The Fine Print of Us

Chapter thirteen - His Domain

Damien occasionally glanced at Mara as he drove them back to the penthouse. Her silence wasn’t just quiet, it was heavy. She was somewhere deep in her own mind, her fingers tracing invisible patterns against her thigh, lips pressed into that familiar line he was learning to read far too well.

She was bracing herself. He could tell.

The further they drove from that mountaintop cocoon and back into the city’s steel grip, the more she seemed to tense. At the hotel, they’d lived in a bubble. Just the two of them, no headlines, no expectations, no damn contract echoing in her head like a warning siren. But now? The real world was waiting. And so were all the doubts.

He hated it.

She hadn’t once seemed to care about public perception while they were away. There had been no icy distance, no armor. Just Mara—bare, bright, brilliant.

But he also knew her vulnerability didn’t come from fear of strangers or headlines. It came from men like Reinhart, cowards who preyed on a good thing until it collapsed. And now Nolan Hale, who smiled too easily, spoke too smoothly, and looked at Mara like she was inspiration wrapped in temptation.

Damien clenched the steering wheel tighter.

It wasn’t jealousy.

Not really.

He’d dealt with that emotion before. This was different. This was war. Reinhart wanted to destroy him. Hale? He was the kind of man who got under your skin without trying. Who offered a different kind of safety, one Damien couldn’t fake.

But none of that mattered now.

Because Mara wasn’t with them.

She was with him.

He shifted gears as they exited the freeway. “You’re quiet.”

She blinked and glanced at him, clearly pulled out of her spiraling thoughts. “Just thinking.”

He smirked faintly. “Dangerous habit.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

“You don’t have to put the walls back up, Mara,” he added, voice lower now. “Not with me.”

“I know,” she said, so softly he almost didn’t catch it.

They didn’t speak again until they parked in the private garage. He didn’t rush her. Instead, he walked beside her, quiet but steady, letting her pace herself.

Because if this weekend proved anything, it was that she was already his.

She just needed to realize it for herself.

Arriving back at the penthouse didn’t just signal a return to routine. It was a reset, a shift back into the life they’d both been trying to avoid for seventy-two blissful hours. And Damien hated it.

He wanted more time.

Just a little longer to keep Mara in that warm, easy space they'd built together. But the world didn't care about timing or emotions. It cared about schedules, responsibilities, meetings. And unfortunately, so did his damn assistant, who was already blowing up his phone before he even had the chance to unpack.

Still, he hesitated.

Mara stood barefoot in the hallway, fingers laced in front of her, eyes a little too wide and guarded. She told him to go. Insisted, actually. Claimed she needed a few hours with her console and a fantasy world where no one expected her to feel anything.

He wanted to argue. To cancel everything and stay.

But she gave him a look. One that said: I need this. Let me have it.

So he dropped the fight. Left his suitcase by the door. Kissed her temple. And stepped into the elevator before he changed his mind.

But his gut twisted as he descended.

If whatever this urgent meeting was didn’t live up to the chaos it pulled him away from, there would be hell to pay. Because he didn’t like the idea of Mara alone in her thoughts. She was spiraling. He saw the signs. The way she clung to him one moment, then buried herself in distance the next.

And after this weekend, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t care.

He did. More than he should.

As his car pulled into traffic, Damien tapped a message to Ivy.

Find out if Nolan Hale is back in Manhattan. Quietly.

If Mara wasn’t ready to talk, he’d be patient.

But he wasn’t going to be blindsided again.

Not by Reinhart. Not by Hale.

Not by anyone who thought they could come between him and the woman he was already halfway in love with.

Arriving at the office, Damien barely had time to take off his sunglasses before his assistant rushed toward him. Heels clacking, lips pursed, and eyes darting around like they were being watched. That look? He’d seen it before. It meant trouble.

Big trouble.

She didn’t say a word in the hallway. Just grabbed his sleeve and tugged him toward his office like a woman on a mission. Once inside, she shut the door firmly behind them and turned to face him, eyes wide.

“While you were away,” she began, voice low, “Andrew Reinhart made a scene.”

Damien stilled. Jaw tight. Of course Reinhart couldn’t keep his pathetic theatrics in check.

His assistant wasted no time pulling up a video on her phone. It played without commentary. Reinhart barging into a partner meeting uninvited. Shouting, red-faced, tossing around words like “corruption” and “retaliation.” Accusing Damien of using power and personal vendettas to ruin him.

He watched in silence.

This? This was amateur hour.

That man was a walking cautionary tale. A disaster in a cheap suit who couldn’t accept that he was the architect of his own downfall.

Damien handed the phone back with a cold smirk. “He’s desperate. And sloppier than ever.”

His assistant nodded, but her voice was hushed. “The partners aren’t happy.”

He gave a slow, deliberate roll of his eyes and sank into his leather chair. “They’re never happy when it comes to me. But they can’t touch me. Not when I’m the reason their lights stay on and their bonuses clear every quarter.”

She gave a small, reluctant smile. “True,” she whispered, almost like she needed to hear it aloud.

Damien’s gaze drifted to the window behind her, the skyline stretching sharp and infinite across the horizon. “Reinhart’s not the problem,” he muttered. “He’s noise. A distraction.”

His fingers tapped against the desk—controlled, methodical.

“Mara’s the variable.”

Because if Reinhart was using her in any way, if he tried to get close again, tried to manipulate her emotions to get to him. That was something Damien couldn’t ignore.

And wouldn’t.

“Reach out to my PR consultant,” he told his assistant flatly. “If this video gets out, we spin it. Make it clear Reinhart’s been unhinged since his termination. Emotional instability. Lashing out. Whatever you need.”

She nodded quickly, already halfway out the door.

Once alone, Damien stared down at the phone on his desk. His thumb hovered over Mara’s name.

He didn’t want to text.

He wanted to see her. To read her face, not her words.

But he couldn’t be the one pushing tonight. Not after the weekend they had. Not after she opened up just enough to let him in.

So instead, he sent one line.

Everything all right at home?

He added nothing else.

Because if Reinhart was foolish enough to show up at his office…

He might be insane enough to knock on his door next.

Damien didn’t even try to hide his irritation when Clarissa Lennox walked into his office like she owned the place. No call. No warning. No assistant to announce her presence.

Just her, in her high-end heels and designer confidence, like boundaries didn’t apply to her.

He was so f*****g done with people assuming they could walk into his space like that. First Reinhart with his tantrum, now Clarissa with whatever scheme she’d cooked up this time. This wasn’t a playground, it was his domain.

He leaned back in his chair slowly, deliberately, letting the leather creak as he narrowed his eyes on her.

She didn’t flinch. Of course she didn’t. That woman could stand toe-to-toe with wolves and smile through the blood.

Still, he’d reminded her once that he wasn’t someone she could manipulate. If she was back now, it only meant one thing, she thought he was losing his grip on Mara.

That meant he’d have to remind her again. Louder, this time.

“What can I do for you, Clarissa,” he asked coolly, folding his hands in front of him.

She gave a polished smile and settled into the chair across from him like it was some friendly visit. He didn’t trust smiles like hers. They were sharpened like blades.

“I have a charity event coming up next week,” she said lightly.

He tilted his head. No way that was the actual reason she came. Not with that little glint in her eye.

“Your name’s on the list,” she continued. “But we haven’t heard back from you.”

“I’ve been busy,” he replied smoothly. “Some of us don’t have time to curate social calendars.”

Her smile didn't falter. “Then make time. I need you and Mara at that event. A little PR buzz, for the good cause and all.”

He almost laughed. Clarissa Lennox caring about goodwill? She didn’t blink unless it gave her leverage.

“Fine,” Damien said after a pause. “We’ll attend. But I want something in return.”

She sighed theatrically. “Lawyers. Always making a deal out of everything.”

He smirked. “It’s why we always come out on top.”

Her eyes sharpened. “What do you want, Blackthorn?”

He leaned forward now, voice low and direct. “I want you to back off. No more surprise visits. No more pushing Mara into rooms she doesn’t want to be in. You parade her around like a pawn, and I’m done watching you do it.”

She stared at him for a beat. Calculating. Weighing the risk.

Then she crossed one leg over the other and said, “You’re serious about her.”

It wasn’t a question.

Damien held her gaze. “I am.”

Clarissa exhaled, almost disappointed. “I suppose that’s why she’s been glowing lately.”

“She’s glowing because she’s finally allowed to breathe,” he said. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Silence fell between them. A silent war of wills playing out behind polite expressions and sharp eyes.

“I’ll send the formal invite through your assistant,” she said at last, rising to her feet.

He stood, too. “And I’ll bring Mara. As my date. Not as your display piece.”

She nodded once. “Understood.”

Clarissa turned and left, her heels sharp against the marble as the door clicked behind her.

Damien exhaled slowly, letting the tension bleed out through his shoulders. That was one battle down. But something told him more were coming. Reinhart was still out there, and now Nolan Hale had taken an interest too.

But Damien had the one thing none of them did—Mara’s trust.

And he’d protect it at all costs.