Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Emma
I watched the numbers crawl—three, four, five—each ding a small jab in my ribs.
The fluorescent light hummed overhead, casting everything in that flat institutional glow that made even Damien look slightly washed out.
He stood beside me, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders a little too straight.
His reflection in the stainless-steel doors looked calm. Composed.
Liar.
My weight shifted from foot to foot—a nervous metronome.
"You okay?" Damien asked.
I nodded too fast. "Fine."
His gaze dropped to my hands. "You're wringing your fingers hard enough to tear them off."
I looked down. My fingers had twisted together, knuckles blanched. I forced them apart as the elevator doors slid open.
The hallway smelled faintly of coffee and floral diffuser. Soft lamplight spilled through the frosted glass of a door at the end, the name blurred behind the film.
Dr. Raines.
"Last chance to sprint for the exit," Damien said.
"If we run now, she'll chase us in our dreams."
The corner of his mouth kicked up. He opened the door and ushered me inside.
Dr. Raines's office was warm, quiet, cozy without tipping into suffocating.
Bookshelves lined one wall, spines worn with use.
A low table held a neat stack of tissues and a small succulent that looked surprisingly healthy.
A loveseat sat against the opposite wall—a blanket draped over the arm like an invitation.
"Emma. Damien." Dr. Raines rose as we entered. "I'm glad you're here."
I studied her as she crossed the room. Long wavy brown hair, large frame glasses. Late forties, maybe early fifties. Dark slacks, soft blue blouse. And—
Bare feet.
She caught me looking and smiled. "I find it helps people relax when I'm not towering over them in heels."
"Does it work?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Her eyes brightened. "I guess we'll see, won't we."
Damien's palm settled against my back, guiding me toward the loveseat.
We took our places on the cushions.
Dr. Raines sat in the armchair across from us, tucking one bare foot beneath her.
"Before we dive in," she said, "I want to acknowledge something. First sessions are hard. You're sitting in a stranger's office, being asked to talk about things you've probably never said out loud." She let the words sit. "That takes courage."
My foot tapped an anxious rhythm on the carpet.
"There's no script here," she continued. "No right or wrong way to do this. We go at whatever pace feels manageable. And anything you share stays in this room."
She looked at Damien, then back at me.
"Damien has already filled me in on a number of things. How you met. The deceptions that led there. Your professional lives." A small smile. "In short, I'm caught up."
I nodded, glancing at Damien. "Thanks."
He smiled down at me, taking my hand in his.
"In addition to that," she continued, "he mentioned that you're in a power exchange dynamic."
I stiffened, heat creeping into my cheeks.
"I want to be clear," she said calmly. "That's not something I'm here to pathologize or fix. My role isn't to judge the structure—it's to help you make sure it serves you both."
Damien squeezed my hand.
"So," she said, settling back. "What brings you in today?"
I glanced at Damien. He glanced at me.
Dr. Raines waited.
The silence stretched.
I stared at the rug.
"There was a situation," I said finally. "With the merger. The audit."
I pulled my hand from Damien's, the contact suddenly too much.
"When I found out," I continued, "it felt like the floor dropped out. Not just because there was fraud tied to my company. But because he'd known for weeks and—"
My tapping quickened. "He'd lied."
Dr. Raines inclined her head. "So trust is the issue."
"Yes," I said immediately. "Trust is the issue."
She turned to Damien. "How does that land for you?"
He dragged in a breath. "Like shit."
"Why?"
"Because I should have told her."
"Why didn't you?"
His jaw tightened. "Because she wouldn't look at me the same if I had."
"You were afraid of being judged."
He nodded once.
"And you," she said, turning back to me. "What emotion feels strongest right now?"
"Disappointment."
She accepted that, then looked back to Damien.
"What was driving you when you chose not to tell her?"
"Panic," he said. "I saw the numbers and every alarm went off. The board. Nathan. Liability." He shook his head. "I thought if I fixed it quietly, I could spare her."
"So you carried it alone."
"Yes, because I'm the Dominant and that's my responsibility."
"Do you believe that now?"
"Yes." His Adam's apple bobbed. "And no."
He looked at me. "I told you I made a mistake by not telling you. And I'm sorry for that. I truly am. But I don't regret my decision."
Dr. Raines studied him, then turned to me.
"When you hear that, does anything shift?"
"It doesn't erase the hurt," I said. "But I understand the fear behind it."
"And are you choosing to stay?"
"Yes," I said without hesitation. "I just need the feelings to catch up."
Dr. Raines's mouth curved faintly. "Feelings are often late to the party."
My foot stalled. The room breathed.
"Let's talk about how this intersects with your dynamic," she said. "Because what you practice together is layered. There's the relationship. The corporate entanglement. And the power exchange."
"In that kind of structure," she continued, voice steady, "trust isn't optional. It's foundational."
Her gaze settled on Damien.
"A Dominant who hides isn't sparing discomfort. They're removing their partner's ability to consent to reality."
Damien balked. "You're saying I violated consent?"
"I'm saying you violated transparency—which is a pillar of consent."
His eyes widened.
"I'm not saying this came from malice," she added. "It came from fear. But fear doesn't lessen impact."
He nodded slowly. "I don't want to do that again."
"Good." She leaned forward. "Then let's make it concrete. What rule do you want to create together?"
I looked at him. He looked at me.
"No more lies," I said.
"Deal."
"And if it impacts us both, neither of us carries it alone," I added.
"No," he shook his head. "I don't agree with that."
"And why is that, Damien?" Dr. Raines asked in that disarmingly quiet tone of hers.
"Because I still believe the Dominant's role in this is to take the brunt of these challenges. I make the decisions, so I should be the one to handle the consequences."
"Interesting," she nodded. "Can you elaborate further?"
"What she needs is to have that pressure released from her shoulders."
"And how do you know that?" she countered gently.
"Because I see it now. The light is returning day by day. Each thing I lift from her shoulders and carry on mine—she shines brighter."
She turned back to me. "And how does that make you feel?"
I opened my mouth to fight. To argue that I didn't want him to carry it alone. That I could handle it as well.
But wasn't he right?
Hadn't I been happier with him, since we started this whole thing together, than I was before?
Lighter? Looser? More carefree?
"Guilty," I admitted.
His brows knitted. "Guilty?"
I nodded.
"Why would you feel guilty?"
I shrugged. "I used to do it all myself. Shouldn't I at least do half?"
"No," Damien said, shaking his head. "No, you shouldn't."
My eyes narrowed. "But I can."
"But you don't have to," he said, an edge creeping in.
"Everyone pause," Dr. Raines said, holding her hands up like a referee.
We each closed our mouths, her hands dropping inch by inch.
"Damien," she said finally. "That got you pretty worked up, didn't it?"
"Of course it did. She wants to add stress back into her life just because she feels—"
"No." Dr. Raines shook her head. "That wasn't what she was saying at all."
Damien's face scrunched.
She turned to me. "Emma, do you mind repeating what you said earlier?"
I shifted in my seat. "I said I felt guilty."
"Exactly," Dr. Raines said, turning back to Damien. "She is talking about feelings. You are talking about actions."
Damien blinked. "I don't understand the difference."
"Emma's not asking you to stop," Dr. Raines clarified. "She's naming the discomfort that comes with receiving care."
He turned to me. "You don't actually want me to stop?"
"No," I admitted. "The rules, the structure—it's helping. It really is."
"But there's still this voice," I continued. "One that tells me I'm weak for needing this. That I'm taking advantage of someone else." I swallowed hard. "And I can't get it to shut up."
Dr. Raines let the moment breathe before turning to Damien. "What do you get out of this dynamic?"
He didn't hesitate. "Everything." He smiled. "Seeing her thrive. Watching the tension leave her shoulders. Hearing her laugh without that edge underneath it. I'll do whatever I need to do to make that happen." His voice roughened. "Whatever it takes."
My chest tightened. "But—why? Why does it matter so much to you?"
He was quiet long enough that I thought he might not answer.
"Because it makes me feel useful," he finally said. "Like I have a purpose. Like I'm not just—" He stopped, jaw working. "Like I'm not just taking up space."
Dr. Raines gave his words room to land.
"This is important," she said quietly. "What you're both describing isn't imbalance.
It's interdependence." She looked between us.
"Emma, you receive care and it helps you flourish.
Damien, you provide care and it gives you purpose.
Neither of you is taking from the other.
You're each giving something the other person needs. "
"That reframe might not nullify the guilt overnight," Dr. Raines continued, looking at me. "But it's worth sitting with. The next time the guilt rises, try asking yourself: What am I giving him by letting him give to me?"
I looked at Damien.
Understanding passed between us.
Dr. Raines glanced at the clock.
"Is there anything else you'd like to tackle today?"