And in that moment, without a shadow of a doubt, I knew I loved this man.
Loved him with every reckless, impossible piece of me—every scar, every jagged edge, every fiber of my being.
And I would for the rest of my life.
Chapter 54
***
Emma
Hours later, the ink on the merger contract was barely dry when Falkirk’s PR lead ushered us backstage of Falkirk’s auditorium.
Damien glanced at my hips—the place where last night’s marks hid beneath cotton. “How are you feeling?”
A slow grin tugged at my mouth. “Sore.”
A flicker of concern crossed his features, breaking through the polished CEO façade. “Good or bad?”
I let the truth bloom across my face, bright and unguarded. “Amazing.”
His answering smile could’ve set the whole auditorium alight. “I’m glad you like them.”
I knew exactly what he meant—the colors he’d left on my skin.Red. Purple.Marks I wore like jewels.
And for a moment—just a heartbeat—the chaos of the press, the looming cameras, the weight of the world waiting on the other side of the curtain… all of it fell away.
“It’s time,” the coordinator announced, pressing a button on her headset. “Please follow me.”
My skin went clammy as we followed her down the short corridor toward the stage.
“Remember,” Damien murmured, leaning in just enough that his breath brushed my ear. “I’ll do most of the talking.”
I nodded, fingers tightening around the small speech Jennifer had assembled for me in a lightning-fast fifteen minutes. The cardstock dampened beneath my grip, nerves prickling through my palms.
He brushed his knuckles along the back of my hand. “You’ll be perfect,” he said gently.
The moment I stepped into the light, the gravity of the moment hit like a freight train.
The crowd wasn’t just big—it was massive. A sea of reporters shoulder-to-shoulder across the press pit, cameras stacked three rows deep, microphones raised like weapons aimed at the stage. The glow of studio lights washed over everything, bleaching colors into sharp whites and metallic gleams.
Damien moved across the stage with confidence, suit dark against the blaze of lights, shoulders squared, expression composed enough to calm a building on fire. Every camera snapped toward him at once.
He reached the podium, placed both hands on the sides, and looked out over the crowd.
The room fell silent.
Eyes darted between us—between the titan at the microphone and the woman standing with him.
“Good morning,” he began. “Thank you all for being here.”
Flashes exploded. Hands lifted with recorders.
“As many of you are aware,” he continued, “Falkirk and Elion have spent the past two weeks investigating the breach that resulted in the circulation of false financial projections.”
The press bristled—pens scrambling, whispers rising.
“The findings show a clear chain of origin,” Damien said. “The altered documents were never created inside Elion. The IP address tied to their release leads directly to Gregory Davidson’spersonal network. Evidence recovered by Falkirk’s cybersecurity partners confirms that the files were accessed, manipulated, and distributed by Mr. Davidson—an Elion investor facing a significant, personal, financial conflict.”
