“But the bodyguards, the assistants... they saw you.”
“Don’t worry about them. They were compensated—generously. The matter is closed.”
Thechill in his words sent a shiver racing down my spine. I wanted to ask how far thatcompensationhad really gone, but I swallowed the question. The ice between us was too thin, and silence felt safer. Still, the memory pressed down on me. Damian had killed Mason—and two of his men—without hesitation. He could have shot to wound, but instead he had aimed for their chests, their heads. Straight for the kill.
“Are you almost done?” he asked.
I flinched as his voice cut through my thoughts, his finger pointing at the towel still wrapped around me.
“How much longer will you need?”
“We should end this,” I whispered, my voice trembling. My heart pounded against my ribs as I looked at him—looked at the grief and violence he carried like a second skin. “You see what comes of this. Everything I touch breaks. Everyone close to me gets hurt. Ference...” His name scraped from my throat like broken glass. A searing ache tore through my chest, and tears pricked my eyes. “He’s dead.”
The words slashed the air between us, but it felt like they cut deeper into me than into him. Because the guilt never stopped eating me alive.
Damian stepped closer, his eyes shadowed with pain and fierce resolve.
“It’s not your fault, Daisy. None of this is your fault.”
He leaned in.
The kiss was so tender it burned, aching worse than a slap. His lips seared against mine, and for one devastating heartbeat, my body wanted nothing more than to collapse into that heat. But the guilt, the fear, the pain inside me were stronger. My fingers dug into the sleeves of his shirt as if I meant to hold on—yet it was a farewell.
“I have to go,” I breathed against his mouth. A violent tremor shuddered through me, making it hard to stand. With the last of my strength, I tore myself from him, grabbed my things off the bed, and pushed past.
My hand had just closed on the handle when his arm slammed against the door beside my head. The door shook under the impact, and a strangled cry escaped me. The bang rang in my ears like thunder.
His hand clamped around my neck, unyielding, merciless. My breath caught as he yanked me back, pinning me to the cold wood. His fist tangled in my hair, forcing my head back. A soft cry slipped from my lips—more shock than pain. His eyes locked on mine, blazing with everything at once: anger, fear, despair, an unbridled hunger that threatened to rip him apart. For an instant, I thought he’d chain me to him. He was fighting the impulse to never let me go. His grip tightened, every line of his body thrumming as though one wrong breath would set off an explosion.
Then something shifted—something that gutted me even more. Slowly, as if it cost him every shred of willpower, he peeled each finger away from my throat and turned to the window. His back strained under the fabric of his shirt, rigid with the force of what he was holding in. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Yet everything in hisposture screamed this wasn’t finished, that it would never be finished.
“Go,” he said at last, his voice raw.
Not a threat.
Not a plea.
So I went.
Chapter 21 Damian
The towering building disappeared behind me as I shoved open the limousine door and kept walking, not sparing Bastien a glance. The cold bit into my face, but it was nothing compared to the fire tearing through my chest.
Yesterday afternoon, after visiting Karl and Marlon in the hospital, Daisy had sent me a message. No explanation. No apology. Just one short line: she would be back in the store tomorrow. After a week of silence. A week of her shutting me out.
I would not let her go—not in my head, not in my blood. The thought of her belonging to someone else set the rage blazing like an inferno. She had become part of me, a poison in my veins. Not a day, not an hour, not a heartbeat passed without her. God, how I hated her for what she made me feel. I needed a distraction, something to cauterize the pain. But even the thought of numbing myself felt empty, pathetic. Because beneath the anger, something else tore at me—something I couldn’t drown in alcohol or fuck away.
Ference. His name burned in my mind like iron. Tomorrow I would stand at his coffin. My fists clenched as the past week replayed again and again. If only I’d never let her into my life. If only I’d never touched her. But that was a lie. Because if I could turn back time, I would do it again. Over and over. She was part of me, poison in my blood. Not a day, not an hour, not a single heartbeat passed without her. Her gaze. Her voice. The way she pushed me to the edge. The way she saved me and ruined me in the same breath.
The door to my office opened, and Tanja Walters walked in—confident as ever, briefcase swinging at her side. Her steps were calm, precise. No hesitation. No fake smile. A business partner who knew her worth. She sat across from me and pulled a stack of papers from her case.
“The new investor is pushing for a faster release of funds,” she said, sliding a few pages across the desk.
“Does he want control or return?” I asked, scanning the documents.
“Both, I’d say.” She leaned back, crossing her legs. “Like most men.”
“And what do you say to that?” Her fingers tapped against the tabletop, steady, deliberate.
