Office

Chapter 8

I hated how fast my feet moved when the message came.

The elevator ride down felt longer than usual. My hoodie still smelled like him. My wrist still carried the ghost of his grip from last night. Every step reminded me I was walking toward the man who’d seen his own death with me holding the gun — and still wanted me close.

When I stepped into his office, Damien was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. Behind him, multiple monitors showed live security feeds, stock tickers, and red-flagged alerts. Assistants moved silently beyond the glass wall like shadows. The city skyline stretched out beneath him like he still owned every light in it.

He didn’t turn around right away.

“You summoned me like a dog,” I said, closing the door harder than necessary.

Damien finally looked at me. Those eyes were tired but sharp. “You came.”

“Yeah. Because I’m not stupid enough to test how far you’ll go.”

I crossed the room and stopped a few feet away. Close enough to see the tension in his posture. Close enough to smell his cologne mixed with the faint trace of stress sweat. My body reacted before my brain could stop it — a low pull in my stomach that made me want to both punch him and pull him closer.

Damien turned fully. “Marcus is getting bolder. He’s sniffing around my personal life. Around you.”

“So what? You dragged me down here to warn me?”

“No.” He stepped closer. “I dragged you down here because I couldn’t stop thinking about you up there. And that’s becoming a problem.”

The honesty hit harder than any threat. I laughed, but it came out strained. “Poor billionaire. Can’t focus on destroying lives because he’s too busy fucking the man who might kill him.”

His hand shot out and caught my chin, tilting my face up. Not rough. Not gentle either. Just firm enough to remind me who still held the leash.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll bend you over this desk right now.”

My pulse spiked. I hated how much I wanted him to follow through. “Do it then. Maybe the next vision will be clearer with me bent over your precious empire.”

For a second his grip tightened. Then something shifted in his eyes — not just lust. Not just control. Something closer to fear wrapped in hunger.

He kissed me instead.

Hard. Desperate. Like he was trying to drown the vision in my mouth. I kissed him back like I hated myself for it, teeth and tongue and quiet, broken sounds I couldn’t hold back. When we broke apart, we were both breathing raggedly.

“You should hate me,” I whispered against his lips.

“I do.” His thumb brushed my lower lip. “But I want you more.”

The confession landed like a blade between my ribs. I stepped back, needing space. “Maybe Marcus will do what I can’t.”

Damien went very still. His fingers flexed once at his side. The silence stretched just long enough for me to see the crack — the brief flash of something raw and dangerous in his eyes.

He recovered fast, but I’d seen it.

“You won’t,” he said quietly.

“You sound very sure of that.”

“Because every time you say you want me dead, you still come when I call.”

The truth of it burned. I turned away, staring out at the city instead of his face. My reflection in the glass looked like a man already losing.

Behind me, Damien’s voice was quiet but certain. “We’re past hate, Riven. We’re in something worse now.”

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t have to.

We both already knew it.