Damian doesn’t go home that night.
Home is his penthouse, and his penthouse is full of ghosts: Ava laughing in his kitchen, Ava pressed against his window, Ava asleep in his bed.
Instead, he stays in his office, sleeves rolled, tie forgotten somewhere on the floor hours ago.
The city bleeds neon beyond the cracked corner of glass.
He doesn’t have the window replaced yet.
Let it sit. He told Adrian when maintenance offered to come up after hours. It’s a good reminder.
He replays the argument in his head. Every word. Every flinch.
You came into my life with lies first. Don’t you dare stand there and act like you’re clean.
You sound just like him.
He hears that last one most.
He should have stopped there. Should’ve walked away, cooled down, and come back when his brain wasn’t drowni
