The company lobby was quieter now.
But silence could be cruel—louder than whispers, heavier than pity.
Amara Castellanos still felt every gaze that had lingered on her, every hushed murmur that followed Kael's cold rejection. The humiliation clung to her skin, raw and blistering, no matter how far she tried to distance herself from it.
Inside Damian's office, the hush was different—less judgmental, more contained. The soft hum of the air conditioner, the muted tick of the wall clock, and the steady rhythm of Damian's movements grounded her. His tall frame moved with calm precision as he tidied a few papers on his desk, giving her space without pressing.
She sat on the edge of the leather couch, her fingers curled tightly around the hem of her sleeve. Slowly, her breathing evened out. The sting behind her eyes dulled. Her thoughts, once scattered and sharp, began to settle.
Only then did she speak—quiet, trembling, but clear.
"Thank you… for earlier, Damian."
Damian turned slightly, the golden light glinting off his cufflinks as he looked at her. His expression softened, though his posture remained as composed as ever.
"You don't have to thank me," he said, voice even and low.
Amara looked down at her shoes, the concrete blurred through the film of her tears. "I do. You've always been there for me… like a true friend."
The word friend felt safe to her—it was something she could cling to, something that didn't demand more than she could give. But to Damian, it sliced deep.
He inhaled sharply. His eyes—dark, sharp, unreadable—flickered with something unguarded. "No," he said, his voice suddenly firm, almost cutting through the humid air between them.
Amara blinked. "W-What?"
Damian stepped closer, the faint scent of cedar and rain clinging to him. The streetlamp above them flickered to life, bathing his features in amber light—the faint tension in his jaw, the shadow of something that had waited too long to be spoken.
"I didn't do it because we're friends," he said, every syllable deliberate. "I did it because of how I truly feel about you."
Amara's breath caught. She stared at him, speechless.
Damian's gaze softened, but there was steel beneath it—years of quiet restraint finally breaking through. "Amara… I've liked you for years. Quietly. Patiently. Always in the background, hoping you'd look at me the way you look at him."
Her lips parted, but her voice refused to come.
He took another step, his tone gentler now. "You never noticed because your world revolved around Kael. I saw it—I saw everything. The way you smiled when he entered a room, the way your voice softened when you said his name."
A tear escaped before she could stop it. "Damian… please, don't—"
He raised a hand gently, shaking his head. "I'm not asking for an answer. I just couldn't let you walk away tonight thinking I was doing this out of pity. I helped you because I care. Because every time I see you hurt, it feels like I'm breaking too."
His confession was calm, but beneath the calmness was something fierce and unspoken—love restrained for too long.
Amara's hands trembled. She didn't know what to do with his words. They were too kind, too real, too soon after the pain Kael had inflicted.
Her voice cracked as she whispered, "I don't know what to say. My mind's… a mess. Kael, what he said today—" her voice faltered "—and now this, your confession… I just can't think straight."
Damian nodded once, his expression unreadable. "You don't have to say anything. I only wanted you to know."
The quiet between them stretched, fragile but heavy. A car passed in the distance, its headlights slicing through the dusk.
When Amara finally spoke again, her voice was barely audible. "I need to be alone for a while. I can't— I just need time to breathe."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't protest. "If that's what you need, I won't stop you."
She tried to smile, but it came out broken. "Thank you."
Damian's eyes lingered on her as she turned to leave, her small frame illuminated briefly by the streetlight. Every instinct in him screamed to follow her, to protect her, to make sure she didn't crumble under everything that had just happened.
But he stayed still—outwardly composed, inwardly unravelling.
When Amara disappeared around the corner, he exhaled slowly and took out his phone. "Follow her," he murmured into the receiver. "Discreetly. Keep her safe."
A low voice on the other end replied, "Understood."
Only when he hung up did Damian allow his expression to falter. His hands clenched at his sides, his mind spinning with the memory of her trembling voice, her downcast eyes, the way she said friend like it was both a comfort and a wall.
He returned to the building, mask slipping back into place.
The HR manager caught up to him at the elevator. "Sir, about Miss Castellanos—should I file a report about the incident in the office earlier?"
Damian's tone was smooth, practiced. "No need. She wasn't feeling well. I told her to go home and rest."
The manager hesitated, sensing the tension beneath his words but wisely nodded and left.
When the elevator doors closed, Damian leaned back against the mirrored wall, closing his eyes.
In his reflection, he looked composed—as always. But inside, something dark and restless stirred. He had crossed a line tonight, confessed feelings that had simmered for years. And though it was the truth, it had come at the worst possible moment—when she was already shattered.
He knew what the others in the company would whisper tomorrow. They would gossip about Kael's rejection, about his intervention, about the look in his eyes when he said, "Then I will take her."
Damian didn't care.
What he cared about was the image burned into his mind—Amara's face streaked with tears, her voice trembling with confusion and heartbreak.
He wanted to protect her.
He wanted to give her a place to heal.
But most of all… he wanted to be the one she looked to when the world fell apart.
And he wasn't sure which of those desires scared him more.
Meanwhile, outside, Amara's steps echoed against the wet pavement as night deepened around her.
Her thoughts tangled like storm clouds, heavy and endless.
Kael's cruel words still burned: "I would never choose someone like her."
Each syllable was a blade, cutting deeper the more she remembered.
And yet—Damian's words followed close behind, warm and suffocating all at once: "I helped you because I care. Because every time I see you hurt, it feels like I'm breaking too."
Two voices.
Two men.
Two pieces of her heart pulling in opposite directions.
By the time she reached the end of the block, her legs felt like they would give out. She stopped beneath a flickering lamppost, pressing a hand to her chest as if she could steady her racing heart.
"I just need to breathe," she whispered into the night, her voice breaking.
But even the air felt too heavy to take in.
So she kept walking, aimlessly, as if the city itself could absorb her pain. The streets were nearly empty now, the distant hum of traffic blending with the sound of her footsteps.
She didn't notice the pair of men who trailed her quietly from a distance—Damian's silent sentinels ensuring she made it home safely.
When she finally disappeared down the quiet path leading toward the seaside, one of them murmured softly, "She's heading toward the coast."
The other nodded. "Let her. Sometimes people just need to drown before they remember how to breathe."