DAMIAN'S POV
People think power feels like adrenaline...It doesn't.
Power is quiet. It's the knowledge that I can walk into a room and bend the atmosphere to my will without raising my voice.
That's why the PR executive who just left my office had been trembling despite the fact that I'd barely touched her.
I don't mix business with pleasure, not anymore but she has been an exception and was a calculated one.
Every touch was a transaction, and she knew it.
I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. The aura of control was still there, but faint. I had a meeting in ten minutes or I did, until the knock came.
Emma Lawson.
I remembered her from yesterday. The therapist with fire in her eyes and a stubborn streak that made me almost curious, almost.
She had refused my terms, which I respected… in theory but in reality, I don't like being told no.
She stepped in, looking hesitant, her hands clasped in front of her like a child about to ask for an advance on her allowance. Her scent hit me first, it was soft, warm, and far too inviting for my liking.
"Good day, sir. I'm sorry for coming to your office without any form of appointment but I need to speak with you," she began.
I studied her. Not a hair out of place, but her eyes betrayed her. She looked like she had startled or something that rattled her.
"About what?" I asked, voice even.
She launched into the same plea I had expected, she talked about compromise, about meeting me halfway.
She didn't understand. There's no halfway with me.
"I don't compromise, Miss Lawson," I said.
"Yes, so I've heard but I hope you reconsider."
Reconsider. My jaw tightened. She didn't know what she was asking.
"You can leave," I said, cutting her off before her optimism infected the air any further.
Her lips parted in protest. "But sir—"
"I don't want to repeat myself," I said, letting a darker edge seep into my tone. "Or else you won't like the side you see next."
Her shoulders sank. "I'm sorry, sir… I'll leave. Have a nice day."
And just like that, she turned, walking out without another word.
I sat there a moment longer than I should have, eyes fixed on the door she'd just closed. Something about the way she'd looked at me lingered in my mind. A flicker of… hurt? Disappointment? I shouldn't care but I did.
****************************
Ten minutes later and I was still thinking about her when I stepped into the lobby.
She was nowhere in sight. The young man at the desk glanced up but didn't speak. My feet carried me toward the glass doors without thinking.
And that's when I saw her.
She was frozen on the sidewalk, her posture rigid, her eyes locked on something across the street. I followed her gaze and spotted a silver sedan parked near the curb. Inside was a brunette, leaning over toward a man in the passenger seat.
They were kissing.
It wasn't casual, it wasn't friendly. It was the kind of kiss you give someone you've been thinking about for months.
I looked back at Emma.
Her face was pale, her jaw trembling just enough for me to notice. Whatever composure she had walked in here with was gone.
The woman in the car pulled away, laughing. Then her eyes flicked up and landed right on Emma.
Her smile faltered.
The man turned. His reaction was worse. He went stiff, then pale.
Whoever they were, they mattered to her, too much.
Emma didn't move, she didn't even blink.
For a moment, I debated walking away. This wasn't my business but something ugly and familiar twisted in my gut.
Because I knew that look on her face.
I'd seen it before in the mirror.
Years ago, I'd stood outside a hotel bar watching the woman I loved kiss another man like I didn't exist. I'd been twenty-five, arrogant enough to think loyalty came with love.
That night, I learned it didn't.
The betrayal had been a clean slice through my chest, one that never quite healed.
And now… I was watching Emma bleed the same way I had.
I stepped forward, my voice low but cutting through her haze. "Emma."
Her head snapped toward me, eyes wide. "Mr Cross..." She sounded breathless, disoriented.
"You look like you've just seen a ghost," I said, keeping my tone measured.
She swallowed hard. "It's nothing. I was just… leaving."
"No, you weren't," I said, closing the distance between us. "Who are they?"
Her lips pressed together. "No one."
A lie, a very clumsy one.
I glanced back at the car. The woman was staring at me now, curious. The man avoided my gaze entirely.
"You're a terrible liar," I said, turning back to Emma.
She flinched, the muscles in her jaw twitching.
For reasons I didn't bother to analyze, I found myself saying, "You don't have to go home tonight."
Her brow furrowed. "What?"
"You can stay at my place, as long as you want and maybe from there you can also give me that session by the time I want."
The offer surprised her and me.
She blinked. "Why?"
Because I know what it's like to go home after your world shifts under your feet. Because I remember what it felt like to stare at the ceiling in a dark room wondering if you've been a fool your entire life.
"Consider it… a compromise," I said.
She stared at me for a long moment. I could almost see the thoughts churning in her head.
Just as her lips parted, as if she was about to accept, a sharp voice called from behind me.
"Damian Cross."
I turned and froze.
It had been over a decade since I'd last heard that voice, but the sound of it hit like a punch to the ribs.
Standing there was a man I hadn't seen in years, the man who'd been with the woman I loved the night she destroyed me.
The man from my worst memory and he was smiling.