Chapter 19 Emma
Chapter nineteen
Emma
The audit conversation wasn't over. Not by a long shot. But watching Damien this week—watching the tension leave him as Sebastian improved, as the doctors used words like "stable" and "progressing" instead of "critical" and "uncertain"—I couldn't bring myself to shatter that peace.
He'd lied. Falsified documents. Handed Nathan a weapon that had been used to corner me in that office, to make me scrub my hands until my skin burned, to try to wash off the feeling of his proposition.
I hadn't forgotten. Couldn't forget.
But I also couldn't change it.
The audit was done. Filed. The merger complete. Whatever Damien had fabricated was already woven into Falkirk's records, and no amount of screaming at him would undo it. The damage—and the protection—was already in motion.
So I let it sit.
Not forgiven. Not resolved. Just tabled.
Because right now, watching Damien laugh at something Sebastian said from his new room on the step-down unit, watching Rosie fuss over both her sons while Candace pretended she wasn't stealing glances at the younger one—I didn't want to think about Nathan.
About leverage. About the future ramifications that would inevitably come crashing down.
I wanted this moment.
And tonight, Damien had promised me a celebration.
"Alright," he announced, pushing up from his chair. "We need to head out."
Rosie looked up from the magazine she'd been flipping through. "So soon?"
"It's almost seven, Mom." He crossed to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "And Emma and I have plans."
"Plans," Sebastian repeated, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He looked better every day—still pale, still bruised, but the spark was returning. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Shut up," Damien said mildly.
"Be nice to your brother," Rosie admonished, swatting at Damien's arm. "He almost died."
"He's milking it."
"I absolutely am." Sebastian grinned. "I've earned at least six months of guilt-free overstepping."
I laughed, gathering my purse from the chair. "On that note—feel better, Sebastian. Rosie, always a pleasure."
She pulled me into a hug that smelled like lavender and hospital coffee. "Take care of my boy," she murmured against my ear.
"Always."
Candace waved from her perch by the window, legs tucked beneath her. "Have fun, you two."
"You're not coming?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"We have plans for the night," she teased.
"Please tell me you didn't bring that fucking puzzle," Sebastian groaned.
She reached into her bag, dragging out an atrocious puzzle of a labrador retriever, grinning like a cat.
I bit back a smile. Candace had spent nearly every day this week at the hospital, keeping Sebastian company while Rosie recovered.
She claimed it was to help out, to give Damien and me one less thing to worry about.
But I'd known her for thirty years. I saw the way her eyes lingered on Sebastian when she thought no one was watching.
The way she laughed too hard at his terrible jokes.
"Text me later," I told her.
"Will do." She smiled, but her attention was already drifting back to the bed.
We said our final goodbyes and slipped into the hallway.
Damien's fingers interlaced with mine, a quiet certainty that steadied me.
The distant beep of monitors faded behind us as we walked down the hall. Only days ago, I'd walked these same floors, terrified of what each new hour might bring. Now Sebastian was cracking jokes and flirting with nurses, and the man beside me felt solid again.
The elevator doors slid open and we stepped inside, the silence comfortable. Damien's thumb traced lazy circles against my knuckles. I leaned into his shoulder, letting my eyes close.
"Tired?" he asked.
"A little." I tilted my head to look at him. "But not too tired."
Heat stirred behind his eyes—banked beneath the exhaustion. "Good."
The lobby was quiet, visiting hours winding down. Damien released my hand at the entrance.
"Wait here. I'll pull the car around."
I nodded, watching him disappear into the parking garage. The evening air was cool against my skin. A welcome relief after weeks of sterile hospital air.
Headlights swept across the pavement. The sleek black car rolled to a stop in front of me, and I ducked inside quickly, sinking into the leather seat with a sigh.
Damien's arm crossed the console to rest on my leg. "Hear me out. What if we didn't go home tonight?"
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean—" He glanced at me, a playful edge tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We've been cooped up forever. Hospital. Work. Hospital again." His thumb stroked the exposed skin of my upper thigh. "I think we've earned a night out."
"We can't be seen together," I reminded him. "Nathan's already sniffing around. If someone spots us at a restaurant, a bar—"
"I said out. I didn't say public."
I narrowed my eyes. "What does that mean?"
He kept his gaze on the road, but I caught the smile he was trying to hide. "It means I know a place. Discreet. Private." A pause. "Very private."
"Damien."
"Yes?"
"What kind of place?"
He was quiet, the city lights sliding across his profile as he drove. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped—that deeper register.
"There is a place," he paused. "A social club if you will, for people like us."
My eyes narrowed. "Dominants and submissives?"
"Yes, among other people. Other titles," he pulled to a red light, taking the chance to catch my eye. "It's where I met my friends in the lifestyle. The people who showed me the correct way to do things."
"You want to take me there?" My voice came out smaller than I intended.
"Only if you want to go. No pressure. Not tonight. I'd be just as happy ordering takeout in our pajamas. But I thought..." He trailed off, choosing his words carefully. "I thought it might be good for us. After everything. A chance to reconnect. To just... be."
My heart kicked hard.
A club. A real club. With other people who did what we did.
The thought terrified me. It also thrilled me.
"What would we do there?"
Damien's grip on the wheel loosened as the light turned green, his posture easing as he explained.
"Tonight I'd just like to show you around." He glanced at me. "Let you see that we're not as rare as you might think."
"And people like us will be there?"
"Exactly like us." He smiled softly. "Dominants. Submissives. People who've built relationships around this dynamic. Some married. Some dating. Some just... exploring."
I chewed my bottom lip, processing.
"I thought it might help," he continued, "to see it outside our bubble. To know there's a whole community of people who understand what we have. Who don't think it's—"
"Fucked up?" I offered.
He huffed a laugh. "I was going to say unusual. But sure."
The car slowed at another red light. He turned to face me fully, his expression open. Sincere.
"There are other submissives there, Emma. Women—and men—who've walked this path longer than you have. People you could talk to." His mouth quirked. "Maybe even find a friend. Someone who gets it."
"I don't need any more friends," I said defensively. "I have Candace."
"Someone you can commiserate with." The light turned green, and he eased the car forward, grin widening. "You know—for when your Dominant is being a dick and you need to vent to someone who won't call the police."
A startled laugh escaped me.
"What?" he laughed. "I can admit I'm not perfect. I have my moments." He shot me a look. "As do you, if memory serves."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Mm-hmm." His mouth pressed into a disapproving line. "I seem to remember someone yelling 'fuck your orders' at me not too long ago."
"I meant it too." I chuckled, the memory hilarious in hindsight.
His laugh joined mine. "I know you did."
I settled back into my seat, the nervous flutter in my stomach slowly giving way to curiosity. Maybe even the first fragile stirrings of excitement.
"So we'd just... look around? Talk to people?"
"Exactly, no pressure. No agenda. We can leave whenever you want."
I turned the idea over in my mind, examining it from every angle the way I would a contract clause.
A club. A real BDSM club. With real people doing real... things.
"What if someone recognizes us?" The worry slipped out before I could stop it.
"They won't." His voice was certain. "The whole point of a place like this is discretion.
Half the members are executives, politicians, public figures.
People with far more to lose than we do.
" He reached over, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
"Trust me. No one there is interested in exposing anyone else.
Mutually assured destruction keeps everyone honest."
I snorted. "That's romantic."
"I'm a realist."
Neither of us spoke. The city slid past the windows, familiar blocks giving way to streets strung with pub lights and late-night noise I could feel even through the glass. The leather seat creaked as I shifted, suddenly aware of my own heartbeat.
"What's it called?" I asked finally.
"Veil."
The name suited it somehow. Hidden. Obscured. A layer between the world we showed everyone else and the one we kept for ourselves.
My fingers drummed against my thigh. "And you've been there before. Recently?"
"Not since before I met you. I haven't wanted anyone else, Emma. Not since that first message."
"Okay," I heard myself say, voice steady now.
He glanced over. "Okay?"
"Take me to Veil." I squeezed his hand on my thigh, a smile tugging at my lips despite the butterflies swarming my stomach. "Show me your world."
His answering grin made the butterflies worse.
"Yes, ma'am."