Chapter 6
1185 Words
DAMIEN’S POV
On my way back to the car, I replayed the conversation in my mind. I felt I had done my best to prepare Aria, but I knew no amount of readiness could prepare her for the beasts to come. She was simply too innocent to understand what awaited her.
Aria, from one glance, I could tell a lot about her. The way her hair fell across her shoulders, her tired eyes screaming defiance.
She was beautiful even in that condition, but it didn’t matter. I was not going to let her get to me.
As I walked, I remembered my mother’s cryptic words. That woman… she couldn’t let anything go.
Charles opened the door for me and didn't say anything until we were driving away from the apartment complex.
“Sir?” Charles asked.
“Not one word.”
“Of course.”
We drove in silence.
The ground floor of Blackwell Industries was riddled with reporters, each one screaming into a microphone. I stepped out, spotting my father standing in front of the doors.
I sighed and made my way in. Anytime a reporter tried to come close, Charles barked at them to back off. As a result, I made it safely through the doors.
“No further comment,” my father was saying as he walked back into the building.
“Father,” I said, my voice low.
Richard Blackwell regarded me with cold eyes. He said nothing for three seconds.
“Are you just going to stand there?’ I demanded. Every time I saw my father, a rage boiled under the surface of my soul.
“Calm yourself, son,” Richard’s voice was thick and strong. “It is beneath you to show any emotion.”
I glanced at the reporters still clawing at the doors.
I took a deep breath. “What is it this time? Another mistress scandal?”
Richard smirked. “I wish. Tell me about your mate.”
My father had a talent for diverting conversations.
“There is nothing to tell.”
“I beg to differ.”
“I have work to do, father.”
I walked away without waiting for a reply.
“Damien.”
Suddenly, I was eight years old, crying as my father forced me to learn about taxes.
“Learn to do your numbers like a man,” my father had said. “Real men don’t cry, and someday you will be the boss. Better start learning.”
I had looked up at my father with such hatred in my eyes that I was afraid of what I was capable of.
Now, the man who made me into this cold machine stood in front of me, still thinking he could pull the strings.
“Father,” I warned. “Watch yourself.”
Richard smiled. “Respect is earned, remember that.”
The old man walked away, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the lobby.
I composed myself and walked to the elevator.
Charles appeared beside me.
“Sir, the marketing team would like a word.”
I stopped. “What for?”
“The wardrobe, sir.”
“Tell me, Charles. Are we a fashion enterprise?”
The older man chuckled good-naturedly.
“Of course not, sir. It is merely for the Sinclair lady.”
I faced him. “I didn’t order such..”
“No. I took it upon myself.”
Charles leaned in and whispered. “If she is to face the beasts, she needs all the help she can get.”
I allowed himself the faintest smile. Without a word, I walked into the elevator.
Standing in front of Rachel and Rose as they held dresses in their hands, I scowled at them.
“What is the meaning of this?” I asked.
“Sir?” They blinked.
“Why are you showing me these? Do I look like a woman to you?”
My voice was cold and hard, the same voice I used to talk to everyone in my employ.
“But-”
“Pick out a collection of dresses for Ms. Sinclair. I do not care what it is, just have her ready. Am I understood?”
Without waiting for confirmation, I stood up and walked out of the conference room.
I had just sat in my office when my phone rang.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hi.”
It was her.
“Ms. Sinclair.”
A pause.
“I never got the chance to properly thank you.”
Judging from the hard edge in her voice, I imagined she was struggling to get the words out. I had to resist the urge to smile.
“No need to thank me. It wasn’t a favor,” I said coldly.
Another pause, this time longer.
“A simple ‘You’re welcome’ would suffice, you know? No need to be an asshole about it.”
For the first time in my long career, I found myself unable to speak.
“I would take your silence as an apology,” she said, and I thought I heard her smirking on the other line.
Who was this girl?
“You are welcome,” I finally said.
“Thank you,” she said again. “I can finally breathe.”
I started getting uncomfortable. This was getting too familiar for me.
Why had she called me? I looked at the time, and it was three in the afternoon.
“Are you on shift?” I asked.
“Yes. I have to get back to work now.”
The line went dead. I stared at his phone for a long while, trying to understand what had just happened.
It was like a cold feeling slipping deep into my heart, with just a hint of warmth, like salvation in a freezing world.
I took a shaky breath.
Compose yourself, Damien. You have faced worse.
A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts. I looked up to see my mother. She let herself in without waiting for an invitation.
I remained seated.
“Mother,” I said curtly.
She stared at me for a moment, her grey hair framing her face, giving her the look of a powerful queen. Her black dress and pearls glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window.
“Aria Sinclair.” Mother was never one to mince words.
“You know her, don’t you?” I said, taking a page from her book.
“You need to stop seeing her immediately.”
“No.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
“I don’t care.”
“Damien,” she said sweetly, the same way she used to say it right before slapping me across the face. She rose.
“Damien, why do you refuse your poor old mother?”
I sneered at her.
“Do not play with me.”
She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. Without another word, she left. I watched her leave, my heart hammering against my chest.
I knew it was an act, and so did she. I could never stand up to the might of Eleanor Blackwell.
- Writer
