And worst of all—Damian didn’t stand apart from this world.
He belonged to it.
I had never been free. I had never truly chosen.
I’d been moved across a board—a pawn.
The ground split under me. I no longer knew who I was, or who I could ever trust. The chair scraped as I shoved it back and stood.
“Please tell me I’m about to wake up from this nightmare.”
No one contradicted me. No one even bothered to lie. In Damian’s eyes there was only bitter, unflinching truth. I stepped back instinctively, as if distance could save me.
I stared at him, breathless, unableto understand how he could sit so calm while my world collapsed. His gaze stayed on mine—steady, relentless—and that made it worse.
My father sighed. “Daisy, we live in a dangerous world. I have enemies everywhere. The illegal antiques trade is more than business—it’s a threat. I wanted to protect you. Damian was the only one I trusted. And he kept his word, Daisy. The men outside the shop… they were his. They have been watching over you since the day he hired you.” Damian’s gaze flickered away for a heartbeat, as if the truth carried a weight he didn’t want me to read in his eyes.
“The… illegal… antiques trade?” My voice cracked. “Am I in the wrong movie? What the hell is going on?” I shook my head. “You abused my trust,” I snapped at my father—then cut my eyes to Damian. “Both of you.”The man I had loved was just another mask in my father’s empire. And I’d fallen for the mask.
“Please, try to—”
“You know what? I won’t make a scene. But I won’t stay here another second. I’m going home. We can talk later. Or better—never.”
I turned and walked out, desperate for air that didn’t taste like lies.
“Tristan, go with her,” my father’s voice followed.
“Daisy!” Tristan called. I stopped, turned just enough.
“I have to go with you,” he said.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than play babysitter?” The lash of it surprised even me.
His brows rose.
“I’m sorry,” I exhaled. “That was mean. It’s not your fault.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
A thousand thoughts tore through me. Damian knew my father—worse, he was one of them. I hadn’t stumbled into the job. I’d been placed. The realization gutted me.
We walked in silence. At my door, I gave Tristan a quick goodbye and went in alone.
Something was wrong. The air felt colder, heavier, as if the walls were holding their breath. Dread coiled low. I went to the kitchen, pulled a glass from the shelf, grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge.
“Hello, Daisy,” said a voice I knew too well.
The bottle slipped, shattered. Wine bled across the tiles like spilled blood. I turned slowly. Damian leaned in my bedroom doorway, arms crossed—casual posture, eyes burning. A dark smile played on his lips.
“Damian—what the hell are you doing here?” My body didn’t know whether to run or to fall into him.
“Did you miss me?”
I edged around the counter, keeping my eyes on him. “You can’t just come into my house.”
“As you see, I can.” He dangled a set of keys, then slid them into his pocket. “Spare key from your father. For emergencies.”
