Damage Control

The door clicked shut behind him.

That single sound was enough to break me.

My knees gave way before I even realized I was sinking. I slid down against the edge of the bed, my back hitting the mattress as if it was the only thing keeping me upright. My chest burned. My hands trembled so badly I had to curl my fingers into fists to stop them from shaking.

Who were you talking to?

His voice echoed in my head like a gunshot.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my palm hard against my mouth to stop myself from making a sound. The walls felt too close. The room felt smaller than it had minutes ago, like it was closing in on me, suffocating me with secrets I had spent six years burying.

That was too close.

Too damn close.

I replayed his face in my mind—how his eyes narrowed, how his gaze sharpened the moment he heard my voice soften on the phone. He wasn’t stupid. Men like Zayne Harrison never were. He noticed things. Tiny cracks. Hesitations. The slightest shift in tone.

I had slipped.

I let out a shaky breath and dragged my hands through my hair, my heart still hammering violently against my ribs. I had spoken to Janet. Just Janet. I had told myself it was safe—Jasmine was asleep, the room was quiet, the door was closed.

“I love you. Sweet dreams.”

Three harmless words.

Except nothing was harmless when it came to him.

I swallowed hard and pushed myself up, pacing the length of the room. My boots thudded softly against the floor as my thoughts spiraled. He heard me. He saw my reaction. He *felt* it. And that was the most dangerous part of all.

Zayne didn’t need proof.

He relied on instincts.

And his instincts were already circling me like a predator that had caught the faintest scent of blood.

I stopped pacing and leaned both hands against the window, staring out at the estate grounds. Everything outside was calm. Perfect. Manicured lawns. Quiet lights. Guards on rotation.

A lie wrapped in beauty.

Just like my life.

“You’re overthinking,” I whispered to myself, forcing my breathing to slow. “He doesn’t recognize you. He can’t.”

It had been six years.

Six long, brutal years filled with hospital bills, night shifts, borrowed money, and prayers whispered into darkness. Six years since a single reckless night had changed everything about my life.

He didn’t remember me.

Men like him never remembered women like me.

That thought hurt more than I cared to admit—but right now, it was my shield.

If he remembered, he would have said something. He would have reacted differently. He wouldn’t be circling with suspicion; he would be confronting with certainty.

I straightened slowly, forcing my shoulders back.

This was Zayne Harrison. The man hated women. Disliked them. Distrusted them. Reduced them to inconvenience and weakness.

He didn’t care enough to remember.

And that was exactly why I had to stay.

I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my palms against my thighs. Leaving wasn’t an option. Quitting meant losing everything. The money. The stability. The chance to finally stop running from debt collectors and overdue notices.

Jasmine’s face flashed in my mind—pale cheeks, tired eyes, the way her tiny hand curled around my finger when the fever got bad.

“I won’t fail you,” I murmured, my voice breaking just slightly.

Not now. Not ever.

I wiped my face quickly, standing again. No tears. No weakness. I couldn’t afford either. Not in this house. Not around him.

The Harrison estate wasn’t just a workplace—it was a battlefield. And I had walked straight into enemy territory knowing exactly who commanded it.

Zayne Harrison didn’t need to love me to destroy me.

All he needed was curiosity.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

I stiffened instantly.

“Ms. Anna?” a maid’s voice called quietly. “Dinner will be served soon.”

“I’ll be there,” I replied, steadying my tone until it sounded perfectly normal.

When the footsteps retreated, I exhaled again and looked at my reflection in the mirror.

Professional. Calm. Controlled.

Good.

That’s all I needed to be.

I adjusted my jacket and checked my earpiece out of habit, grounding myself in routine. Routine kept emotions at bay. Routine reminded me why I was here.

I wasn’t here as that woman.

I wasn’t here as a mistake from six years ago.

I was here as Anna Smith. A bodyguard. An employee.

Nothing more.

As I stepped out of my room and into the quiet hallway, my senses sharpened automatically. Every sound. Every shadow. Every movement registered.

But no matter how focused I tried to be, one thought refused to leave my mind.

Zayne Harrison was watching me now.

And once a man like him started watching… he never stopped.