CHAPTER 2

POV: Damian

The bomb sat on the boy’s chest.

Red numbers blinked in the dim room—

00:00:14

00:00:13

00:00:12

He couldn’t have been more than sixteen. He was skinny. Terrified. Tears pouring down through the dirt on his small face.

“Sir, we have to go!” Corporal Hayes shouted behind me.

I didn’t move.

The boy’s eyes locked with mine, pleading even though his mouth was taped.

“I can disarm it,” I said, stepping forward.

“You don’t have time!” Sergeant Miller barked. “Damian, we have to leave. NOW!”

00:00:09

Hayes grabbed my arm, trying to drag me back.

“Let me go,” I snarled, pulling free. “I can save him—”

00:00:07

The whole building shook with distant gunfire. The mission had gone to hell hours ago. Our extraction window was closing. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t leave him to die like that.

00:00:05

“We’re all going to die if we stay any longer!” Miller yelled, gripping me by the vest. “Move, Knight!”

00:00:03

“No—”

00:00:02

I lunged toward the boy once more.

His tear filled eyes were the last thing I saw before—

00:00:01

White light swallowed everything.

A deafening explosion.

Heat. Smoke. Screams.

Pain.

When my vision cleared, I was on the ground, ears ringing.

Hayes lay a few feet from me—crushed under a slab of concrete.

His eyes were open.

Still.

Empty.

He wasn't moving at all.

The boy… or what remained of him… was scattered around the room.

My throat tightened. “Hayes…”

No response. No breath. No heartbeat.

Dead. Because of me.

“HA—”

My voice cracked as I crawled toward him.

“HAYES—”

I tried again.

I screamed—

I jerked awake, gasping for air.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Sweat clung to my skin, cold despite the heat burning inside my chest. I pressed a hand to my face and dragged in a shaky breath.

The nightmares were back.

It has been three months now.

Three months without anyone.

Three months of thinking maybe this set of pills were finally working.

Apparently not.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand and checked the time on the bedside clock.

4:15 a.m.

Well, it was too late to go back to sleep, and also too early to start the day.

Figures.

I swung my legs off the bed and stood. My body felt heavy, but my mind was worse—foggy, slow, dangerous. I couldn’t afford that. Not today.

I walked out of the bedroom and into my home gym. The cool air hit my skin, refreshing and grounding. Without hesitation, I stepped onto the treadmill, punched in the settings, and started walking.

Seconds turned into minutes.

Minutes into something that felt like hours.

My feet hit the belt harder.

Faster.

Until I was running.

Running from memories, from guilt, from the ghost of a sixteen year old boy and the man who died trying to save me.

The pain in my lungs didn’t bother me. It grounded me. Reminded me I was still alive.

When the pain in my side finally grew sharp enough, I slowed the machine down to a walk. My breaths were harsh, scraping the inside of my throat.

I checked my wristwatch.

5:00 a.m.

An hour gone—good.

I stepped off the treadmill, wiped my face with a towel, and walked into the kitchen. The fridge light glowed harshly as I grabbed a bottle of water and gulped down half in seconds.

Cold water.

Silent penthouse.

Dark sky outside.

That was my everyday routine.

It was predictable.

And it was safe.

I lowered the bottle and muttered, “Time to prepare for work.”

Because the world didn’t stop for nightmares.

And neither did I.

****

My driver parked in front of the glass tower of Knight Enterprises, and I stared up at it—seventy two floors of order, discipline, and power.

People loved to call it ‘the most peaceful workplace in California.’

If only they knew.

Peace was earned here.

Maintained.

Enforced.

The moment I stepped out of the car, employees began greeting me.

“Good morning, Mr. Knight.”

“Sir.”

“Morning, CEO Knight.”

Some gave formal bows.

Some avoided my eyes entirely.

Some of the women tried those flirty smiles that never worked.

I didn’t respond to any of them.

Not because I was rude.

Because I didn’t care.

I entered my private elevator and pressed 72. The doors slid shut, enclosing me in silence.

No small talk.

No fake smiles.

No bullshit.

Just how I liked it.

When I reached the boardroom floor, it was 8:25 a.m. The meeting was at 8:30.

I walked in.

Empty room.

Of course.

I sat at the head of the long table, folded my arms, and waited.

At 8:29, the door finally opened and the board members poured in like guilty schoolchildren. Papers clutched in hands, nervous smiles glued on their faces.

“Mr. Knight,” Mr. Francis said with an awkward chuckle. “You’re here early.”

“And you’re all late.”

“Technically,” a voice drawled, “they’re early too.”

Eric Dowells—my friend.

If I could call him that.

He threw himself into a seat with zero shame. I ignored him and turned to the rest.

“Let’s begin,” I said. “I don’t plan on spending the whole day here.”

My gaze shifted to Eric.

“What did you find?”

Eric leaned back casually. “Someone in accounting has been siphoning money. It’s all in the numbers.”

Exactly as I expected.

I turned to Mr. Francis. “Mr. Francis, care to explain what he means.”

“I—I don’t know what he’s talking about, sir. No one is taking money from the company.”

Lies. His entire body betrayed him.

He was sweaty. Fidgety. He couldn't even look at me in the eyes as he spoke.

I turned to Eric and raised a brow. A silent question between the both of us and his nod was all the confirmation I needed.

Eric continued, “I found an offshore account. Three million dollars transferred monthly.”

The board erupted into murmurs.

“Three million?”

“Is he insane?”

“That’s theft at this point.”

“And,” Eric added, flipping a page, “every withdrawal is signed under the name Sapphire Christopher.”

Francis went stiff.

I didn’t miss the giant gulp he swallowed.

“Francis,” Eric said slowly, “isn’t Sapphire Christopher your wife?”

Silence.

Then, in a burst of pure panic, Francis shot to his feet and sprinted toward the door—

Only to freeze when he saw the police waiting outside.

One officer stepped forward. “Mr. Francis, you are under arrest for fraud, embezzlement, and tax evasion. You have the right to remain silent—”

Francis screamed, “I CAN EXPLAIN—!”

“You’re fired,” I said calmly.

The officers dragged him away as he kicked and cried.

I stood.

“Let this be a warning to all of you,” I said, my voice low but sharp. “I know everything that happens in this company. Anyone who thinks he can steal from me and get away with it… try it.”

The room stayed silent.

I could see the fear in their eyes.

The respect.

Good.

The meeting ended fast. They all scrambled out like they were fleeing from a predator.

When the room emptied, I walked out—only for Eric to jump from behind a column.

“BOO!”

I didn’t even blink. “I smelled you from across the hall, Eric.”

“Liar,” he grinned, falling into step beside me. “Anyway, let’s go out on Sunday.”

“No.”

“Come on, it’s my birthday. Don’t make me celebrate alone. You know your my best friend?”

“I’m not your best friend.”

“I’m your only friend.”

I sighed. “I’m still not going.”

“That’s fine,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll just tell Vivian you’ll be home all day Sunday.”

I stopped walking and glared. “You wouldn’t.”

He smirked.

Asshole.

I exhaled slowly. “What time?”

“Eight p.m.,” he said instantly. “Wear something expensive.”

“For once,” I muttered, “act your age.”

He laughed and walked away, leaving me with the faintest, most reluctant tug of amusement.

I entered my office and closed the door behind me. The silence settled again—heavy but familiar. I moved toward my desk, loosening my tie.

Eric may have been annoying as hell, but he was right about one thing.

He was my only friend.

And with Sunday coming…

I had no idea what chaos he was dragging me into this year.

But knowing Eric?

It wouldn’t be small.

Or quiet.

Or safe.

And I had no clue that Sunday night was the night everything would start to change.