Damian's POV
The whiskey burned where it hadn’t even touched my lips.
It mocked me from the edge of the desk, gold and cruel in the glass, catching the overhead light like it had something important to say. Something final. I ignored it. Just like I ignored the time blinking past midnight, the ache building between my eyes, and the pressure stacking behind the pixelated faces staring back at me through the screen.
“Damian.” My mother’s voice, crisp as cut crystal, sliced through the static. “You can’t keep stalling. This alliance was your idea.”
I leaned back slowly in my chair, stretching the tension out of my spine like it would help. It didn’t.
Richard Belcourt adjusted his tie and didn’t bother pretending to be patient. “If we miss the quarter-end cycle, we lose control of the nar
