Chapter 29
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Damien
What the fuck.
It had been the only coherent thought circling my mind since yesterday afternoon. I’d planned a night for her—something simple. Something hers. Her favorite Indian place.
The puzzle she’d dragged over Monday night. An evening where we could just exist, together.
But when I got there, she wasn’t home.
No warning.
No explanation.
Just—gone.
And for once, I genuinely didn’t know where I’d gone wrong.
I’d been honest with her. Brutally so. Maybe that had pushed her away. Or maybe we’d moved too fast. Or maybe something had shifted inside her in a way I hadn’t seen.
The possibilities churned through me—failures, guilt, panic rising in a tangled swell that refused to settle.
And then—
Nathan fucking Bell.
His low, rumbling laugh carried from the far end of the room.
“I like that one,” he drawled, voice thick with something I recognized too damn well. His eyes—hungry, greedy—dragged over Emma like she was something on a menu, not a woman with a mind, a spine, a pulse I’d felt beneath my hands. He licked his lips like he was reliving a memory he didn’t have.
Something primal and scorching flooded through me. Every muscle that had locked during that meeting snapped awake—violent, protective, feral.
“She hates you,” I said through clenched teeth. But the words echoed back at me.
Nathan leaned back, smugness curling his mouth.
“No,” he countered lazily. “Today it seemed she hated you.”
Maria’s eyes darted to Tessa—quick, tense, a silent brace yourself.
“I don’t think she hates anyone,” Tessa offered, but her words barely skimmed the surface of the tension.
“We covered all our talking points,” Maria said—an offering, a buffer.
“Yes,” Nathan drawled, grin widening until it hardened. “Emma and I made plenty of progress.”
“Ms. Sinclair,” I corrected, the words snapping out sharp as cut wire.
His head tilted; that smirk deepened. “Ms. Sinclair.”
A mockery of respect.
A challenge.
Her name slid off his tongue like something indecent. Hunger threaded through every syllable.
My hands curled at my sides, nails biting into my palms just to hold myself together.
Maria and Tessa exchanged the same quick look—part warning, part sympathy.
They could feel it.
The storm sitting under my ribs.
“Maria. Tessa.” My tone thinned into something restrained. “Thank you for joining us today. We’ll reconvene once Elion sends over the final proofs.”
Grateful nods.
Quick exits.
The door clicking shut behind them.
Nathan’s polished facade cracked apart like cheap veneer. “She made you look like an idiot,” he laughed, head tipping back.
“It’s true,” I said flatly. “She’s an excellent negotiator.”
“Excellent?” he scoffed. “She didn’t get a single demand. We have oversight of Elion, access to their full data after the merger, and an accelerated timeline.”
Yes.
Everything she wanted.
Wrapped in everything he thought was his win.
“We have oversight for thirty days,” I corrected. “Not forever.”
He waved a lazy hand. “Thirty days, forever—who’s counting? Falkirk has the power. We can adjust anything once Elion’s under our banner.”
“That’s not how contracts work,” I bit out.
“She doesn’t know that,” he shrugged. “She said it herself—she’s in over her head.”
My vision narrowed. “She isn’t in over her head,” I said softly. “She played you like a damn fiddle.”
He blinked once, then smiled—deliberate and obscene. “Fiddle?” he echoed. “I don’t think she played me, Holt. But I am interested in finding out which strings make that little one sing.”
A sound tore from my chest—more growl than breath.
Fury surged, hot and unrestrained.
“Fuck you,” I snapped, the words sharp as I drove my pen into the table, carving a deep gouge across the wood.
Nathan’s expression stretched wider. “Fuck me?” he repeated. “I doubt she’d go that far. Not at first.” He tapped his mouth, thoughtful. “Maybe some head. But getting into her pants? That’ll take work.”
My hands shook.
“Although…” he continued, “I do have thirty days to instruct her. Might be just enough.”
Before I could think, I hurled my pen at his head.
It clipped past by inches, cracking against the glass wall with a sharp ring.
He flinched, barely, before that lazy serpentine smile returned. “Oh, Damien,” he tsked. “I’ll have to report that to HR.”
“You’re lucky it wasn’t the table.” The words burned. Heat scraped my throat raw.
A thin tether—a single, fraying strand of discipline my mother had spent a lifetime stitching into me—was all that kept me in my chair.
“So aggressive,” he murmured, writing theatrically on his notepad. “I’ll count that as another threat.”
My pulse thundered. Rage crawled beneath my skin.
If I stay, I’ll put him through the glass.
I shoved back from the table, chair screeching across the floor.
The door slammed behind me—violent, final.
His laugh followed.
Down the hall.
Into my office.
Under my skin.
It echoed—low and mocking—until it drowned out everything else.
The rest of the day blurred.
Meetings.
Calls.
Signatures.
None of it landed. My body moved on autopilot while my mind stayed trapped on one loop: Emma’s voice, cool and distant, slicing through the line like she didn’t know me anymore.
By noon, I’d snapped at two analysts.
By three, I’d forgotten food existed.
By four-thirty, I’d reread our last text exchange like it was scripture.
At 5:01 p.m., I stopped pretending. I grabbed the first cab in sight, handed the driver double, and told him not to stop unless the road was on fire.
The skyline smeared past, gold bleeding into shadow. Guilt churned under my ribs, restless and relentless.
Her silence had carved a hole straight through me.
When the cab finally slid to a stop outside her building, the sun had already drowned behind the towers. Her apartment glowed faint and warm—a lighthouse in the dark.
I exhaled hard, raking a hand through my hair before stepping into the bite of the evening air. It cooled nothing. Not the heat in my blood. Not the coil of anxiety pulling tight in my gut.
The elevator ride lasted forever—each floor ticking upward like punishment.
And then the doors opened.
She was there.
Leaning against the moody floral wallpaper.
Arms crossed.
Expression chilled and unreadable.
Every inch the queen of her domain.
I opened my mouth—
But she didn’t let me speak.
“Tell me about your past relationships, Damien.”
The world tilted.
“What?” The word caught somewhere between disbelief and dread. A cold drop slid down my spine.
She angled her head, slow and deliberate. “You heard me.”
My stomach dropped.
Faces flashed—ones I never wanted in the same universe as her. A part of me she’d never understand.
I shook my head. “Emma—”
Her expression shifted—anger loosening just enough to reveal the wound beneath it.
And instantly, my chest cracked open.
She wasn’t angry at me.
She was hurt by me.
And for the first time, I understood something cold and terrifying. This truth wouldn’t just hurt her.
It would destroy her.