Damian's Pov
By the time I got back to my penthouse, the city lights were fading beneath a dull gray dawn. Sleep had been a stranger for weeks, but tonight it didn't even bother pretending to come. My mind was a battlefield with Emma's voice echoing somewhere between reason and desire.
I loosened my tie, tossed my jacket over the couch, and stared at the glass of whiskey I hadn't finished earlier. The faint scent of oak and smoke still clung to it. I wasn't in the mood for alcohol anymore. I needed clarity.
For once, I didn't want to plan my words like a presentation or a merger pitch. I just wanted to be honest with her and maybe with myself.
"Mia," I said as I pressed the intercom.
She answered almost immediately, chipper as ever despite the hour. "Yes, Mr. Cross?"
"I need you to pick something up for me. A gift."
There was a short pause. "For Miss Lawson?"
Her tone was too knowing for my liking, but I ignored it. "Yes. It should be something simple, elegant. There shouldn't be any brands that scream luxury. Just…let it be thoughtful."
"Thoughtful," she repeated, amused. "Do you want me to include flowers?"
I hesitated. Emma wasn't the kind of woman who could be swayed with roses or grand gestures. "No flowers. I just want something personal. Find something that says… I see you."
Mia chuckled softly. "That might take a while, sir, but I'll figure it out."
"Good and send it to my office within the hour."
"Of course."
When the line clicked off, I leaned against the marble counter, exhaling slowly. Tomorrow, I will tell Emma everything. No more games, no more pretending indifference.
I didn't hear the door open until it slammed.
"Damian!"
I turned sharply. It was Clara, she stormed into the living room like a hurricane in heels. Her blond hair was twisted into a bun that somehow made her fury look even sharper.
She threw a glossy magazine onto the coffee table. My face stared back at me on the cover, alongside a photo that made my blood freeze.
It was Emma.
The picture wasn't scandalous, not exactly. We were walking out of her office building, standing close, maybe too close. My hand was on her arm, her head tilted toward me as if she were laughing but the headline beneath it was enough to ignite a war.
"Billionaire Cross's Mystery Woman: Therapist or Lover?"
I felt something cold twist in my gut.
Clara crossed her arms. "Care to explain why half the internet thinks you're sleeping with your therapist?"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I don't owe them an explanation."
"You owe me one," she shot back. "Because this....." she waved at the magazine "is a disaster. I spent six months burying your last scandal, Damian. Six! And now this?"
My patience thinned. "She's not a scandal."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh my God. You like her."
I didn't respond. I didn't have to.
Clara groaned, pacing. "Unbelievable. You've got shareholders breathing down your neck, a merger with Atlas pending, and now the media thinks you're having an affair with your therapist. Do you have any idea how bad this looks?"
"I didn't plan this," I muttered.
"You never do," she snapped. "You act like emotions are something you can just compartmentalize but this..." she jabbed a finger toward the magazine "this isn't controllable. If this blows up, it's not just your reputation on the line, it's hers too. Do you even realize what they'll do to her? How the press will tear her apart?"
Her words hit harder than I wanted them to. I'd spent years mastering the art of being untouchable but Emma wasn't built like me. She was warm and compassionate and sincere. The world I lived in would eat her alive.
"I'll handle it," I said.
Clara scoffed. "You? Handle it? You're the reason this happened!"
"Enough," I said quietly, but the steel in my voice made her stop pacing.
She stared at me for a long moment before shaking her head. "You can't keep doing this, Damian. Every time you start to care about someone, you end up destroying them. First investors, then partners.....now her?"
I met her gaze. "I'm not going to destroy her."
"Then what?" Clara demanded. "You're going to date her? Take her to charity galas and pretend it's normal? The media will crucify both of you."
Silence stretched between us, heavy and dangerous.
For the first time, I didn't have an answer.
I looked down at the photo again. Emma looked so unguarded in it, she was so effortlessly herself. The kind of real that terrified me.
Clara sighed, rubbing her temples. "You know, if you'd just stick to women who understand how this world works, maybe you wouldn't end up in situations like this."
I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She hesitated, her tone softening. "You're not built for simplicity, Damian. You like control, order. Emma Lawson? She's chaos dressed as calm, and you don't even realize it yet."
"I realize it," I said quietly. "That's the problem."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Then fix it. End it before it gets worse. Before it costs you everything."
She turned to leave, but stopped at the door. "You should know, the press outlets are already calling for a statement. If I don't have one by morning, they'll start printing rumors."
The door clicked shut behind her.
I stood there, surrounded by the echo of her words and the hum of the city far below. For a man who built empires from ashes, I suddenly felt completely powerless. I picked up the magazine again. My reflection glimmered faintly against the glossy paper, merging with Emma's face.
She didn't deserve this.
My phone buzzed on the counter, it was Mia's name flashing across the screen.
"Sir, I found something," she said when I answered. "A small silver pendant. It has a minimalist design, engraved with the word 'stillness'. I thought it might mean something to her."
I closed my eyes. Stillness. It was exactly what I didn't have.
"Perfect," I said. "Bring it up to my office first thing in the morning."
"Yes, sir."
When the call ended, I sank onto the couch, staring out at the skyline. I was supposed to talk to Emma tomorrow. I was supposed to tell her the truth but now, that truth might destroy her.
I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled.
For the first time in a long time, I didn't know what the right move was. Every option felt like a loss.
The city pulsed below me, alive and indifferent. She was back at the house, she was probably asleep, peaceful, unaware of the storm that was about to break.
And I sat there in the quiet, wondering how something that felt so right could turn into something so dangerous so quickly.
Tomorrow was supposed to be about confession.
Now, it might have to be about protection and I didn't know which would hurt her more.