12. Damian
CHAPTER 12
DAMIAN
S he’s staring at me like she’s already halfway out the door. Like she’s waiting for me to prove her right. And that terrifies me more than losing any deal Vincent Grey could sabotage.
I swear she already knows the answer or at least is bracing for it, and that wrecks me because I don’t want her to be right.
I don’t want her to walk away thinking I’m incapable of giving her the one thing she’s always deserved—the truth.
But the truth is ugly, messy, and fractured, and I’ve spent years crafting a version of myself that doesn’t bleed.
Not in public.
Not in private.
Not even in love.
But now she’s standing here asking me to bleed, and all I can think is what if she sees what’s underneath and walks away anyway?
I also can’t turn off the part of me that calculates and measures risk.
If you fall too far into this, everything you’ve built will come down with you.
So I hesitate just long enough for the silence to sting.
“I need to know something,” I say carefully. “When you saw Vincent… what did he say to you?”
Her brows pull together, her whole body going still. “Seriously?”
“I just want to know what game he’s playing.”
“Damian—” she starts.
“Did he touch you? Did he try anything? Was he trying to?—”
“No,” she snaps. “Don’t do this. Don’t deflect. I didn’t come here to give you intel like one of your advisors. I came here because I needed you. The real you.”
I flinch, but I can’t stop the questions from pushing their way out. “You don’t think it’s relevant? That the man who’s actively trying to dismantle everything I’ve built is also trying to get close to you?”
Her eyebrows lift, and her lips fall apart.
Hmm. Of course he didn’t let her know about that part of his grand scheme.
But she crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “I think it’s convenient that you’re more comfortable talking about Vincent than talking about us.”
Fuck. That stings.
She steps back, pain flashing in her eyes. “You say you care and that you’re scared, but the second things get too real, you go cold. You calculate. You retreat.”
“I’m not retreating.”
“Yes, you are,” she says quietly. “Maybe you don’t even realize it, but you’re doing it again right now. I told you what I needed. I laid everything bare, and instead of meeting me in that, you’re already pivoting—to control, to strategy, to Vincent.”
I drag a hand through my hair, tension climbing my spine. “If I let my guard down and everything I’ve built crumbles, what am I supposed to offer you then?”
She looks at me for a long, aching second. “You. That’s what I’ve always wanted. Not the empire. Not the armor. You.”
The silence stretches between us again.
She shakes her head and turns toward the door, stepping back like she’s already letting go.
I want to stop her. I want to say the right thing. I want to strip myself bare like she asked.
But all I can think is what if I lose her and the empire too?
Honestly, I don’t know which one I’m more afraid of.
At the door, she pauses. She waits.
Even after I shut down again, even after I fumble every chance to say something real, she waits.
She wants to believe I’ll come through, but I don’t.
I can’t.
My throat locks. My chest’s tight. The words stay buried where they’ve always lived—somewhere under layers of strategy, armor, and decades of self-preservation. I can’t seem to dig them out.
I already told her I love her, but it’s like I feared. Words aren’t enough, and with Vincent closing in on both her and my business…
Things are too volatile right now, so I do what I’ve always done. I push her away without raising my voice and without slamming a door.
Just silence, and that’s all it takes.
The fight’s gone out of her, and she just nods. Something in her eyes fractures.
“I guess that’s my answer,” she whispers.
She leaves. She doesn’t slam the door, but it feels louder than a gunshot.
I stand in the middle of my office, surrounded by glass and skyline and silence, and fuck it all, I feel like I’ve lost something I can’t rebuild.
I haven’t wasted all of these years. I need to have something to prove myself.
Time to go to war with distraction.
Meetings. Calls. Spreadsheets. Legal reviews. I tear through them like a man on fire. Vincent thinks he’s going to break me? Not a chance.
I triple my hours. Lock down every vulnerable asset. Rework my distribution channels. I become the machine again. The man who built an empire with nothing but focus and teeth.
But it’s different now. Somehow, the office doesn’t feel like power anymore.
It feels like punishment.
The conference rooms echo with words I no longer care about. The boardroom feels colder. The corner office with its panoramic views feels like it’s closing in on me—glass walls and concrete promises I made to myself when I still thought success could fix everything.
But it can’t.
Not when she’s gone.
Not when I’m the one who drove her away.
And the sickest part? I did it to protect myself, and all it left me with was a kingdom of glass and no one to share it with.