As he should.
"I need to know you understand the difference," I continued. "Because if you don't—if you can't—then this doesn't work. None of it. The rules, the dynamic, us." I shook my head slowly. "I won't be with someone who thinks protecting me means lying to me."
The silence stretched between us, heavy and charged.
Then Damien moved, dropping to his knees.
Right there, in the middle of the living room, morning light spilling across his shoulders. The same man who commanded boardrooms, who made executives twice his age stammer and sweat, who bent the world to his will through sheer force of certainty—
Kneeling at my feet, looking up at me with nothing held back.
"I swear to you. On my life, Emma. On everything I am. I will never do this again. If I'm faced with a choice like that—any choice that affects your life, your company, your future—I will come to you first. Even if I know you'll disagree. Even if I think telling you will make things worse." His hands found mine once again, gripping like I might disappear. "I will trust you with the truth. Always. No matter what."
I stared down at him, heart pounding.
"And if I break that promise—" His voice cracked. "If I ever betray your trust like that again—you won't have to leave. I'll let you go myself. Because I'll know I don't deserve you."
The words hung in the air, solemn as avow.
I searched his face for any trace of performance. Any hint he was only saying it because it's what I wanted.
I found nothing but sincerity. Stark and bleeding and utterly real.
The silence stretched. One heartbeat. Two. Three.
"Get up," I whispered.
He rose slowly, still holding my hands, still watching my face like it held the answer to everything.
"I believe you," I said quietly. "But I'm holding you to it. Every word."
"I know." He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
The silence that followed was softer. The sharp edges worn smooth by confession and consequence. Morning light spilled through the windows, catching dust motes in the air, and for a minute we just stood there.
Our breaths mingled. I squeezed his hand.
"The rules."
He blinked. "What?"
"From the collaring." I moved toward the couch, tugging him with me. We sank onto the cushions together, knees almost touching.
The exhaustion was catching up with me now—the sleepless night, the emotional whiplash. I could feel it in my bones, heavy and insistent. But this conversation couldn't wait. We'd already let too much slide.
"You mentioned therapy," I drew in a shaky breath. "I don't think it's a bad idea for us."
The admission seemed to catch him off guard.
"Emma, we don't have to do this right now. You've had a lot thrown at you and—"
"Damien," I said patiently, but firmly. "I just found out you committed financial fraud to save my company. I've yelled at you, walked out on you, and somehow managed to come back."A smile flickered across my lips. "And now I'm even recommending an appointment with my worst enemy."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Worst enemy?"
"I don't like it," I grumbled, releasing his hand to cross my arms. "But I do agree that it has the potential to help."
"Potential?"
