Chapter 14
T he morning is beautiful, but I can’t feel it.
The sky is the kind of crisp blue that only exists in the Hamptons.
A warm breeze carries the distant sound of waves breaking on the shore. Sunlight streams through the open veranda doors, spilling golden light over the Calloways’ long breakfast table.
It should be a perfect morning.
But my stomach is in knots.
Because I know Adrian is going to approach me at some point this weekend.
He always has a way—like a weasel.
A game he’s played for a long time—twisting moments, warping the truth, doing everything he can to always appear in control. He hasn’t changed.
I see it in the smug set of his mouth, the lazy, easy way he lounges at the far end of the table, as if he has all the time in the world.
He’s waiting.
Waiting for the perfect moment to corner me.
I won’t let him.
I focus on my plate, cutting into my eggs Benedict, listening to the quiet hum of conversation around me. The Calloways are in high spirits, chatting about the day ahead. Margo is already planning her victory in the afternoon’s shuffleboard tournament. Marcus and Mr. Calloway are discussing a new development property in the city.
“Is your breakfast good?”
Damien’s deep voice wraps around me, warm and effortless, as if we’re the only two in the room.
It’s such a normal question. A fiancé checking on his partner. He’s playing the part perfectly.
He’s finished with his plate, leaning on his elbow close to me.
So close that when I look over to answer, my breath catches in my throat.
Something about being here—surrounded by the ocean, maybe—pulls out the various shades of blue in his eyes.
He’s so striking, I nearly forget the question.
His mouth quirks at my hesitation, amusement flickering there, but before I can answer, Adrian cuts in.
“So, Damien,” he starts casually, leaning back in his chair as he stirs his coffee. “I assume you haven’t had time to work through the concerns I raised yesterday. Will you be staying ashore today to get some work done?”
The table stills, tension creeping in at the edges of my awareness.
We’re going out on the Calloways’ yacht today, and the thought of being stuck there with Adrian—without Damien—makes my cheeks flush.
I swallow my bite of food carefully, watching as Damien lifts his coffee cup, taking a slow sip before placing it back down with deliberate ease. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t react.
He simply turns his gaze to Adrian, unreadable as ever. “Which concerns specifically?”
Adrian smiles, slow and self-satisfied. “Oh, you know—risk distribution, asset allocation, the minor oversights in your proposed terms. I imagine you were up all night revising your strategy.”
It’s bait.
An attempt to get under Damien’s skin. To make him slip, even if just slightly, in front of Calloway.
But Damien doesn’t take the bait.
He grabs the coffee pot, refilling my cup with a wink, then his own, and finally— finally —lets a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.
“Nah, it took no time at all. Marcus and I went over everything in about ten minutes,” he says smoothly. “We found your observations… interesting.”
I bite back a grin at the calculated amusement in his voice, like he’s indulging a child’s attempt at chess.
“Interesting how?” Adrian pushes, his fingers tightening around his coffee cup.
Damien shrugs, utterly composed. “Turns out, you’re using numbers that are decades old. Some pre-9/11 and—well—we all know how much New York shifted in that aftermath. It became a whole new world.”
“That’s for sure,” Calloway agrees absentmindedly as he cuts into his eggs.
The simple statement—his uncle’s approval—lands with the weight of a hammer, and I watch as Adrian’s jaw tightens just slightly before he covers it with another smile.
Damien doesn’t look away. Doesn’t move.
Except to put his hand on my knee, sitting back like he’s the one who owns the conversation now.
“In fact, we sent the updated projections and new reports validating our earlier statements last night just after dinner.”
Damien takes another casual sip of coffee.
“You haven’t looked them over yet?”
He’s good.
Better than good.
The entire conversation is a masterclass in control, and I find myself quietly impressed—by his intelligence, by his ruthless ability to dismantle Adrian’s every attempt at sabotage without breaking a sweat.
He isn’t just a powerful businessman.
He’s a strategist. A tactician. A man who always plays to win.
And Adrian—whether he realizes it or not—is already losing.
I lean my elbow on the arm of my chair, my hand wrapping around Damien’s as he rubs my knee. Both of us looking to Adrian for his next quip.
A couple. United and supportive.
Exactly what Margo wants to see. And based on the way she looks at where Damien and I are touching, then gives her own husband an appreciative smile, I’d say we’re on the right track.
The pissing match between them lasts the rest of breakfast, tension simmering beneath the surface of every exchange. Adrian smirks, Damien remains infuriatingly composed, and I sip my coffee, pretending not to notice the verbal chess match taking place between them.
Margo, enthusiastically unaware, finally claps her hands together. “Alright, enough business. It’s time for a proper day on the water. Go change, boys. We’re heading to the yacht.”
I exhale, relieved as everyone starts to rise from the table.
It’s beautiful out today, a perfect sky stretching over the horizon. The yacht, anchored just offshore, gleams in the morning light, its sleek white frame cutting a beautiful contrast against the blue.
I don’t swim—I never learned—but I love being on the water.
Excusing myself from the table, I head inside to freshen up.
A moment alone. To gather my thoughts. To push Adrian’s presence out of my mind.
I run cold water over my wrists, watching the drip of condensation from the porcelain sink, inhaling deeply.
Just get through the weekend.
I dry my hands, smoothing the plush towel over my palms before tossing it aside.
But the second I pull open the door, my stomach drops.
Adrian is leaning casually against the opposite wall, waiting.
Before I can react—before I can so much as inhale to tell him to fuck off —he rushes me.
A hand clamps over my mouth.
His other hand shoves the door open wider, pushing me backward as he steps inside, closing it swiftly behind him.
My back collides with the wood, heart hammering as I push against his chest, my fingers digging in, struggling.
“Shhh,” he whispers, his breath hot against my cheek. “Shhh, now. You don’t want your fiancé to hear you in here with another man, do you?”
I freeze.
Not because I’m scared—though fury burns through my veins like acid—but because right on cue, I hear Damien’s voice from just outside the door.
“Elena is just freshening up before we head out.”
His deep timbre rolls through the hallway, smooth and composed.
He has no idea what’s happening on the other side of this door.
If he finds me locked in the bathroom with Adrian after this morning’s charade, he’ll get the wrong idea. That there’s something between Adrian and me. Or worse—that I’m working with him.
I inhale sharply through my nose, locking my eyes on Adrian’s.
There’s satisfaction there. Victory.
But he has no idea who he’s fucking with.
Slowly, he removes his hand from my mouth, but he doesn’t step back.
Breathe. Stay in control.
I level him with a glare, my voice low but lethal. “What do you want?”
I shove against his chest, hard enough to make him take a step back, though his fingers remain curled around the door handle, still blocking my exit. Trapping me inside with him.
I refuse to shrink beneath his stare. Instead, I move with purpose, creating distance, my back straight, my chin lifted. If he thinks for a second he still holds any power over me, he’s dead wrong.
Adrian watches me with the same smug amusement I remember too well. The look of a man who always thinks he’s winning—even when he’s seconds from losing everything.
Not this time.
“What do I want?” He repeats the question slowly, rolling it over his tongue like he enjoys the way it sounds coming from my lips. “You already know, Elena.”
I cross my arms. “You’re wasting your time.”
“Am I?” He clicks his tongue, his gaze sweeping over me, cataloging every shift in my expression, looking for a crack in my armor. “I don’t think so. I think you’re going to hear me out because deep down, you know this is exactly what you need.”
I scoff. “What I need is for you to step the fuck aside and let me leave.”
His fingers tighten around the doorknob, but he doesn’t open it. Instead, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice like we’re conspiring rather than standing on opposite ends of a war I never agreed to fight.
“You didn’t tell him about us, did you?” His voice dips, condescending and coaxing all at once. “Does your fiancé know how many times I’ve fucked you?”
A hot coil of fury tightens in my stomach, but I don’t let my face betray me.
Adrian smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
I hold his gaze, refusing to let him see the anger simmering beneath my skin. “I see you’re still just as desperate to be relevant.”
His smirk falters for the briefest second.
Good.
“And I see you’re still as unreasonable as ever,” he sneers.
“Better than being weak,” I fire back.
His voice dips, taunting. “I just want you to keep him occupied. Distracted. Keep those pretty eyes on your fake fiancé while this deal falls apart, and I’ll make you a very rich woman.”
“You can throw your money around all you want, Adrian. But I don’t need you. I never did.”
He exhales sharply, his amusement dimming as something darker flickers in his eyes.
There. The real Adrian. The one who hates not getting his way. The one who lashes out when his control slips. The one who doesn’t know what to do with himself when he isn’t winning .
For a moment, we just stare at each other, the tension between us thick enough to suffocate.
Then, he smiles again. Slow. Calculated.
“Fine,” he says, finally lifting his hand from the door and stepping back. “Play hard to get. But think about it, sweetheart. I’d hate for your fiancé to start hearing some nasty rumors about your past.”
Asshole.
I survived my past. Something he never had to do.
I grip the doorknob, my entire body vibrating with the need to get out of this space, but I don’t turn it just yet.
Instead, I meet his stare, calm and unwavering. “You should be careful, Adrian.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Of what?”
My smile is sharp, razor-edged. “Of assuming I’m the same woman you left bleeding on a bathroom floor.”
For the first time, his smirk falters completely.
“Don’t forget what happened to your associates the last time you brought me into one of your deals.”
I don’t give him a chance to recover.
I turn the handle, stepping through the door into the bright hallway beyond, leaving him behind in the dim, suffocating shadows.