Damian sat alone in his penthouse living room, the skyline glowing quietly beyond the wall of glass. The lights of the city blinked and shimmered far below him, but none of it felt as bright as the memory of her face.
Emily.
He leaned back against the leather sofa, his phone still in hand, thumb hovering over the screen. The message had been simple—professional, even.
Car will be waiting at 9. Let the driver know if you need anything. —DW
He hadn't expected a reply.
He wasn't sure he wanted one.
Because if she thanked him again, he'd feel like a man accepting praise for breathing. And if she didn't respond at all, he'd wonder if she was disappointed by the distance he tried to keep between them.
But he had to keep it.
He had to.
Because the more time he spent near her, the more she chipped away at that distance—and the more he wanted her to.
He'd watched the driver pull away from the curb hours ago, rain gently tapping the Bentley's roof like a metronome for his spiraling thoughts. He hadn't said much in the car. Couldn't. She'd looked so tired. Beautiful, but tired.
And the way she'd curled up in the corner of the seat, trying to take up less space than she deserved—it had unraveled something in him.
She was always like that. Small gestures, quiet resilience. Always giving more than she should, and never asking for anything in return.
Until yesterday, when desperation made her ask.
And he hadn't hesitated.
He'd given her the money.
He'd given her a ride.
He'd given her his time.
And now she was starting to take up space in places he used to keep empty. Not just in his home, but in his head. In his plans. In the parts of himself he never gave anyone else.
He swirled the glass in his hand, untouched bourbon catching the low light.
"She's different," he murmured to the quiet room. "And I'm already too far in."
He trusted her now. Trusted her to keep herself safe. But that didn't mean he could shut off the instinct to protect.
Especially when he'd seen the weight she carried in her eyes.
Still, something nagged at him.
He had noticed her posture earlier — tense. Her voice quieter than usual. Her smile tight when she'd greeted him that morning.
Was it because of Martha?
Had she noticed something that wasn't there?
She doesn't know you the way others do, he reminded himself. You'll scare her off if you move too fast.
He stood and walked toward the tall windows, the city reflecting back at him like a mirror.
This was the life he'd built — powerful, silent, untouchable.
And now, for the first time in years, he didn't want to be untouchable.
He wanted to be reachable. For her.
But not yet.
Not tonight.
Tonight, he'd let her rest.
But tomorrow…
He'd find a way to let her see the man behind the suits and silence.
Even if he had to start with something as simple as her name.