The words sliced through me. In that instant, I was reminded—painfully—that I knew far less about him than I wanted to believe.
“He could ruin my reputation overnight. In our business, trust is everything. If Mason so much as spread a rumor that I’d acquired artifacts illegally, no one would stand by me. One whisper, and I’m finished. And it wouldn’t matter if it was true.”
“But you haven’t done anything illegal, right?” My voice wasn’t asking—it was accusing.
“Yes. But truth doesn’t matter. All it takes is the right people believing the wrong story. Mason could bribe, forge, or drag me into lawsuits that would drain me for years. By the time I cleared my name, the damage would already be done. And he wouldn’t stop there. He could lock me out of auctions, cut me off from the best artifacts. Without access, my business is dead. Mason could end me without lifting a finger. And he knows it.”
“Why? What’s in it for him?”
“He doesn’t need a reason. He only needs a desire. And right now, his interest is fixed on me and…” He hesitated, then looked me dead in the eye. “…on you. I should never have taken you to that dinner.”
“I’m sorry, Damian.”
“It’s not your fault. I’ll handle him.”
He kissed my forehead again. “Do you want to spend the evening with me?” he asked suddenly.
“At your place?”
He nodded, though his shoulders tightened slightly, as if he’d surprised himself by asking. Something in his face turned quieter, more guarded. I leaned into him. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, then slowly draped his arm around me.
“I’d love to.”
And even as I soaked in the warmth of his closeness, I felt the subtle war he was fighting within himself.
Damian’s penthouse mirrored his character—elegant, modern, complex, and full of stories.
I walked to the window. “The view over the skyline is breathtaking.”
In the corner, a large glass display case gleamed, filled with artifacts.
“This is where I keep my favorites,” he explained. “Pieces from different eras and cultures.”
I moved closer, my gaze catching on an ancient Greek statue. “Is this the Kosta collection you told me about on the plane?”
“It is.”
“Tell me about it again.”
He stood beside me, speaking as I examined the shelves. On another, I discovered a collection of antique books and manuscripts.
“This collection ranges from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance. Some of them are first editions.”
Carefully, I slid an old book free and flipped through the yellowed pages. “It’s amazing how well they’ve been preserved.”
“I take good care of them,” Damian said, gently taking the book from me and returning it to its place. Then he reached for my hand and pulled me down onto the couch—onto his lap.
“What do you think about ordering some food and watching the new documentary on Tutankhamun? It came out yesterday. I’ve been waiting to see it; the latest findings are supposed to be groundbreaking.”
“I can’t imagine anything better right now.”
Over dinner, we talked about the stories behind his favorite artifacts. With every passing minute, I felt myself slipping further into Damian’s world—and deeper into his heart.
“A few years ago, I was part of an excavation in Greece.”
“Where exactly?”
“Knossos. It was unbearably hot but thrilling—grueling work, but worth every drop of sweat. We dug for days and found mostly fragments. Still, piecing together those fragments felt like solving the puzzle of history.”
