Emma's Pov
My phone buzzed against the desk, vibrating hard enough to make the remaining papers flutter. I was still staring at the door Jessy had stormed through when I picked it up.
"Emma Lawson?" The voice on the other end was frantic, a woman's.
"Yes, who's this?"
"It's Mia, Mr. Cross's assistant. You need to come to the company right now."
I blinked, straightening. "What? Why? Is he okay?"
"He's...he's having one of his episodes," she stammered. "He's breaking things, shouting. Security can't calm him down. He keeps asking for you."
My heart slammed against my ribs. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
I grabbed my bag and rushed out, ignoring the curious glances from my staff as I all but sprinted through the hall.
By the time I reached Cross Enterprises, the sound of chaos hit me before I even stepped off the elevator. The sound of glass shattering. The heavy thud of something slamming into a wall.
Mia met me at the door to Damian's office, pale and trembling. "He won't listen to anyone," she said, wringing her hands. "Clara tried. He yelled at her."
I frowned. "Clara's here?"
She nodded. "Inside."
I pushed the door open.
The room looked like a hurricane had passed through. Papers scattered across the floor, a shattered glass decanter dripping whiskey onto the carpet, and Damian was standing behind his desk, chest heaving, eyes dark and wild. His hand was bleeding, small cuts glistening across his knuckles.
Clara stood near the window, arms crossed, fury written all over her perfect face.
"Damian...." I started carefully.
He whipped around at the sound of my voice. "You," he rasped. "You came."
"I got the call," I said softly, stepping closer. "Talk to me. What happened?"
He ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard. "It's nothing. Just...just leave before I make it worse."
"Damian," I said gently, "you're already bleeding."
"I said leave!" His voice cracked with the force of it, but his eyes, his eyes were pleading.
I didn't move. "You want me to go? Fine. Say it like you mean it."
He exhaled shakily, turning away, gripping the edge of his desk so tight his knuckles went white.
"Damian," I said again, stepping around the broken glass. "Talk to me. What set you off?"
He didn't answer.
Clara scoffed from behind me. "You shouldn't be here, Emma. He doesn't need you, he needs space."
I ignored her. "Damian, look at me."
When he finally did, his expression cracked, anger melting into something raw, almost desperate. "They went behind my back," he said hoarsely. "The board...they approved a merger without me. My company, my name, and they didn't even consult me."
"That's why you're breaking things?" I asked quietly.
His eyes flashed. "You don't get it."
"Then explain it to me," I said, voice calm but firm. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're trying to destroy what's left of your control."
He slammed his fist into the desk again, making Clara flinch. "Control? I lost that a long time ago!"
"Damian….."
"Don't," he cut in sharply. "Don't say my name like that. Like you still care."
I swallowed. "You think I'd be here if I didn't?"
That made him freeze. For a long moment, he just stared at me, breathing hard, trembling slightly, anger flickering in his eyes like a dying flame.
Clara stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply. "Emma, you've done enough. He doesn't need you playing therapist right now."
I turned to her. "You think yelling at him helps?"
She glared. "You think you're the only one who can calm him down?"
"I didn't say that," I said evenly. "But it looks like he called for me, not you."
Her jaw tightened. "Because he's confused. You always mess with his head."
Damian's voice cut through the tension, low and rough. "Enough."
We both looked at him. He ran a hand down his face, his breathing finally slowing. "Stop fighting over me like I'm some… project."
"I wasn't...." Clara started.
But he turned to me instead. "You came. Why?"
I hesitated. "Because you needed me."
"Do I?" he asked quietly. "Or do I just think I do because you make it look easy to care?"
That stung more than I wanted it to. "You can tell yourself whatever helps you sleep," I said softly. "But you wouldn't have called if you didn't trust me."
He exhaled, gaze dropping. "Maybe trust is the only thing I haven't broken yet."
I took a cautious step closer. "Then don't start now."
He didn't move when I reached for his hand. His skin was warm, rough, streaked with blood. I grabbed a tissue from the table and pressed it gently against his knuckles.
He watched me in silence. The air between us felt heavy, electric, fragile.
"You should see a doctor," I murmured.
He shook his head. "I'll be fine."
"You're not fine, Damian," I said. "You're angry. You're hurt. But breaking things won't fix that."
"I know," he said quietly. "I just, when I saw those signatures, it felt like everyone was trying to erase me."
I met his eyes. "No one can erase you. Not unless you hand them the pen."
Something flickered in his expression, a ghost of a smile. "You always have to have the last word, don't you?"
"Occupational hazard," I said, managing a small grin.
From behind us, Clara let out an annoyed huff. "This is ridiculous. He doesn't need emotional hand-holding, Emma. He needs to get back to work."
Damian turned sharply. "Clara, enough."
She froze. "Excuse me?"
"I said enough," he repeated, voice firm. "You can leave."
Her eyes widened. "You're choosing her over me right now? When I've been here all morning trying to help?"
He sighed. "You're making it worse. Please."
She stared at him for a long, tense second, then turned to me, voice dripping venom. "Enjoy your little savior complex while it lasts."
Then she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Silence settled in the room again.
I looked at Damian. "You didn't have to do that."
"I did," he said simply. "She doesn't know when to stop."
I crossed my arms. "Neither do you."
He gave a soft laugh, the first real one I'd heard from him in weeks. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"
"Not when it comes to you," I said before I could stop myself.
He blinked, surprised. "Emma…"
"Don't read into it," I said quickly, backing up a little. "You just need someone who doesn't let you get away with everything."
He tilted his head. "And that's you?"
"Apparently."
He studied me for a long time, something unreadable in his expression. Then, quietly, he said, "You shouldn't always come when I call. One day, I won't deserve it."
I met his gaze. "That's not today."
For a moment, neither of us moved. Then he reached up, taking the tissue from my hand, his fingers brushing mine. "Thank you."
I nodded. "Try not to break anything else."
He gave a faint smile. "No promises."
As I turned to leave, he said, almost to himself, "She hates that you can do this to me."
I paused. "Clara?"
He nodded. "She can't stand that you calm me down just by walking in."
I smiled faintly. "That's her problem, not mine."
His eyes softened. "Still… thank you for coming."
I lingered for a second longer before walking out.
And as the door closed behind me, I heard the faint sound of glass settling on the desk, like even the chaos had finally exhaled.