of them, while the rest of the world blurred outside the windows.

He got in and buckled his seatbelt without hurry. His movements were controlled. Calm. He did not need to impress anyone. He was a man who already owned the world.

“Comfortable?” he asked, glancing at her.

“Comfortable enough,” Elena replied, though her voice came out softer than planned.

He