THE BILLIONAIRE'S THERAPIST

Chapter Four: The Mirror

Damien’s POV

I’m not here to be fixed.

I know exactly what I’m doing.

Selene enters the room, and I don’t bother to look at her at first. Let her think I’m too broken for her games. Let her think she’s the one pulling the strings.

She sits across from me, calm and collected, like she’s getting ready to take me apart piece by piece and see what’s underneath.

She’s still wearing that same soft expression—the one designed to make you feel safe, to make you want to confess all your sins. The kind of face you could trust… if you didn’t already know what it cost.

There’s a flutter of tension in the air, it feels tight, thick and heavy with something unspoken. Her eyes flicker to the window—probably trying to avoid mine. I don't say anything I just let the silence hang between us, thick and suffocating.

“You’re not sleeping well,” she says softly. Too softly. Like she’s already reading the file on my insomnia, not actually asking a question. “Why don’t you tell me about that?”

I lean back in the chair, tapping my fingers against the armrest, keeping my expression neutral. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

Her lips press together, just for a moment—like a flicker of irritation before she forces the smile back. “I’m here to help you recover, Mr. Voss. You’ve been through a lot.”

I let out a short, sharp laugh. It catches her off guard—she actually flinches.

Her voice is calm—too calm. It sounds practiced. There’s something hollow in it, something off that doesn’t match the warmth in her eyes. Like she’s trying to convince herself more than me.

“Recover?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “From what, exactly?”

She shifts, clearly uncomfortable, but her mask doesn’t break. She looks down at her clipboard as if the words she’s about to speak have been written there, waiting for this exact moment.

“We’ve talked about this already. Your breakdown was triggered by emotional stress, and we believe that there are gaps in your memory—”

“I don’t need your diagnosis,” I cut in, leaning forward, my voice low. “I need the truth. And you don’t get to sit there and pretend like you’re some... some savior sent here to fix me.”

Her hands tremble just a little, but she hides it quickly by crossing them over the paper on her lap. “What are you trying to say, Mr. Voss?”

I lock my eyes on hers, searching, testing. My pulse quickens, a rush of adrenaline building under my skin. She’s close to slipping—I can feel it.

“I know why you’re here.” I let the words hang between us like a challenge.

Her breath catches. Just a second—barely noticeable—but I saw it.

“Do you?”

I don’t answer her right away. Instead, I rise from my seat, pacing the room slowly. I want to corner her, make her uncomfortable, make her sweat.

“You think I don’t remember you. You think I don’t know what happened between us during the blackout. But I do.” I turn to face her, eyes narrowing. “I remember enough.”

Her gaze flickers, and for a brief, fleeting moment, I see something there I wasn’t expecting. Fear. It’s gone in an instant, but it’s enough to make my heart race.

“Mr. Voss,” she says, voice shaking ever so slightly. “We’ve been over this. You’ve experienced significant trauma. The blackout was an... effect of that trauma.”

I let out another laugh and shake my head. It feels like the walls are closing in—like she’s trying to steer the story, to take control of it.

But I can’t let her.

“No,” I say slowly, my voice dropping to a whisper. “The blackout was the result of something. Something you’re not telling me.”

Her eyes narrow, but her lips stay pressed tight. “What do you think happened during those seventy-two hours?”

I take a step closer, watching her carefully. “I think I’m remembering a woman I shouldn’t remember. A woman who was there when I couldn’t even recall my own name. But you don’t want me to remember, do you, Selene?”

She stands up suddenly, too fast, like a deer caught in headlights. Her mask slips for just a fraction of a second. I catch it.

Fear.

“Don’t do this,” she whispers, voice strained.

I smile. It’s not a nice smile. It’s the kind of smile you give someone right before you pull back the curtain and watch them squirm. The kind of smile that says I already know more than I’m letting on. I want her to feel it—to see that I’m not the one being examined anymore. That maybe, just maybe, she’s the one under the microscope now.

“You’re going to tell me the truth, Selene. You’re going to tell me what really happened during those days. Or I’m going to find out anyway.”

The air between us thickens with tension. The clock ticks, almost loudly now. Neither of us moves.

I’m about to speak again when a soft knock on the door interrupts us.

A technician enters, looking startled by the charged atmosphere in the room.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says nervously, but his eyes dart between us like he’s sensing something is very wrong. “Mr. Voss... we’ve received a message. Your system logs are... compromised. There’s been a breach.”

My breath catches in my throat. A breach.

The door slams shut behind him before either of us can speak. But it doesn’t matter. The message is clear.

Something is coming.

And I have a feeling it’s not just my memories that are being erased.