Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Damian
The glow of my laptop screen lit up the dark office, casting pale light over the mess of papers spread across my desk.
An email draft blinked at me—half-written, scattered thoughts about a deal I should’ve wrapped up hours ago—but my fingers hovered uselessly above the keys.
My eyes kept drifting, drawn repeatedly to the phone beside my keyboard.
Juliette: Can we talk?
Three simple words from Juliette, and I was completely undone.
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling hard as I raked a hand through my hair. I’d spent the entire day trying to bury myself in work, pretending the mountain of contracts and client updates would be enough to keep my mind occupied. It hadn’t.
Because no matter how many reports I pretended to read, all I could see was Juliette, sitting in that sterile doctor’s office, waiting for answers I couldn’t give her.
My jaw tightened. I remembered the moment on the plane, the two of us seated comfortably in the private jet, a bottle of wine between us, when she’d turned to me with that deceptively light tone and asked if I’d ever consider being a sperm donor.
I’d laughed it off—made some throwaway comment—and she’d smiled, but not really.
The visit to Germany went downhill after that brief conversation.
And now, because of her, the gallery was experiencing an influx of business, new donors lining up to purchase tickets to the upcoming gala.
Juliette hadn’t just helped revitalize the event—she’d breathed life into the entire operation, drawing in a crowd we hadn’t been able to reach before.
She was brilliant, magnetic, impossible to ignore.
And somehow, I was still the man she came to with her quiet, aching questions.
She hadn’t been joking. Not then.
And I’d known it.
I stared at the phone again, the guilt pressing sharp and cold behind my ribs.
She was facing the biggest decision of her life, staring down a future that terrified her, and the whole time, I’d been keeping Mateo buried like some dirty secret.
A son I’d never planned for, never expected—but who existed all the same. And Juliette had no idea.
My throat tightened, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a beat, willing the pressure behind them to ease.
This wasn’t me. I wasn’t the man who froze up when it mattered. I wasn’t the man who lied by omission, who kept walls up when the person on the other side had already trusted me with more than I deserved.
But somehow, with Juliette, I was.
I pushed back from the desk, the chair groaning quietly beneath me. My hands scrubbed over my face, rough with end-of-day stubble, and for a second, I just sat there in the dark, the city lights flickering faintly through the window.
Maybe this was the moment everything broke. Maybe I’d already crossed the line.
But as much as the thought gutted me, what terrified me more was the idea of doing nothing. Of letting her walk through this alone, carrying the weight of a decision I’d helped create, and not being there when she needed me most.
I opened my eyes, the edges of the room coming back into focus, and let out a slow, shaky breath.
This wasn’t sustainable. Sooner or later, something had to give.
And maybe… I was discovering what being in love felt like.
The streets were quiet as I pulled up in front of the Devereux Gallery, the sleek exterior glowing under soft lights. It was too late for anyone except the cleaning crew, but Anthony’s office light was still on. Typical.
I killed the engine and sat for a moment, hands resting on the wheel, watching the way the light spilled onto the sidewalk. I hadn’t planned to come here. Hell, I hadn’t planned anything past burying myself in spreadsheets and pretending Juliette’s text wasn’t burning a hole in my phone.
But here I was. And maybe that was the right call for once.
Inside, the gallery was hushed and echoing, the quiet that settled in after hours, when the last visitors were gone, and the art seemed to exhale.
I found Anthony in his office, leaning over his desk with a phone to his ear, a glass of bourbon within reach.
When he looked up and saw me in the doorway, he waved me in without missing a beat.
“Sinclair,” he murmured into the phone, wrapping up whatever call he was on. “Yeah. We’ll circle back tomorrow. Thanks.”
He hung up, gave me a once-over, and reached for another glass.
“Didn’t expect to see you tonight,” he said, pouring a generous measure before sliding it across the desk. “Trouble in paradise, or are you just here for the good stuff?”
I took the glass, but I didn’t drink. Instead, I traced the rim with my thumb, watching the liquid catch the light.
“Fundraiser’s shaping up,” I offered, voice low. “Juliette’s got half the city roped into donating something.”
Anthony leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Yeah, she’s good at that. Better than I am.”
“She’s good at a lot of things.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Anthony’s eyes sharpened, and just like that, the easy conversation cooled a few degrees. “Gabrielle said she was at the doctor’s today.”
I nodded, feeling the weight settle heavier on my shoulders.
“And?” he prodded.
I shook my head. “I don’t know yet. She hasn’t told me.”
Anthony studied me in the dim light, then exhaled quietly, tipping back in his chair. “You’ve been circling something for weeks now, Sinclair. You want to spit it out, or do we keep dancing around it all night?”
My jaw tightened. I could’ve laughed it off, could’ve deflected—God knew I was good at that — but I didn’t have the energy tonight.
“I’m… holding something back from her,” I admitted. “Something she deserves to know.”
Anthony’s brow lifted slightly, but to his credit, he didn’t press. Instead, he reached for his own glass, swirling the bourbon with a thoughtful tilt of his wrist.
“You can’t sit on the fence forever, Sinclair,” he said quietly. “If you care about her, you don’t get to keep half the truth in your pocket.”
I let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through my hair as the guilt prickled under my skin. I could feel it in my face, could feel the way my defenses cracked just enough for Anthony to see the strain underneath.
I didn’t tell him about Mateo. Couldn’t. Not yet.
But I saw the moment Anthony picked up on it anyway—the flicker in his eyes, the subtle tightening of his mouth.
“You’re a lot of things, Sinclair,” he murmured, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “But you’re not a coward. So don’t act like one now.”
The words landed deeper than I wanted to admit, cutting past the practiced edges I usually kept in place. I stood slowly, fingers curling briefly around the untouched glass before setting it back on his desk. “Thanks, Anthony.”
He gave a small nod, no smile this time, just steady, measured understanding.
The cool night air hit me the second I stepped outside, sharp against my skin, cutting through the restless heat humming in my veins. City lights glittered across the windshield of my car, their reflections rippling over the hood as I hit the unlock button.
My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket. I pulled it out, thumb swiping across the screen.
Juliette: Are you free tonight?
For a second, I just stood there on the sidewalk, the sounds of traffic in the distance, the gallery behind me like a ghost. My heart thudded hard in my chest, a beat too fast, too loud, as I stared at those four words.
No more running. No more hiding.
I slid into the driver’s seat, the leather cool beneath my hands as I gripped the wheel. My throat was tight, every breath sharp, but under the nerves was something steadier—something that had been missing for weeks.
Resolve.
I fired up the engine, the low growl breaking the quiet, and pulled out of the lot.
The city blurred past in streaks of gold and red, headlights slicing through the dark. I watched the road unfold in front of me, every turn pulling me closer to the one place I needed to be.
It was time. Time to tell her the truth. Time to stop pretending I could hold this all in and still have her.
Whatever came next—the fallout, the forgiveness, or the end—it was all waiting for me at that guest house.
I tightened my grip on the wheel as the streets narrowed, Juliette’s neighborhood pulling into view, the familiar ache of wanting her wrapping around my ribs.
My future was hanging in the balance. And for the first time in a long time, I was ready to face it.