DAMIAN'S POV
The alarm snaps through the dark at 5 a.m. My body feels heavy, like it's been waiting for impact all night. Yesterday's mess still sits in my chest like a hit I didn't see coming. The house is quiet, unnervingly so. Then comes the soft knock.
"Good morning, Ma," I say as Ms. Vivian Harper steps in.
Her eyes study me with that quiet, practiced patience. "You're up early."
"I'm sorry for calling you in before your time," I tell her, my voice low. "There's a guest in the guest room. I need breakfast early, the place clean. Everything."
She nods once. No judgment, no questions. "I'll handle it."
Of course she will. She always has.
Ms. Vivian Harper has been in my life longer than most people still breathing. After the accident twelve years ago, when my world shattered and relatives scattered like dust, she stayed. She patched what she could, became the cook when I forgot to eat, the nurse when grief made me sick, and the quiet guardian who somehow kept the house alive.
I trust her more than I trust my own blood. More than myself on most days.
I slip on my running shoes before she can decide I'm not dressed warmly enough and I'm out of the door. The cool morning air hits, chasing sleep from my lungs. Two blocks in, I stop to retie my laces. Another two blocks, there he is.
Uncle Harrison. Stretching against a fence like he owns the damn sunrise.
"The board meeting's moved," he calls out. "Eleven is now eight. And congratulations, by the way. Heard the big announcement."
I keep jogging, eyes forward. "Interesting how fast news travel, especially from people who don't mean a word of it."
He falls into stride beside me, chuckling. "Ah, Damian... always brooding. Don't tell me you didn't enjoy the yesterday's spotlight."
"Enjoy?" I scoff. "Please. Though if someone leaked anything about my fiancée… I know exactly whose fingerprints I'd find."
He clutches his chest theatrically. "Predictable accusations. Nephew, I'm hurt. Though, I'd admit, " his smile turns into a grin, "she doesn't exactly scream 'Blackwell' material. She's a liability with all that drama. But even I have limits."
I don't spare him another glance. I just run faster.
By the time I'm back home, the sweat on me feels like a second skin now. I pull out my phone and dial a number. It rings. No answer. I leave it and push inside. And I'm guessing Elle's still asleep as there's no sign if her yet since I came back from the run.
I grab my towel and walked into the bathroom. Brush my teeth and wash off the sweat that clings to my body.
"Skipping breakfast, sir?" Ma stands in the doorway, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"In a hurry," I say, buttoning my shirt.
She tilts her head, a knowing smile. "Thought so. Packed something for you anyway."
I take the brown-paper package from her hand, nod. "Thank you."
Garage. Engine starts as I dial the same number again.
Rings.
This time, someone picks up.
"Come to my office. Now. I might have something for you."
"Finally, you..."
I hang up before she can finish.
*****
The conference room is already buzzing when I walk in; ties straightened, backs stiff, everyone pretending they didn't doubt me forty-eight hours ago. Conversations die as I take my seat at the head of the table. Typical.
"Good morning, Damian," Chairman Lowell starts as I take my seat. "Before we begin, I believe we owe you an apology. The board acknowledges we should have publicly supported you during yesterday's... turbulence. We acted too slowly."
Murmurs of agreement circle the table. Heads nod. "We stand with you now," Mrs. Cole adds. "Unwaveringly."
Of course. Now that I've secured what they really care about. "Noted," I say. "Let's move on."
Lowell clears his throat, "Next agenda. Sterling & Crest Global has officially confirmed interest in purchasing a strategic percentage of our shares. Their investment projections exceed last quarter's forecasts by fifteen percent. This partnership could reposition Blackwell Holdings internationally."
Excitement stirs around the table. Amazing how loyalty grows when profit's involved.
"Congratulations, Damian," Mrs. Keene adds. "Your leadership played a huge role in this."
"And the… upcoming baby," another chimes in. "Big step."
I give a tight smile. "Glad the company is suddenly optimistic about babies."
A few laugh too hard.
Gerald Pike leans back, smug. "This is impressive, I'll admit. A significant step forward. But imagine how much stronger our position would be if you'd married Alexandra Beaumont. Her father would've trippled that investment overnight."
Alexandra Beaumont. Spoiled, dramatic, allergic to the word no. Perfect.
Silence thickens. All eyes shift to me.
I drop my gaze to the file in front of me, flipping a page in the file just to make him sweat. "Gerald," I say finally, "if I ever decide to buy our success by selling my sanity, I'll let you know. Until then, Crestfall's money spends just fine."
A few people choke down their laughter.
"Right. Well," Lowell says quickly, "congratulations, Damian on the deal, and the child."
More congratulations echo around the room.
I give a tight smile. "Thank you. The company comes first, as always."
"Meeting adjourned," Lawson announces.
Chairs scrape. People gather their files, still sending me warm smiles they didn't have yesterday.
The meeting dissolves into more congratulations behind me, but I'm already out the door.
As I head back to my office, my secretary intercepts me.
"Sir," she says, clutching her tablet. "Two people waiting; Camila Rivera from PR, and… Lila Monroe. The blogger. She said you called her in."
I rub my jaw. "Camila first. Then Monroe. Cancel the rest. Shift all meetings two hours ahead."
"Yes, sir."
I drag a hand across my jaw. "Okay. I'll see Camila first," I say. "Then let Monroe in. Cancel everything else and shift all my meetings two hours ahead."
"Yes, sir."
Silence returns as I walk into my office, my safe space.
I drop the files on the desk and scan the room, resetting myself. Then I reach for the decanter. A pour. Almost a sip... then a knock ruins it.
Camila enters. Nervous, as usual.
"Sorry to disturb you, sir, but…" She hesitates. "Is she… okay?"
"She's fine," I cut in. "I left her asleep. She'll be back before the workday ends."
Camila exhales. "Thank you. I was just worried."
"It's okay."
She slips out. The door opens again this time without hesitation.
Monroe walks in. Too much perfume and makeup. Too much everything.
"Sit," I say, setting the glass down untouched.
She does, legs crossed, chin lifted; someone who mistakes attention for power.
"I'll be honest," she begins, "I didn't think you'd call back. Last week you made it very clear you weren't interested, so… what changed your mind?"
I finally look at her.
Flat. Expressionless. A quiet threat.
"Shut up."
The speed at which she obeys should embarrass her.
"This is going to make you the loudest blogger in New York," I tell her. "You'll scream your headlines, break your stories… and I'll get what I want. Mutual benefit."
Her eyes gleam. "What do you want?"
I lean in. "Dig into my fiancée's life."
She blinks. "Marielle Morgan or should I say Seraphina Carrington?"
I don't flinch. "Yes."
"You want to expose her?"
"No." I take my first sip of scotch. "I want the truth. All of it. Every piece she's hiding. Every person she talks to. Every step she takes. You'll poke until she reacts… and you'll report directly to me."
Her smile spreads slow. "And my reward?"
"You get the story that sets your career on fire," I say. "But first, you sign the NDA."
Her excitement is instant. Loud. Obvious.
"Done," she says.
"My secretary will hand what to sign to you."
She almost trips over her own excitement rushing out the door.
The moment she's gone, I take another drink.
It burns slow.
Like the mess I just set in motion.