10. Damian
CHAPTER 10
DAMIAN
I haven’t seen her in three days.
A few texts. A voicemail I never answered. A missed call I told myself I’d return later.
But “later” never comes when you’re putting out fires with both hands.
Vincent is moving faster than I anticipated.
His team has secured a stake in one of our satellite holdings. Minor on paper and irrelevant to most eyes but not to mine. It’s the kind of move you make when you’re sending a message, when you want someone to know, “I see your weaknesses. I know where to press.”
And I won’t let him win. Not again.
I’ve been buried in meetings. Lawyers. Analysts. Asset shields. Emergency buybacks. Every minute I’m not sleeping, I’m restructuring the very company I built just to keep him from cracking its foundation.
I tell myself I’ll see her tomorrow.
I need to see her tomorrow.
But I don’t head to her place. Instead, I walk into my penthouse at 2:42 in the morning. The silence is thick, and the ache from missing her and wishing I could come home to her every day hits me hard.
I sit on the edge of my bed, loosen my tie, and stare at my phone.
One unread message.
Are we okay?
How the hell am I supposed to say to Isabelle’s text? I don’t even know what the hell we are. We kissed like we couldn’t breathe without each other, and I told her that I still love her, but she never said them back to me, and I don’t want to make the same mistakes I made last time, but her business is thriving too, and I won’t risk keeping her from her work either.
But with Vincent coming back like a grim reaper… I feel like the sands of time are being poured down my throat, choking me.
And she’s slipping away.
Worse, I’m letting her.
I don’t know how to show her everything I’m feeling. Vulnerability isn’t my strongest suit, and Vincent has me on my toes. I can’t afford any weaknesses.
Love and empire don’t mix, but fuck it all, I can feel both crumbling.
She wants openness. Vulnerability. Proof that I’m not still the man who kept her at arm’s length, but I’ve spent my whole life building armor, not baring my throat, and every hour I spend fighting Vincent, I feel myself fortifying again, slipping back into strategy, calculation, silence.
It’s costing me her. I know it is, but how can I stop? I can’t stop. If I lose the company, I lose everything I’ve ever known.
But if I lose her again… I don’t think I’ll survive it.
* * *
The deal was a lock.
Twelve months of grooming, negotiating, folding in side partners and lining up funding channels. The press release was drafted. The champagne was on standby.
And now? It’s all gone, vanished as if I never wined and dined.
Business-wise, of course.
My jaw clenches, and my heart pounds as I glower at Clara. “Can you repeat that?”
She gives a curt nod. “Grey Enterprises swooped in overnight. Matthison pulled out this morning.”
“How the hell did he even know we were close to closing?”
She lets out a slow exhale. “Someone must’ve leaked it. Not from our legal team. That’s not possible, but maybe one of the junior advisors. Could’ve been a contractor.” She pauses and then adds, “Could’ve been deliberate.”
I grip the back of my chair so tightly the leather creaks. “It was deliberate.”
Vincent.
He’s not just trying to bleed me. He wants to humiliate me. He wants to take everything.
I nod once, the movement sharp and cold. “Freeze all shared projects between Matthison and any of our subsidiaries. Have PR rewrite the story. Find a way to spin it. He backed out due to… Fill in the blank.”
Clara nods and exits without another word.
The moment the door closes, I exhale through my teeth and sit down slowly, trying to calm the white-hot rage burning in my chest.
I’ve faced competitors. Enemies. Even betrayals. This is war.
And in the middle of it is Isabelle.
I tried to text her back and answer her question, but the words wouldn’t come. I don’t want to lie. I don’t want to tell her “everything’s fine” when I feel like I’m gripping the edge of a cliff with one hand and watching the world I built crumble beneath me.
But I also don’t want to tell her the truth. If I lose everything, if I’m not the man she thinks I am, will she walk away again?
The distance between us isn’t just a crack anymore. It’s widening, spreading like a damn fault line beneath our feet, and I’m too buried in the chaos to reach for her the way I should.
Instead, I retreat further. Into meetings. Into damage control. Into silence.
She hasn’t asked to see me, and I haven’t asked her to wait.
Mostly because I don’t know if she will.