28. Damien
28
DAMIEN
I’ve never hated silence until now.
The estate is too quiet without my mother. My apartment is too clean. My schedule is full of meaningless meetings, and every room I enter feels like it used to have Sasha in it—even the ones she’s never stepped foot in.
Mother is safe now—relocated to a friend’s vineyard in Provence, surrounded by old stone and men with rifles who owe me more than they can repay.
She called me overprotective . I called it arithmetic. One less soft target for Lev to exploit.
Oleg is still in recovery, stapled together and cursing the nurses in three languages. He tried to stand when I visited. He nearly blacked out.
I told him to stay down or I’d sedate him myself.
He laughed, then asked if I’d heard from “the girl.”
I changed the subject.
Because I have heard—hourly reports, discreet photographs, timestamps—proof that Sasha is alive, commuting, eating toast, hating morning meetings.
“She went to a hospital last week?” I ask Roman.
“Yes, we believe she accompanied her roommate,” Roman says noncommittally. “She looks fine otherwise, we couldn’t tell if something is up with her.”
The answer isn’t enough, but I know pushing too hard would alert her to my men’s presence. And she would hate that.
My men tail her at a distance she never notices.
Lev must believe I’ve let her go. The world must believe it.
But I can’t stop watching.
Every blurry photo of her in a subway car feels like oxygen.
Two days ago, one of my top commanders, Tyson, was found dead in broad daylight, a Bratva coin lodged in his teeth.
Roman says he’s playing a longer game now. That Lev wants to gut me from the inside out, not just take me out. I believe him. It’s exactly what I’d do if I were that twisted.
So I play my part.
Keep Sasha far, far away.
Make Lev think I’ve cut her loose. That she doesn’t matter.
But she does.
More than she should.
She’s working. She’s healthy. She’s walking alone most of the time, headphones in, lost in thought.
One of my men reported that she cried during her lunch break last week. He said it like he was apologizing for telling me.
Today, I’m back in the office, tie knotted too tight, eyes burning from lack of sleep. Roman is giving me updates, but I’m barely listening.
I just need ten minutes of silence.
Ten minutes to remember why I still bother pretending this is just a corporation and not a kingdom built on blood.
“…so I told them, if they keep dragging their feet on the Rotterdam shipment, we’ll reroute through Antwerp. It’s not ideal, but it’s cleaner than getting shaken down in Marseille again,” Roman says as he flips through his notes, pacing casually across my office.
“Also, I don’t know if this is important or not but I saw Nina hanging out with one of Sasha’s friends. I saw them at a restaurant three days ago.”
“Who?” I ask, barely even there.
“That guy Ryan.”
I’m listening. Kind of.
Until I’m not.
A new email pings into my inbox—low corner, bottom right. Nothing unusual. Dozens of those show up every hour.
But then I catch the subject line.
FW: Resignation – Sasha Caldwell
Sender: Mark Jensen.
My stomach goes stone-cold.
I don’t say anything. Just click the message open with one hand while Roman keeps talking, unaware.
Please see Sasha Caldwell’s resignation below.
She emailed me directly a few minutes ago.
Thought you should be looped in.
—Mark
-----Original Message-----
From: Sasha Caldwell
To: Mark Jensen
Subject: Resignation – Effective Immediately
Mark,
Effective immediately, I am resigning from my position at Zaitsev Industries.
Thank you for the opportunity.
—Sasha Caldwell
Four sentences.
Polite. Professional. She thinks she can disappear just like that.
I don’t hear what Roman’s saying anymore.
I close the laptop—slowly. Deliberately.
Roman finally looks up. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
I stare straight ahead. “She quit.”
He pauses. “Who?”
“Sasha.”
His brows twitch together. “What do you mean she quit?”
“She sent a resignation email to her supervisor. He just forwarded it.” I grit my teeth. “No warning. No goodbye. Just…poof.”
Roman crosses his arms. “You sent her away. What did you expect?”
“Not this.” I stand from my chair, blood starting to simmer in my veins. “She was supposed to lie low. Stay safe. Not disappear completely like I meant nothing.”
I slam a hand down on the desk, rattling a pen holder.
“She thinks this ends with a two-paragraph email and a badge left on the table?” I shake my head. “She’s wrong.”
Roman lifts a brow. “You really thought she’d wait around while you ghosted her?”
I hate how right he is.
I grab my jacket from the back of the chair.
I find her in the hallway.
Fifth floor. Just outside the elevator bank. Carrying a stack of folders so tall it nearly blocks her face.
She doesn’t see me until it’s too late.
And for half a second, I do nothing.
I just watch her.
Her hair’s different—messier, like she didn’t have time to tame it this morning. She’s thinner, a little paler. Her usual spark seems dulled around the edges. But she’s still her. Still Sasha.
She looks up—and freezes.
The papers tumble from her arms and scatter across the tile floor like startled birds. We both crouch at the same time, hands brushing once as we reach for the same report.
She snatches hers back too quickly.
“You’re quitting?” I ask.
Her entire body stills.
“I saw the email,” I add quietly, like that softens the blow.
She straightens slowly, holding the stack of papers like a shield. “When did you come back?”
“Last night.”
“I wasn’t expecting?—”
“I know.” I step forward, but not too close. She already looks like a deer in headlights.
“You weren’t going to tell me?” I ask, low. “You thought you could just vanish?”
Her chin lifts, defiant. “It’s none of your business anymore.”
“Don’t say that,” I growl. “Don’t act like none of this meant anything.”
“You left,” she snaps. “You sent me away. You didn’t call. You didn’t check in?—”
“I had to keep you safe.”
“You didn’t even ask me what I wanted!” she says, voice cracking. “You made the decision for me like I was some porcelain doll you could shove in a box and forget.”
My fists clench. “You think I forgot about you?”
“I think,” she says, stepping back, “you’re used to control. And you can’t handle what you can’t contain.”
“You’re not something to be contained.”
“Then stop acting like I’m yours to command.”
Silence falls between us like a curtain. My breath feels tight in my chest. Her face is flushed, her eyes glossy. God, I missed those eyes. I missed everything.
“You think I wanted this?” I say, voice low. “You think I wanted to stay away? I’ve been losing my mind?—”
“Then you should have called,” she says, barely a whisper. “You should have said something.”
There’s a beat of silence between us. Thick with everything we haven’t said.
“You have no idea what I’ve been through,” I say.
She looks away. “It’s not just you. With everything that has happened, I don’t think I can work here anymore. People are talking about me. And it will get worse when…”
She catches herself.
“When?” I prompt.
She shakes her head. “Never mind, this is the right thing to do.”
“I don’t accept your resignation.”
She trembles. “Don’t do this to me, Damien.”
Her face goes pale.
She blinks hard once, swaying slightly. She stumbles.
“Sasha—” I lunge forward and steady her by the waist.
Her body sags against mine for the briefest moment, warm and terrifyingly light. Her skin is clammy, and I can feel her pulse racing under my fingertips.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, barely. “Just dizzy. I haven’t eaten much today.”
I hold her there for a second longer than I should, torn. Everything in me screams to scoop her up and carry her out of here. Take her back to my place. Lock the door. Feed her. Make her safe.
But I already made that choice.
I already stepped back—for her.
I can’t change the rules now just because I’m weak.
Carefully, I ease her upright, letting go one hand at a time like she might shatter. I reach into my inside jacket pocket and pull out a business card.
“Here,” I say. “Roman’s number.”
She frowns at it. “Roman?”
“My head of security. If you ever need anything—anything—you call him.”
She hesitates before taking the card, her fingers grazing mine.
“You’re not going to be the one answering the call?” she asks quietly.
I shake my head once. “Not if I can help it.”
She stares at the card like it’s a lifeline. Then she looks up at me, searching.
There’s so much I want to say. That I still want her. That I haven’t slept properly since I sent her away. That I’m only breathing because I know she’s still out there.
But I don’t say any of it.
Because if I do, I’ll pull her back into my world. And that world is still on fire.
“I hate that you’re good at this,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.
“At what?”
“Letting go.”
I take a step back. It’s the hardest step I’ve taken in years.
“I hate it too,” I say.
And then I turn and walk away—before I do something stupid like change my mind. This is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do.
And I know why that is.
I’ve fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with her.