Sleep did not visit Zara that night.
It hovered on the edges, teasing her with shadows, then slipping away whenever her mind replayed the moment in the committee room Damon's breath on her lips, the heat between them, the way his voice had dropped when he whispered her name like a man discovering hunger for the first time.
She lay on her back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling as London's night lights flickered through her apartment curtains. Her pulse twisted with something she refused to name.
She hated this.
Hated him.
Hated the way her body betrayed her every time he stepped near.
Hated how every self-protective instinct she had built over a lifetime seemed to malfunction when Damon Huxley looked at her like he could see every locked door inside her and wanted the keys.
This is madness, she thought, covering her eyes with her arm.
She had spent years building walls thick, unbreakable, fortified.
She had learned how to breathe without needing anyone.
How to live without depending.
How to run faster than ruin could catch her.
And now?
One man one infuriating, powerful, magnetic man stood too close… and everything she built felt weak.
She rolled onto her stomach, groaning into her pillow.
She needed sleep.
She needed distance.
She needed..
Her phone buzzed.
Her stomach dropped.
She knew.
She knew. Before she even checked.
She reached for it slowly.
1:32 a.m. — Unknown number.
Her breath hitched.
She opened the message.
DH: Are you awake?
Her pulse skidded.
She typed nothing.
But three dots appeared instantly.
He was still on the thread.
Waiting.
DH: You left too quickly.
She sat up, heartbeat ticking like a fast metronome.
Zara: It was late.
DH: That's not why.
Her chest tightened.
Zara: What do you want, Damon?
A long pause.
Her heart hammered.
Then..
DH: To hear your voice.
Zara's breath left her.
No, no, no.
Damon Huxley did not admit weakness.
He did not ask for connection.
He did not want anything he couldn't control.
She stared at the words, heat pooling low in her stomach, fear gripping her chest.
This man was becoming dangerous in a way she did not know how to handle.
She typed slowly.
Zara: We are not doing this.
DH: We already are.
Three dots.
Stop.
Three dots again.
DH: You almost kissed me.
Her lips parted.
Her fingers trembled over the screen.
Zara: You initiated it.
DH: No. We both did.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Her phone buzzed again.
DH: Do you regret it?
Zara's throat tightened.
She typed.
Paused.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Zara: I regret nothing that is logical.
Damon's reply came instantly.
DH: So you don't regret it.
She clenched her jaw.
Zara: Goodnight.
DH: I can't sleep either.
The words punched into her chest.
Her back hit the headboard softly.
She shouldn't respond.
She didn't want to respond.
But she did.
Zara: Why?
Another long pause.
She imagined him in his penthouse, sitting in dark light, staring at the screen with his hand in his hair, jaw tight, eyes haunted by something he didn't want to feel.
Then…
DH: Because I can still feel you standing in front of me.
Her breath trembled.
She gripped the phone tighter, knuckles whitening.
Zara: Damon.
DH: Yes.
Zara: Stop.
Another pause.
DH: I can't.
Zara swallowed hard, exhaustion and desire warring inside her.
She typed one final message.
Zara: We need to sleep.
DH: Then sleep.
Pretend I'm not thinking about you.
Pretend you're not thinking about me.
She didn't type a response.
But she didn't put the phone down either. She held it against her chest.
She closed her eyes.
And she didn't sleep.
Not yet.
Damon sat in his penthouse, lights dimmed, whiskey untouched beside him.
He didn't drink when his control frayed.
He needed clarity.
And right now?
He was drowning in clarity.
Zara Bennett was under his skin.
Not like other women who were predictable, eager, available.
Zara was fire.
Zara was steel.
Zara was an equation without a solution.
She didn't respond to charm.
She didn't bend to influence.
She didn't play games.
And that made her the most powerful woman he'd ever met.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at her last message on his screen.
We need to sleep.
His lips twitched not with amusement.
With something that felt like longing.
He hated that word.
He had no experience with it.
He didn't like losing his balance.
But Zara knocked him off balance without even trying.
He ran a hand along his jaw, exhaling slowly.
He wanted her.
Wanted to tear down every wall she hid behind.
Wanted to know what her laugh sounded like when she wasn't guarding herself.
Wanted to know what she looked like with desire instead of anger in her eyes.
He leaned back, jaw tightening.
This wasn't strategic interest.
This wasn't rivalry.
This was…
consuming.
And it infuriated him.
Because he felt something he couldn't name, couldn't control, couldn't plan for.
And if Damon Huxley couldn't control something…
He wanted it even more.
By morning, Zara looked flawless.
No one would guess she slept two hours.
Her suit was crisp.
Her eyeliner sharp.
Her spine straight.
But inside, she was rattled.
At the committee building, she walked down the corridor with purpose until her client from the defamation case rushed toward her in tears.
"Ms. Bennett! Someone published more things about me!"
Zara's blood went cold.
"What?"
She grabbed the woman's phone.
Saw the headline.
Saw the leaked email.
Saw the private medical information.
Saw the smear.
A flash of white-hot rage burst in Zara's chest.
Damon.
This had to be Damon.
But before fury could fully rise
A voice came from behind her.
"I'm already handling it."
She turned sharply.
And there he was.
Damon.
Standing in the hallway.
Watching her with eyes dark and unreadable.
Her client blinked. "Mr. Huxley?"
Zara stepped between them instantly.
"What do you mean you're handling it?" she demanded.
Damon held her gaze.
"I didn't leak this," he said quietly. "And I fired the person who did."
Zara froze.
Her heart lurched.
"You what?"
His jaw tightened.
"I told you," he said, stepping closer. "I didn't attack your client. Someone in my company did. So I'm fixing it."
Zara stared at him, stunned.
Her client sniffled. "Is that supposed to help me?"
Damon turned to her gently a tone Zara had never heard from him.
"It's supposed to stop this from getting worse," he said. "I'll issue a statement denying the leak. My legal team will assist in removing the articles."
Zara's breath caught.
He was protecting her client.
Not because he had to.
But because she cared.
Damon turned back to her.
"Come with me," he said.
Zara's eyes narrowed. "No."
"It's important."
"No."
"Zara."
Her name again.
Soft.
Grounded.
Dangerous.
She exhaled and followed against her better judgment into an empty conference room.
Damon shut the door behind them.
Her pulse skipped.
He didn't move toward her.
He simply stood there, hands in his pockets, looking at her like a man trying very hard not to break something fragile.
"This is not a game," he said quietly.
"Everything is a game to you."
"Not this."
Her chest tightened.
He stepped closer slow, careful, deliberate.
"You think I want to hurt your clients?" he asked. "You think I enjoy making you angry? Zara… I don't."
Her breath shook.
He had never said her name like that.
Not with restraint.
Not with something like sincerity.
"You scared me last night," she whispered before she could stop herself.
His eyes softened.
"Why?"
"Because you almost kissed me."
He swallowed.
"Zara…"
"And because I wanted you to."
Silence slammed into the room.
His jaw clenched.
His fingers curled.
His breath left him.
Slowly.
Slowly.
He closed the remaining inches between them.
"Say it again," he murmured.
She shook her head. "No."
"Zara."
"No."
He exhaled a harsh, quiet sound.
"Then let me say it," he whispered.
Her eyes widened.
He lowered his head until his forehead nearly touched hers.
"I wanted to kiss you," he said softly. "I shouldn't have. But I did."
Her breath trembled.
"And I still do."
She exhaled shakily, chest rising and falling faster than she wanted.
"Damon… we can't."
His voice was barely a whisper.
"I know."
But he didn't step back.
Neither did she.
They stood there in the quiet conference room, inches apart, drowning in a tension that felt like heat wrapped in danger.
Finally…
Zara whispered, "We need distance."
Damon nodded once.
But he didn't move.
"Then walk away," he said softly.
Her throat tightened.
She couldn't.
Not right away.
Not with his breath ghosting her lips.
Not with her pulse betraying her.
Not with the warm, frustrated longing in his eyes.
She stepped back finally forcing air between them.
His jaw flexed as he let her go.
"Zara," he said again, voice rougher now. "This isn't over."
Her chest constricted.
Her voice cracked.
"It should be."
He stared at her steady, unblinking.
"But it won't be."
She hated how true that felt.
She left the room before the ground could swallow her whole.
Damon stood alone for a long time.
Then he whispered into the empty room
"I know."
Zara returned to her office and closed the door behind her, leaning against it.
Her heart raced.
Her breathing shallow.
Her hands trembling.
She pressed her palms to her eyes.
"Stop," she whispered to herself. "Stop feeling anything."
She had buried this part of her years ago.
The part that yearned.
The part that wanted.
The part that believed desire didn't equal destruction.
Her father had taught her the truth:
Powerful men don't love.
They consume.
She refused to be consumed.
She straightened her suit, wiped her eyes, and sat at her desk, forcing herself back into work.
But her hands were still unsteady.
And her lips still tingled.
And his voice still echoed.
In the hallway outside, Damon leaned against the wall, eyes closed, fists clenched.
He had nearly kissed her again.
Nearly crossed the line.
Nearly ruined everything.
He inhaled slowly, trying to calm himself.
It didn't work.
He had faced hostile takeovers, political threats, billion-dollar losses and none of those had shaken him like Zara Bennett saying she wanted him in that room.
He whispered to himself:
"You're in trouble."
But he didn't walk away.
Not from her.
Not now.
Not ever.
He left the building only after ensuring her client's smear articles were already being removed.
He did it quietly.
Without public credit.
Without expectation.
Not for strategy.
For her.
Because he couldn't help it anymore.