I rose on legs that didn't feel like mine. I walked past him without meeting his eyes. His cologne wrapped around me—cheap vanilla and something sharp beneath it, applied with no restraint. I didn't relax until I was in the hallway.
The door clicked shut behind me.
I made it to the bathroom before my knees gave out.
It was empty. Thank god.
I turned the water on—hot, scalding—and shoved my hands beneath the stream.
I scrubbed.
Soap. More soap. Fingers raking across my palms, my wrists, the backs of my hands. The water ran clear but I kept going, kept scrubbing, like I could reach beneath the skin and scour out the film Nathan had left there.
His gaze on my blouse. His smile.Mutually satisfying.
I scrubbed harder.
My knuckles went red. Then raw. The burn was good. It was something.
You did nothing wrong.
But the shame didn't care about logic. It pooled in my stomach, thick and black, whispering that I'd somehow invited this. That I should have said something. Done something. That sitting there frozen made me complicit.
You did nothing wrong.
The water turned cold. I didn't notice until my hands went numb.
I grabbed a paper towel. Dried my hands. The skin screamed where I'd rubbed it raw.
Good.
At least I could feel something that made sense.
Damien would be furious if he knew. Absolutely livid. The kind of cold, calculated rage that ended careers and buried men like Nathan in legal paperwork for decades.
And for once, I might actually let him.
Might let him fight this battle for me. Might let him burn Nathan's world to the ground while I watched from the sidelines.
And then—
I met my own eyes in the mirror, face hardening.
Then I was going to rip his fucking head off.
Chapter fifteen
Damien
Wrong.
Knew it the moment I stepped through her door.
The way she sat at her desk—spine rigid, fingers wrapped tight around a pen like she was considering stabbing someone with it.
"Hey." I closed the door behind me, keeping my tone light. "How'd it go?"
She didn't look up. Didn't move. Coiled tight.
