Revenge In A suit & Tie

Damon's Protective Anger: Doubles Her Security Detail.

I didn't say a word for the next thirty minutes. Damon gripped the music box too tight, the tune scraping under his fingers. It was a lullaby, cold and cruel everything we fought for, wasn't a fairy tale, but a slow, scary nightmare.

With a quiet click he shut the box and set it on the table. He took a deep breath.

“Doubles your security detail tonight,” he said quietly. “And you do not leave this building."

The tone in his voice? Like a storm about to c***k. I flinched.

He paced. His shoulders were tight like guitar strings. I hadn't seen him like this since whatever s**t Olivia pulled started. This was different: protective, protective, fierce fury. I'd never felt more seen or more important.

“I need to know he’s not following you,” Damon resumed. “First chance I have, I’m reviewing camera footage from both balconies, every floor. I’m going to have every exit close in and monitored."

My voice was small. “You didn't have to go that far.”

He looked at me. Eyes blazing. "I want you alive. Not headlines. Not contracts. Alive."

My heart squeezed. I don't know if I was alive with him, or without him.

I wanted to say I love you, but fear choked my mouth. So, I just nodded. “Okay.”

He stopped and took stock of me. “Seraphina, and this is no joke, tell me if anything feels unsettling, and I mean every minute. No exceptions.”

I swallowed, that promise felt like an anchor.

By evening, two tall guards were pacing quietly in front of my door and one other was sitting in the living room. The cameras blinked at me from the corners of the room. I had lost the anonymity I was hoping for, yet there was something… warmer, being protected in his certainty.

Damon returned late and still had tension rolling off him when he walked in. He didn't ask how I had been, just emptied his arms and pulled me in.

“You're safe,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes. “I know.”

He let me go and for a moment he stood by the window and the lights of the city danced around him.

I waited.

“Tomorrow,” he said softly, “we stage a press statement. I will show the world I take your safety seriously. No whispers. No cursory conversations.”

He made a face and turned to meet mine. “We put the narrative in play ourselves.”

I swallowed. “Will they see you do it for me?”

He stepped forward again. “You'll see.”

I nodded, but my chest grew tight.

I didn't know if I wanted the world to witness this. Or know how severed this had cut us.

The morning broke grey. The sky threatened rain again. I woke to Damon was by the window with a raincoat.

"They're taking you to the court for deposition today," he said. "Board members, and press too."

I sat up. "Court? Why?"

He sighed. "The narrative from my brother is being pushed. He's going to say you're a liability, that Cross Enterprises is imploding from inside."

I felt knots in my stomach.

"We need the court," he continued, "to show them I'm not losing control. You are not losing me."

Tightening in every fibre of my being. "And if it backfires?"

He searched me deeply and unwavering. "I'll hold you tighter, and we'll deal with the fallout."

I closed my eyes. Neither of us were under any illusion that this was just business anymore. No, this was personal. And far too personal.

At the courthouse. I walked with him into a small courtroom. Cameras on the outside cast unnerving glares at us, while inside the room was a lavished silence and cold stares.

When it was our turn, Damon began to lay out the facts of the case: the stalking photographs, music box, the brother conspiracy. My testimony started clinical and at first message of heartbeat against calm facade. And when I described being able to see Zachary's silhouette, my facade cracked, my voice faltered.

He grasped the hand at which he had been looking into. He looked at me face-to-face: Trust. Affirmation.

Once the session was over, we came out of different exits, cell phone cameras clicking on me, whispers of words I didn't want to hear. But Damon was there. Blue in the face; resolved. He covered me with his hand as we got to the car.

I wanted to thank him, but the only thing I could do was lay my head on his shoulder. The moment his arms closed around me, I realized how much I am starved for this level of protection, and how much I am changing my perception of us.

Not just contract.

Not just business.

Something I cannot deny.

That night, at home, he made me dinner—simple soup and toast. The juxtaposition between corporate cage and household comfort was abrupt and welcomed. He sat across from me, watching me eat, with tender eyes.

When I was done, he placed a wine-glass in front of me. "For courage."

I raised it to him. "For you."

He flipped his seat so that he's only inches from me. "Thank you for trusting me."

My realization is maybe I didn't trust him, until this moment.

"I want to," I said. "With you."

His eyes softened and gratitude shined from them. "Then let's learn how."

We kissed slow, deliberate, settling into the tenuous relationship of trust we had rebuilt.

Later, I found myself alone on the balcony, the same balcony I had previously stood on afraid of the shadows behind me. Now the city lights from the streetlamps spilled over the wet concrete and puddles were formed by reflections that made shapes I no longer recognized.

And that is when I saw one: a man leaning against the far corner. Hood on, head down. Watching

.

I stopped breathing.

He stepped forward and looked up.

Not Zachary.

Not Damon's brother.

Someone else entirely.

Someone I recognized but hoped I wouldn't have to.

which she lifted her chin and held my stare.

Sara.

“It is urgent we talk... face to face.” she mouthed.

And before I could gather my response, she put her palm against the glass from outside while rain dripped from the back of her hand making a single droplet protruding down the pane from her palm like a warning.