Damian's POV
Morning came too quickly, dragging me out of a half-sleep that never settled.
The city stretched beneath the glass walls of the penthouse, steel and smoke gleaming under a pale sun. Normally, I welcomed mornings. They meant clarity. Control. A chance to reset. Today, the air already felt thick with the stench of obligation.
My mother had summoned me.
That wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the phrasing in her message: early breakfast, private, important. In Margot Sterling’s language, that was code. It meant be prepared to be cornered.
I straightened my cuffs in the mirror, but it wasn’t my reflection I saw. It was Brielle, curled on the den couch last night, her laptop slipping from her knees, exhaustion pulling her under. The way her lashes had fluttered when I brushe
