Damien's POV
I haven't slept in three days, and I'm about to lose my entire company because I can't focus on anything except her.
"Mr. Sterling, are you even listening?"
I blink and force myself to look at the man across the boardroom table. Richard Chen, one of our biggest investors. He's been talking for ten minutes, and I haven't heard a single word.
"Of course," I lie. "Continue."
My aunt Patricia shoots me a sharp look from her seat at the end of the table. She's on the company board, and she's been watching me like a hawk since this meeting started an hour ago. She knows something's wrong.
Everyone knows something's wrong.
I look like hell. I haven't shaved. My shirt is wrinkled because I slept—or tried to sleep—in my office last night. And the night before. And the night before that.
Three days. It's been three days since Vivienne walked out. Three days since I finally told her the truth. Three days since she looked me in the eye and left anyway.
I've called her seventy-three times. Yes, I counted. Every call goes straight to voicemail. I've texted her until my fingers cramped. I've sent emails. I've tried everything.
She's disappeared.
"Mr. Sterling!"
I snap back to reality. Patricia is glaring at me. "Richard asked you a direct question about the quarterly projections."
"Right. The projections." I have no idea what he asked. "They're... strong."
Richard frowns. "Strong? You just said last week that we were facing a fifteen percent decline."
Damn it.
"I meant strong considering the circumstances," I say quickly. "We're managing the decline effectively."
Patricia's eyes narrow. She knows I'm falling apart.
Before anyone can ask another question, the boardroom door opens. My assistant Rebecca stands there, looking nervous. She knows I specifically told her never to interrupt board meetings unless someone was dying.
"I'm so sorry," she says quietly. "But there's a courier here. He says he has urgent documents that require Mr. Sterling's immediate attention."
"Tell him to wait," Patricia snaps.
"He says it's legal documents. Time-sensitive." Rebecca's eyes meet mine, and I see something in them. Pity.
My stomach drops.
"Bring them in," I hear myself say.
The courier enters, holding a large manila envelope. He walks straight to me and holds out a clipboard. "Sign here, please."
My hand shakes as I sign. He hands me the envelope and leaves.
Everyone at the table is staring at me. Ten board members. Five investors. All waiting.
I open the envelope. Pull out the papers inside.
The words at the top hit me like a bullet: PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.
Divorce papers.
My wife is divorcing me.
The papers slip from my fingers and scatter across the table. I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't think.
Patricia reaches over and picks up the top page. Her eyes scan it quickly, and then she smiles. Actually smiles.
"Well," she says loudly, "it looks like your wife is finally showing her true colors. Gold-digger couldn't even last a decade before trying to take you for everything you're worth."
"What?" I force the word out.
Patricia holds up the paper. "She's filing for divorce. Probably planning to take half of everything. I warned you about marrying that girl, Damien. She was never good enough for this family."
"Let me see that." I snatch the papers from her hand.
My eyes scan the document frantically. Petitioner requests... no alimony... no division of assets... no spousal support...
She's asking for nothing.
"She's not taking anything," I whisper.
"What?" Patricia grabs the papers back and reads them again. Her smile disappears. "That's... that's impossible. Why would she file for divorce and ask for nothing?"
Because she never wanted my money. She only ever wanted me.
And I spent seven years convinced she only married me out of obligation.
"I have to go." I stand up so fast my chair falls backward.
"Damien, we're in the middle of a meeting!" Patricia's voice is sharp.
"Cancel it."
"You can't just—"
"I said cancel it!" I'm shouting now. Everyone stares at me like I've lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
I grab my jacket and head for the door.
"Damien Sterling, if you walk out of this meeting, there will be consequences!" Patricia stands up, her face red with anger. "The board will not tolerate this behavior!"
I stop at the door and turn to face her. Face all of them.
"My wife just filed for divorce," I say, my voice cold. "The woman I've loved for seven years is trying to leave me. And you want me to sit here and discuss quarterly projections?"
Richard Chen clears his throat. "Perhaps we should reschedule..."
"You're choosing her over your company?" Patricia demands. "Over your responsibilities? Over everything your parents built?"
My parents. She always brings up my parents. Like I haven't spent every day since they died trying to make them proud. Like I haven't sacrificed everything for this company.
Everything except the one thing that actually mattered.
"Yes," I say simply. "I'm choosing her."
I walk out. Patricia's shouting follows me down the hallway, but I don't care.
Rebecca jumps up from her desk as I pass. "Mr. Sterling, where are you—"
"Find out where Vivienne is staying," I tell her. "I don't care what it takes. Hire a private investigator if you have to. I need her address."
"Sir, I already know where she is."
I stop walking. "What?"
Rebecca looks uncomfortable. "I've been... keeping track. Just in case you needed to reach her. She's at the Grand Hotel downtown. Room 412."
"You've known where she is this whole time?"
"You seemed like you needed space to think," Rebecca says softly. "But sir? If you're going to fight for her, you need to do it now. Before she signs a lease on an apartment. Before she starts building a life without you."
She's right. Every second I waste is a second Vivienne moves further away from me.
"Cancel all my meetings for the next week," I say.
"Already done." Rebecca hands me a file folder. "This is everything Simone Reeves filed with the court. I thought you might want to review it."
I take the folder. "Thank you."
"Mr. Sterling?" Rebecca's voice stops me. "For what it's worth? I've worked for you for five years. I've never seen you smile. Never seen you happy. But when Mrs. Sterling used to visit the office in the early years, before she stopped coming..." Rebecca smiles sadly. "You smiled then. Maybe she's worth fighting for."
My throat tightens. "She is."
I head for the elevator. My phone rings—Patricia calling, probably to scream at me some more. I decline the call.
Then I dial the one person who might be able to help me fix this disaster.
"Damien?" My little brother Marcus answers on the first ring. "What's wrong? You never call during work hours."
"Vivienne left me," I say, my voice cracking. "She filed for divorce. And I need your help getting her back."
Silence on the other end. Then: "It's about damn time."
"What?"
"You've been in love with her for seven years and treated her like a roommate," Marcus says bluntly. "What did you think would happen? That she'd just wait forever?"
"I know I screwed up—"
"No, you don't know. You have no idea how badly you hurt her. But lucky for you, I do. Because she called me yesterday."
My heart stops. "She called you?"
"Yeah. Crying. Asking if I thought you ever really loved her or if you just felt trapped." Marcus's voice is hard. "I told her the truth. That you're an idiot who's been in love with her since the day you met her but too damaged to admit it."
"What did she say?"
"She said it was too late. That seven years of silence can't be fixed with words." He pauses. "But Damien? She was crying when she said it. Which means she still cares. Which means you still have a chance. Don't waste it."
The elevator reaches the ground floor. I step out into the lobby and head for my car.
"I'm going to her hotel right now," I say.
"Good. And Damien? When you see her, don't give her some corporate speech about mistakes and regrets. Tell her the truth. Tell her you've been a coward. Tell her you love her. And then prove it."
"How?"
"However you have to. Even if it means tearing yourself open and showing her every scar. Even if it means losing everything else. She needs to see that she's not just important to you—she's everything."
I reach my car and climb in. My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel.
"I can't lose her, Marcus."
"Then don't." His voice softens. "Fight for her. The way you should have been fighting for her all along."
The call ends. I sit there for a moment, staring at the divorce papers in my passenger seat.
Vivienne thinks I don't love her. She thinks seven years of distance means I never cared. She thinks she was just a burden I accepted out of obligation.
She couldn't be more wrong.
I start the car and pull out of the parking garage. The hotel is twenty minutes away. Twenty minutes to figure out how to convince my wife that I'm worth a second chance.
Twenty minutes to save my marriage.
But as I'm driving, my phone rings again. Unknown number.
I almost don't answer. But something makes me pick up.
"Mr. Sterling?" A woman's voice. Unfamiliar.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Simone Reeves. I'm your wife's attorney." Her voice is professional. Cold. "I'm calling to inform you that Mrs. Sterling would like to expedite the divorce proceedings. She's willing to waive the mandatory waiting period if you agree to sign the papers immediately."
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. "I'm not signing."
"Mr. Sterling, my client has made her wishes very clear—"
"I don't care. I'm not signing."
"You're only prolonging the inevitable. Mrs. Sterling has made up her mind."
"Then I'll change it."
Simone laughs. It's not a nice laugh. "Mr. Sterling, I've been doing this for twenty years. I've seen men like you before. Men who ignore their wives for years and then panic when they finally leave. You had seven years to show her you loved her. You failed. It's over."
"It's not over until I say it's over."
"That's not how divorce works."
"Watch me," I say, and hang up.
I'm five minutes from the hotel when my phone buzzes with a text. It's from a number I don't recognize.
The message says: "She's leaving the hotel right now. With suitcases. I think she's moving out permanently. If you're coming, you need to hurry."
Who sent this? How do they know—
It doesn't matter. I floor the gas pedal.
I'm not losing her. Not today. Not ever.