Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
T horn stood in Damian’s bedroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t sure why her chest felt so tight, why there was a sudden heaviness in her throat. A few moments ago, she’d been fine—more than fine. She’d even managed a smile. But now, standing here in this dress, it all felt like too much.
It had been a mistake to wear it.
Do you, Rose, take this man, Jaden, to be your lawfully wedded husband.
Husband.
She thought about Damian and snorted. Not freakin’ likely.
Yeah, sure. He was a good-looking man, if you liked that dark, sullen thing—all swirling intensity and black looks. Not her type.
It had been eight years since Jaden had died, and she still wasn’t over it. She’d thought she was. She’d convinced herself she was stronger, that she could handle this mission, but the sight of herself in this wedding gown had brought it all back, hitting her harder than she expected.
Pat and the team thought the dress was a rental. She hadn’t corrected them. Only Damian had guessed the truth.
But a small part of her had wanted to remember. Wanted to feel like it was her first time again. The excitement, the anticipation, the joy.
Was that so bad?
With a steadying breath, she reached behind and unzipped the gown. It had been the happiest day of her life, after all. She’d wanted a glimmer of that, a chance to revisit it in her memory, a chance to remember him .
The silk gown fell to the floor. She’d never find that kind of love again. It was a once in a lifetime thing, and she considered herself lucky to have experienced it once. Some people didn’t even get that chance.
Sadly, it had been short lived. She’d lost it a couple of weeks later.
On honeymoon.
The screams still haunted her. She could hear them now, on the beach. The shouts of fear, the cries of terror. Then the gunshots, getting louder and louder. The realization. Running. The hot sand beneath her feet. Jaden shouting at her to get back in the water, gesturing madly. Bullets flying over her head.
Sniffing, she stepped out of the dress. Would the screams ever fade? Did she even want them to?
Thorn shook her head, pushing the memories away.
Sniffing, she stepped away from the gown, leaving it on the floor like a shed skin.
The past was done. She couldn’t change it, couldn’t bring Jaden back. She had a job to do, and that idiot in the living room was it.
Sure, he was a tall, darkly handsome idiot, with intense gray eyes that seemed to see right through her—but he was still an idiot.
She picked up her holster and Glock, attaching them to her hip with practiced precision. The familiar weight of the gun against her body grounded her, pulling her back to reality. Thorn examined herself in the mirror, now clad in jeans and a black T-shirt, her holster in plain view.
Now she could think like an operative again, and not like a wife.
His wife.
He wouldn’t be so bad if he stopped with the questions. She didn’t need an inquisition. Steeling her shoulders, she returned to the living room.
She returned to the living room, finding Damian lounging on the sofa, a glass of wine in his hand. He’d removed his jacket and undone his top button, exposing a tanned chest with a smattering of dark hair. He looked up as she entered, his eyes briefly lingering on her before returning to his glass.
“I have to admit, I preferred you in the wedding dress,” he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.
She ignored him.
“There’s soda in the fridge, if you want something to drink,” he added.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
She glanced at the nearly empty bottle on the table. “Better to keep a clear head.” Not that she cared if he got drunk, but it wouldn’t help if there was an emergency.
His expression darkened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he pushed the bottle away, setting the glass down.
“What do you do to unwind, Special Agent Thorn?”
“More questions?” She raised an eyebrow, keeping her tone light despite the tension simmering beneath the surface.
He shrugged, leaning back on the sofa. “What’s wrong with getting to know each other?”
Thorn studied him, trying to read the emotions flickering behind his gray eyes. Was he genuinely curious, or was he probing, looking for a weakness to exploit? She couldn’t tell, and that bothered her.
She decided to turn the tables. “How did you get involved in crypto development?”
His gaze sharpened. “You mean how did I become a target?”
She nodded, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed.
“I made the mistake of pissing off some very powerful people,” he said. “But you already know that.”
“How did you get involved with them?” She ignored the jibe.
He rubbed his temples as if the question pained him. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got all night.”
He gave a reluctant nod. “True.”
Thorn sat down on the opposite sofa, her back to the wall. From this position, she could scan the entire room, and react instantly if anyone came in through the door or the windows.
Damian set down his glass. “When I developed Lydian, my aim was to create a cryptocurrency that was truly anonymous, free from the controls of traditional banking systems. I wanted to offer an alternative for people in developing countries, a way to participate in the global economy without the restrictions imposed by their governments.”
Thorn narrowed her eyes. “And you didn’t think criminals would jump at the chance to use that anonymity for their own purposes?”
He clenched his jaw, his eyes hardening. “Of course, I did. But I thought the good would outweigh the bad.”
She scoffed. “That’s a pretty na?ve assumption for someone as smart as you.”
His gaze locked on hers, and she could see the anger simmering beneath the surface. “Maybe I was na?ve,” he admitted, his voice low, almost a growl. “But I’ve learned a lot since then. That’s why I’m trying to fix it.”
“Fix it?” She tilted her head, studying him. “Or cover your tracks?”
His fists clenched, and for a moment, she thought he might explode. But instead, he took a deep breath, visibly reigning in his temper. “I’m not trying to cover anything up. I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“By working with the FBI? Or is this just another deal to save your own skin?”
Damian stood abruptly, his face inches from hers, his gray eyes flashing with anger. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Thorn. You think you have me all figured out, but you don’t. I’m doing this because I have to, because it’s the only way to set things right.”
Thorn held his gaze, refusing to back down. “You don’t get to play the victim here, Damian. People have died because of what you created. Innocent people. You don’t get to wash your hands of that.”
His breathing was ragged, his fists still clenched at his sides. “I’m not washing my hands of anything. I’m trying to make amends. But don’t you dare lecture me about morality. I know what I’ve done, and I know what it’s cost me.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but the look in his eyes stopped her.
There was more there, more pain, more guilt than she’d expected. He wasn’t just angry—he was haunted.
In that moment, she saw a glimpse of the man behind the billionaire, the man who had once believed he could change the world.
He took a shuddering breath and fixed his gaze on her. “You must have done things you didn’t want to, for the greater good?”
“I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” she agreed quietly, taking a step back. The air was suddenly charged with a weird kind of tension, and she wanted to dilute it.
Some of the fire left his expression. “Then maybe you should stop judging me for mine.”
She didn’t reply, and for a moment, they just stood there, unsure where to take this conversation next. Damian took the matter out of her hands. “I’m going to bed.”
She got to her feet.
“No, please. Make yourself at home.”
“I’d feel better if?—”
“I wouldn’t. See you in the morning.”
She watched him stalk from the room, his shoulders stiff and unbending, his hands clenched into hard fists.
Thorn waited until nine a.m. before deciding to disturb Damian. She’d heard him rise at five, and from the sound of it, he’d been in his study ever since. After yesterday’s tension, she’d hoped for a fresh start, but the nagging feeling that something was off wouldn’t leave her. This wasn’t just about protecting a high-profile client. There was more at stake, and she needed Damian to take it seriously.
BAD BOY CRYPTO DEVELOPER WEDS screamed the news headlines. She’d just been reading it online, her stomach churning at the words. They hadn’t released any photographs yet, those were still coming, but she dreaded having to act like she was the happiest woman alive.
She had been that woman once, but not anymore. Now, the act was nothing more than a strategic move in a dangerous game.
Thorn shut the laptop, her stomach churning. No use dwelling on the past. There were more pressing matters to focus on, like the latest security update.
Blackthorn Security’s onsite unit had already been in touch to give her the all-clear. No trouble during the night other than some intrepid reporters climbing the gate, trying to gain access to the property, but they’d all checked out when the team had run their details. No one posing a threat.
The house alarm had remained intact too, affording her a couple of hours sleep. After her big day yesterday, she’d needed it. The nap had soothed her nerves, which were more shredded than she’d realized after tying the knot.
She found Damian in his study, his focus unwavering as he typed away at his laptop. The large, wooden desk that dominated the room was neatly organized, a testament to his meticulous nature. He looked up as she entered, his gray eyes narrowing slightly.
“Do you usually just walk into people’s private offices unannounced?” he asked, his lips curling into a half-smile. “Oh, yeah. You do.”
Thorn ignored the jibe. “We need to talk about Miami.”
He arched an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “What about it?”
She crossed the room, keeping her tone professional. “I talked to Pat this morning. The plan is to fly to Miami just before the conference, minimizing the time you’re exposed. We’ll use an assumed name for the hotel booking, and I’ll be with you at all times. It’s the safest way.”
Damian’s gaze flicked to the window, where the sunlight filtered through the blinds. “You really think they’ll try something there?”
She nodded, her expression serious. “It’s where you’re most vulnerable. If I were in their shoes, that’s when I’d strike.”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve thought this through.”
“That’s what you’re paying us for.” She hesitated, then added, “We’ll use your private jet. It’s easier to control the environment that way.”
Damian gave a curt nod. “Fine. I’ll inform my pilot. Anything else?”
She glanced at the map on the wall behind him. It was a geographical map of a region she couldn’t immediately place. Beneath it were several framed photographs of people in kaftans and headscarves, their expressions a mix of hardship and resilience.
She’d seen similar expressions before. Afghanistan? Syria? Were they why he had the map?
He noticed her gazing at it. “I spent some time there once.”
“Where? The Middle East?”
He nodded, but didn’t elaborate.
She considered pressing him but decided against it. They were already on shaky ground, and she didn’t want to push too hard. Instead, she refocused on the task at hand. “I want to make sure you’re ready for this, Damian. The threats against you are real, and they’re not going away just because you’re in Miami.”
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “You don’t think I’m taking this seriously?”
“I think you’re trying to downplay the danger,” she replied, her voice steady. “But that won’t help anyone, least of all you.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stood and walked to the window, staring out at the expansive grounds. “I’m not used to all this—being protected. It feels... awkward.”
Thorn crossed her arms, watching him closely. “You’ll get used to it.”
He glanced back at her, a flicker of something—perhaps guilt or frustration—crossing his face. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
She bit her lip. “I trust my instincts. And right now, they’re telling me to be cautious.”
Damian turned fully to face her. “I’m not your enemy, Thorn.”
She held his gaze, searching for any sign of deception. It was hard to see past his shuttered gaze and creased brow. “Maybe not,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not dangerous.”
He didn’t flinch at her words. Instead, he nodded slowly, as if accepting a truth he’d long been aware of. “Fair enough.”
There was a pause, interrupted by his cell phone ringing. Glancing down, he said, “It’s Christine.”
Thorn nodded. “Keep it brief—and remember to stick to the story as per the briefing.”
A droll roll of the eyes. “Don’t worry. I know my lines.”
She left him to his call, closing the door softly behind her. Instead of going back to the living room, she hovered in the corridor and listened.
“Christine?”
She waited.
“Yes, it’s true. She’s an old girlfriend I reconnected with recently.”
She walked away, already knowing the rest of the script.