Damian rarely allowed himself the luxury of stillness. Stillness invited thoughts, and thoughts invited memories, memories he had long buried beneath glass towers, contracts, and the cold precision of power. Yet tonight, standing by the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse, he could not stop the storm inside him.
Zaria’s voice still lingered in the air. The fire in her words, the steel in her spine, he had witnessed women of power before, but none like her. She was not merely fighting to hold a throne. She was reclaiming her very soul.
And he, against all his carefully laid walls, was drawn to her.
⸻
Damian ran a hand through his dark hair, loosening the tie at his collar. To the world, he was Damian Cross, CEO, strategist, untouchable. But behind that mask was a truth no human boa
