Masuk........
The invitation had arrived in the morning, sealed with the Knight family crest. Damian almost ignored it. His relationship with his mother had always been cold, calculated, but her note had been oddly warm. Come to dinner tonight. Just the family.For reasons Emery didn’t understand, Damian agreed.“You don’t have to go,” she said softly, standing beside him as he adjusted his cufflinks that evening.“I know,” he replied, sliding the silver links into place. His eyes met hers in the mirror. “But refusing will only make things worse. And I won’t let them think I’m hiding you.”Emery’s heart stuttered. He was bringing her with him. Into the lion’s den.---The Knight mansion loomed large and imposing under the evening sky, its chandeliers glowing like a beacon of wealth. Emery’s palms were damp as she walked in at Damian’s side, Ethan left safely at home under a guard’s watch.MrsThe office was quiet that morning — unusually quiet. Even the clicking of keyboards and hum of the air conditioner sounded softer, almost hesitant. Emery sat at her desk, eyes fixed on the screen but mind miles away. She hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him, Damian. The look on his face when she had said those words: I think you’re mistaken, sir. It wasn’t just anger. It was hurt. The kind of hurt that carved deep, leaving invisible wounds that never really healed. Her phone buzzed. For a moment, her heart jumped — she thought it was him. But it wasn’t. Gabriel: Don’t forget about tonight, Miss Lincoln. 7 p.m. sharp. Her pulse steadied. A deep exhale left her lips. Right ,Gabriel. Her new boss. Her escape from chaos. She typed back quickly, I won’t forget, sir, before setting the phone face down, staring blankly at her reflection in the dark screen. This dinner wasn’t about romance. It wasn’t about connection either. It was about control —
That broke her. Clara turned, blinking fast to hide the sting of his words, and left without another sound. The door closed behind her with a soft click — but it might as well have been a gunshot. Damian sank back into his chair, chest heaving. The whiskey glass finally met his lips. The burn was sharp, but it didn’t touch the fire already raging inside him. The next morning, Marcus returned with a file thick and neatly clipped. “She’s working at Luxe’s biggest competitor, sir,” Marcus reported. “Gresham Industries. Her boss Gabriel Pierce —seems… fond of her. I’ve also confirmed she lives with her mother, younger brother, and a small boy named...” Marcus hesitated. Damian’s head snapped up. “Say it.” “Adrian, sir. Adrian Lincoln.” The sound of that name hit Damian like a bullet to the chest. “Adrian,” he repeated, voice barely audible. He turned away from Marcus, hiding the tremor that passed through him. His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. “And his
A soft knock at her door startled her. Patricia stepped in quietly, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Ethan was behind her, holding a sleepy Adrian. “Emery…” her mother’s voice was soft, tentative. “You’re pale. What happened?” Emery swallowed, forcing her lips into something that looked like a smile but wasn’t. “Nothing. Work was just… long.” Patricia didn’t buy it. She sat down next to her daughter, fingers curling around hers. “You saw him today, didn’t you?” The mask shattered. Emery’s eyes filled with tears, her throat tightening painfully. She looked away, blinking rapidly, but it was too late. “I had to,” she choked out. “Gabriel invited me to dinner. I didn’t know Damian would be there. And when he saw me—” Her voice cracked. “—I had to pretend, Mama. I had to pretend I didn’t know him.” Patricia’s hand squeezed hers gently. “You did what you had to, baby. For Adrian. For yourself.” Emery shook her head violently, strands of hair clinging to her damp
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Emery stepped out, her heels clicking against the marble floor of the corporate tower. She had just wrapped up a late meeting, her body tired but her mind restless.The night air outside promised freedom. She wanted nothing more than to get home, to tuck Adrian into bed, to wash away the long day with his laughter.But fate had other plans.As she crossed the lobby, her eyes caught on a tall, broad figure near the exit. His stance was commanding, familiar, dangerous in its quiet intensity.Damian.Her chest clenched. The world seemed to slow. She hadn’t seen him this close in years — not since the night she fled the mansion with her mother and Blake.His hair was a little shorter now, sharper around the edges, but those same stormy eyes burned into her as if time had never passed.For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.He hadn’t changed. He was still Damian Cole — powerful, magnetic, terrifying in the way he could shatter her walls with a s
The file sat unopened on Damian’s desk, but its weight was unbearable. It wasn’t the paper, the ink, or the glossy photographs that burdened him. It was the truth inside — a truth he had denied, ignored, lost, and now rediscovered.Adrian. His son.He hadn’t slept in days. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he saw was a small boy’s smile, a boy who carried his face. His heir. His blood.Tonight, the city outside glittered under moonlight, but Damian sat in darkness, his whiskey untouched. He had spent years building walls around his emotions, but now every stone had been torn down by the image of one child.A knock at the door broke through his thoughts.“Enter,” his voice came out sharp.Marcus stepped in. “They left the house an hour ago. Emery, Ethan, and Adrian. She took him to school in the morning, picked him up in the afternoon, and they stopped by a bookstore. They just returned home.”Damian’s hands gripped the arms of his chair. “And?”Marcus hesitated for the first time. “Sir
He was looking at himself.Not perfectly, not a mirror, but close enough to strike him like lightning. The same sharp jawline. The same piercing eyes. The same stubborn tilt of the chin.His son.Damian’s throat constricted painfully as his fingers clenched the edge of the photograph. For a split second, the icy armor he had built his whole life cracked, revealing raw, staggering vulnerability.His son.Damian’s hands shook slightly as he held the photograph. His eyes devoured every detail — the way the boy’s fingers curled tightly around Emery’s, the mischievous glint in his eyes, the half-smile tugging at his lips. It was as though the universe had plucked a fragment of Damian’s very being and shaped it into flesh and blood.For years, he had built his empire on control. Numbers, deals, power — everything bent to his will. But now, one small boy unraveled him with nothing more than a photograph.He forced himself to breathe, deep and slow, before he rasped, “Continue.”Marcus, ever







