✨Chapter 11 — Cracks in the Glass
1165 Words
The morning after the confrontation felt like walking through a minefield.
My phone lay face down on the nightstand, but its muffled vibrations felt like small earthquakes shaking the fragile calm I had tried to build around myself. I already knew what they were—messages, notifications, calls from numbers I didn’t recognize. The scandal had detonated, and now, everyone wanted a piece of the wreckage.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the far wall. I hadn’t even changed out of last night’s clothes. The crumpled silk blouse felt like a reminder of every word Damien and I had thrown at each other—words I couldn’t take back, words that tasted bitter even now.
The bedroom door opened without a knock. Damien stepped in, a black suit perfectly tailored, hair swept back like nothing could touch him. But his jaw was tense, his movements clipped.
“We need to talk,” he said. His voice was deep, low, and dangerous in the way storms are dangerous when you can see them forming over the sea.
I didn’t move. “You mean you need to explain why my life is being dragged through every gossip column in the city? Or why Celine somehow has the exact pictures that can destroy me?”
His gaze darkened. “This isn’t Celine.”
I laughed without humor. “Oh, please. That woman has been circling me like a vulture since the moment I walked into your world.”
His nostrils flared, but instead of snapping back, he crossed the room slowly, deliberately, until he stood in front of me. “Do you really think I’d let her have that kind of power over you?”
“Yes,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “Because it’s already happening.”
He stared at me, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes—a shadow, a crack. But it was gone in the next heartbeat. “I’ll handle it.”
The way he said it should have been reassuring. It wasn’t. “You can’t just ‘handle it’ like this is another business deal you can close in your favor. This is my life, Damien. My name.”
His jaw clenched. “Our life. Our name.”
The possessive edge in his tone made my stomach twist. I pushed past him, crossing to the window where sunlight was spilling across the hardwood floor. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold back the sting in my eyes.
“What’s your plan then?” I asked. “Threaten whoever leaked the photos? Pay them off? Pretend nothing happened?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and the silence was louder than any response. When I finally looked at him, his expression had shifted—hard, calculating.
“I already have someone tracking the source,” he said. “And when I find them, they’ll regret breathing.”
I shivered, not because of the promise of violence, but because I believed him.
---
By noon, I couldn’t stand the walls of the penthouse anymore. I slipped out without telling Damien, ignoring the driver waiting downstairs, and took a cab to my office. I needed some sense of normalcy, even if that meant drowning myself in deadlines and paperwork.
But the moment I stepped into the lobby, normal vanished. Every pair of eyes seemed to follow me, conversations quieting as I passed. My heels clicked too loudly on the marble floor.
“Ava.” My assistant hurried up, clutching a folder to her chest. She was trying to look calm, but her eyes betrayed her. “The partners… they want to see you. Now.”
I already knew what this was about. I followed her to the conference room, each step heavier than the last.
Inside, three of the senior partners sat around the polished mahogany table. Their expressions were unreadable, but the tension was sharp enough to cut.
“Ava, please sit,” Mr. Hanley said.
I did. My hands stayed clasped in my lap.
“We’ve seen the… coverage,” he began delicately. “And while your personal life is your own, the firm’s reputation is also at stake. Clients are calling.”
“I understand,” I said quickly. “But this is a personal matter. None of it has anything to do with my work.”
“That may be true,” another partner said, “but perception is reality in our field.”
The words felt like a noose tightening.
Mr. Hanley cleared his throat. “For now, we suggest you take a leave of absence. Let things… cool down.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. My chest tightened, but I managed a nod. “Of course.”
---
By the time I left the building, my phone was vibrating again—Damien’s name lighting up the screen. I ignored it. The heat of humiliation burned under my skin as I walked aimlessly down the street, the city’s noise a dull roar in my ears.
I didn’t even notice the black car trailing me until a familiar voice cut through the chaos.
“You’re making it too easy for them.”
I turned sharply. Celine was leaning against the sleek car door, sunglasses shielding her eyes, a faint smirk playing on her lips.
My stomach dropped. “What do you want?”
She stepped closer, the scent of her perfume cloying in the hot air. “Just to see how you’re holding up. The press has been… unkind, hasn’t it?”
“You’re enjoying this,” I accused.
Her smirk deepened. “I enjoy many things. Watching you try to survive in Damien’s world is just one of them.”
I forced myself not to flinch. “You’ll slip up eventually. People like you always do.”
Celine tilted her head, studying me like I was an insect under glass. “Maybe. But by then, there won’t be anything left of you to save.”
She slipped into the car, the door closing with a soft thud before it glided away, leaving me standing in the middle of the sidewalk with my pulse hammering.
---
When I finally returned to the penthouse, Damien was waiting.
“You disappeared,” he said flatly.
“I needed space,” I replied.
“What you need,” he said, stepping toward me, “is to understand that this isn’t just about you anymore. Every move you make affects us both.”
“I know that,” I said, meeting his gaze. “But maybe you should understand that I’m not some pawn you can control.”
His eyes flashed. For a moment, we were inches apart, the air thick between us—anger and something else, something unspoken.
Then he turned away. “Dinner’s in an hour. Be ready.”
I stood there, heart pounding, wondering if the cracks between us were too deep to mend… and if I even wanted them to be.
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- Writer
