My voice was ice. “If you so much as look at her again, I’ll tear you apart.”
He grabbed my collar, blood-smeared and grinning. “I’ll do it again and again, and you’ll watch.”
My mind went white. I wrenched free and crashed into him again until the guards dragged me off a second time.
“Get him out of my sight!” he bellowed.
Bars closed. A better man would rethink. I planned.
Hours later, after a night in custody, my lawyer got me out. Bastien drove. In the back seat I cradled a nearly empty bourbon, drained it in one burn, hurled the bottle to the floor, and leaned back. I had to double Daisy’s security if she insisted on working. The shop would be safe — I’d make damn sure of it.
“Fuck,” I snarled, rubbing my face. Mason had to be removed. But it had to be clean — no trace back to me. After this morning, that would be harder. And then there was him. If he learned what happened to Daisy, he’d kill me. I couldn’t go to him. Not now. Not after what I’d let happen.
I’d failed her. Failed in every way. I’d promised to protect her, and I hadn’t. I’d torn my life apart. My empire — jeopardized. My reputation — shattered. If Mason talked, I was finished. And I knew it when I swung. I knew it, and I did it anyway. For her. For the woman who dragged me to my darkest edge.
Daisy had gotten too close. Every look, every smile cut through my walls. The alcohol roared, heavy and warm, softening the edges. I wanted more. Needed more.
I hit the intercom. “Turn around, Bastien. Drive me to the club.”
NYX throbbed with bass and shouted voices when I walked in. Eyes tracked me—challenge, heat. Familiar faces nodded as I cut to the VIP lounge. Friends. Associates. A distraction.
“What the hell happened to you?” Mike asked, pointing at my face. Mike Solivan—one of the few I called a friend—poured me a drink. I downed it.
“I had a confrontation with Thomas Mason.”
“Jesus, Damian. What happened?”
“He crossed a line.” My voice was flat. “Long story.”
He studied me, then nodded. “You want to talk?”
“Not tonight,” I muttered, letting the room blur into useless conversation.
Across from us a woman watched me all night. Confident smile. Luisa. I’d met her once. She slipped into the seat beside me.
“I’m Luisa,” she said. “Tamara’s friend.”
“I remember. We spoke about the Manhattan exhibition.” Her smile sharpened. We talked. I drank. I needed Daisy out of my head. I probably already detonated my career. I couldn’t let this go further. I had to rebuild the wall and prove, at least to myself, that I wouldn’t lose everything for her.
I stood and offered my hand. “Come with me.”
As soon as the office door shut, I pushed her back against the desk, turned her, forced her down—rough, impersonal. I tore her skirt and panties from her body. “You don’t move. Understood?” My voice had iron. I took a condom from the drawer. “Are you on birth control?”
“Of course,” she breathed. “I’ve been waiting.”
I pulled out and fucked her. She moaned; the sounds hit me like wallpaper. The movements were mechanical—motion without spark. No pulse in me, only emptiness. Yanking her hair, I snapped, “Shut up,” and drove harder.
“Stop,” I said at last, voice harsh. I stepped back. “Get dressed. I have another appointment.”
She frowned. “Now? But we didn’t even—”
“Go,Luisa. We’ll see each other another time.”
She left in silence. The door clicked. I sank into the leather chair, heavy-limbed, head dull. The hole inside me was razor sharp.
Unsteady, I showered until the water blurred the night away. I had felt nothing with Luisa. I’d hoped it would burn Daisy out of me. It failed. Guilt pressed in—unfamiliar and raw.
We weren’t together. So had I cheated? What were we, then? If it wasn’t just sex—why was she still here?
