A muscle ticked in Damien’s temple. “Apologies, Candace,” he said, evening his tone. “Tensions have been high lately.”
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “I understand.”
I shoveled a bite of peanut chicken into my mouth, desperate for a neutral distraction. “This chicken is delicious,” I offered, trying to redirect the atmosphere before the air combusted.
“It really is,” Damien added. “Where did you order from?”
Candace’s face lit up. “A little place down the street from our house.” She looked at me. “You know the one—it’s got the yellow door.”
My mind searched, and then it clicked—the bright yellow frame, the carved dragon coiling through polished wood, the spiced air that drifted out every time someone opened the door.
“Oh, yeah. I always loved that place.” I popped another bite into my mouth, a laugh escaping. “Well, I guess I still do.”
Garrett snorted.
“What?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, brows raised with that condescending tilt that always made my skin crawl. “Nothing,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “It’s just… funny.”
Candace stiffened beside me. “Garrett—”
He talked over her, focus pinned on me. “You act like you’re just some normal girl.”
Damien stopped chewing mid-bite.
“What does that even mean?” I asked, incredulous.
Garrett shrugged, doubling down. “You pretend you’re someone who walks around like everybody else, but really? You’re dating billionaires in penthouses and running companies into the—”
Damien’s tone sliced clean through him—low, lethal. “Finish that sentence, and I will remove you from my home.”
Garrett’s expression flared, and for a split second—just one—the mask slipped. Mean. Ugly. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, lips curling. “The ground.”
Candace jerked, mortified. “Garrett, that’s enough—”
“No,” he snapped, rounding on her so fast it made my stomach drop. “It’s not. You dragged me here, remember? Said we needed toshow supportor whatever bullshit—but I’m not going to sit here while everyone pretends Emma didn’t screw up majorly—”
Then Damien, lethal as a blade. “Get the fuck out.”
Chapter 43
***
Emma
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Damien’s words—cold as death—still rang through the room.
Garrett pushed to his feet, his chair screeching across the floor like a warning siren. “What the hell did you just say to me?”
Damien didn’t flinch. Didn’t rise.
He simply speared a piece of chicken with his fork, popped it into his mouth, and chewed like he had all the time in the world. “I told you to get the fuck out,” he repeated, unnervingly calm.
Garrett’s face mottled red. A vein in his temple throbbed; his jaw jumped. He took a step forward. “Oh, big man now, huh?” he spat. “Mr.Falkirk. Mr.Penthouse. You think that gives you the right to talk to me like—”
